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A laugh slips from her lips, and she shakes her head.
“No?”
“You want me to teach him how to find trees?”
“Maybe how not to throw a Frisbee.”
“Wow.” She nods, and this time, she laughs out loud.
“Wanna go?”
Our eyes meet again and finally, she nods. “Yeah. I’ll go.”
Rather than throwing my arms around her and gathering her in close like I want to, I stand my ground and lean in to kiss her. Just a soft press of my lips on hers.
“You gotta quit doing that, Truman,” she whispers as she turns back to the sink.
“Why?”
“What if Ryle sees us kissing?”
“We weren’t kissing.”
“What?” She tips her head and shoots me a frown.
“That was just a peck.” I turn sideways at the sink and study her face. “This is kissing.”
She meets me halfway this time. Her lips are warm and wet against mine, and she rests her hand on my forearm. Her fingers are warm and sudsy. She tastes like coffee, and she smells like sunshine and school and backpacks and hot chocolate at Friday night football games.
“I don’t want to rush into something, Truman.” She ends the kiss, but she doesn’t back away. I can’t help but touch her when she rests her forehead on my chest. I press the tips of my fingers to the back of her neck. Her ponytail slides over the back of my hand.
“We’re six years behind, Jules,” I remind her.
She pats my chest and steps back when we hear Ryle coming down the hall to the kitchen. He climbs back on his chair, rests his elbows on the table, and props his chin in his hands.
“I’m ready.”
“Mom’s gonna go with us,” I tell him. The words chase a little thrill through me. Maybe it’s a mistake to rush this, but I can’t hold back how I feel. I’ve waited six years to say that to my son, to say that his mom’s going to do something with us. It has a nice ring to it.
Ryle nods, but he doesn’t seem overly impressed. Julie and I glance at each other. She seems relieved. I guess she’s right. Making sure we don’t hurt Ryle is the top priority. It’s okay if he doesn’t see the three of us doing something together as a momentous event. This time, we’ll save the hoping and finger crossing to the adults.
19
Julie
My Frisbee throwing skills haven’t improved much at all, but I’m okay with that. Ryle is having the time of his life—not just with the Frisbee and Truman, but the two of them are doubled-over in laughing fits every few minutes. Sometimes at me, and others I have no idea what’s funny. But I love seeing the two of them having fun together.
There could be more of this.
The thought is pinging around inside me the whole time we’re playing. Whether we rush into something or not, Truman seems to be telling me he wants to be a family. He wouldn’t push this if he didn’t want to be around me and Ryle both. I know that.
But my heart still wants to hear him say he loves me.
At the end of the Frisbee outing, we get ice cream, and then Ryle wants to drive the go-karts at Twain’s place. Truman asks me if I care. When I agree to go, Ryle does his new move—throwing a celebratory fist in the air.
I wonder if Truman’s family knows something might be going on between us now. I wonder if Harper set out to make something happen between us. I guess I don’t mind the push, whatever it took to nudge Truman in my direction again.
Ryle seems slightly disappointed when we get to the go-kart track and Ethan isn’t there. I want to remind him that Ethan doesn’t live here, but then Twain grabs him and throws him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and Ryle’s giggling, delighted to have his uncle’s attention.
