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“He acts like one. They’re awful. They taste like how a fart smells.”
“Wow, Leon. Duly noted.”
“I’m also kidding. He’s not that bad. He protects you, which is nice. Anyway, before you tell your dad anything, can you warn him about my chronic head pain? Because if he decides to whack me over the head with his cane, I’m not sure how much more damage I can sustain.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but Darby tears up, and I hate myself. She surges forward, wrapping her arms around me and holding me hard, her head tucked against my chest, clinging to me. Yup, I’m aneejit,alright.
“I’m sorry.” I stroke her back. “I was kidding.”
“It’s not funny. You are not to expire on me within the next sixty to seventy years. Do you understand that, Leon?”
I don’t have the heart to remind her that this agreement has an expiration date. She thinks everything’s changed. That I’ve gone soft, and we’ll find a way to stay married. I can’t tell her that with the damage I’ve already sustained, any future with me is dicey, and I’m not going to do that to her. I’m not going to deprive her of happiness, a healthy partner, kids and a family, and all the good things she deserves. I would never be that selfish.
Even if I want that more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.
I’m normally very good at self-denial, but I find myself holding her as tightly as she’s holding me. “I understand.”
14
DARBY
We make it through dinner, which is a compromise between some of the fish being baked and some of the fish being fried and a salad on the side. Then, the fun starts after the dishes are done. I don’t know who doesn’t love a good fire, especially since we have an excellent firepit and lots of wood stacked up at the side of the cabin. I’m a good fire maker, and I have a rip-roaring bonfire going in no time, which is just perfect to match the heat of the sticky night that hasn’t cooled off one single bit.
“Do you want to help me make s’mores?” I hold out a marshmallow fork to Leon. He stares at it blankly.
“I’ve never made them before. But believe it or not, I’m actually quite adept at following directions.”
My parents say nothing, which is good on them. I think they’re content to just watch and observe us. And my god, I hope they’re not thinking about what we may or may not have done in the bedroom, as Leon said earlier. There had better not be speculation as they drive home in a few hours. I wilt a little inside just thinking about it.
And now my poor, aching, bruised heart takes another pounding. Of course, Leon has never made s’mores before. He never got a freaking childhood. I’m careful not to let my emotions show. I don’t want to continue being a bleeding heart around him because he would hate himself if he knew how sad I felt. He wants my pity even less.
“You just toast the marshmallows to perfection, get the graham crackers and chocolate, and make a sandwich out of it. The marshmallows are warm, so they make the chocolate melt. I know you don’t like sweets, but they’re pretty good. You can have a bite of mine if you want.”
“And a big cup of coffee to go with it.”
“You love coffee way too much.”
“You brought the beans I like. I can’t help myself.”
“If you want to go make a pot, I can toast the marshmallows.”
Leon studies me hard for a second. “Okay.” He gets up from the plastic lawn chair and walks back to the cabin. I try very hard not to watch him as he walks because it’s inevitably going to end up with my eyes tracking straight to his delicious rump in his jeans.
I set up the marshmallows on the forks, skewering the fluffy goodness on the metal tines. I’m a pro, so I load up six marshmallows per fork, but they have three tines, so I can handle it. The fire isn’t roaring anymore since we’ve been out here for almost an hour, sitting around it in lawn chairs, saying nothing, for the most part, just enjoying the quiet of a night not spent in the city. The wood has burned down to glowing red coals, and I carefully angle both forks over it, using one per hand.
“You’re going to light it on fire,” my dad warns.
“Not a chance.” It’s not bravado. I’m a pro at this, and I know it.
I take my time. So long that Leon is back with a pot of coffee, a jar of cream, and four mugs looped around his fingers. He sets everything down on the grass and stands back a few paces, but I can feel him like he’s pressed right up against my back. How is it possible to miss someone for a few minutes when they’re right inside the freaking cabin that’s not even thirty feet away?
My heart flutters madly.
AndI burn the marshmallows. “Holy poo pants!” I let out a yelp as all twelve of them go up in flames. I wave the forks madly, and I’m lucky that nothing goes launching off of them. In my favor, I had them just about perfectly toasted.
“I think we can skip the chocolate,” my dad says. “And the cookies. Just give me some of those perfectly burned marshmallows.”
“Your diet!” My mom complains, swatting his arm, but when I hand four to my dad, she doesn’t stop him. She takes three herself, sliding them off the fork.
I move to Leon, who is sitting back down in the lawn chair, a cup of freshly poured coffee, golden with cream, between his knees. It’s sinful how beautiful he looks in the firelight. Like it should actually be illegal because it’s so unfair to my lady bits. I’m shaking before I take half a step toward him. I’m just glad my parents can’t see my face and the longing stamped onto it like a brand. The firelight is kind to Leon even though he doesn’t need any more physical beauty as it is. Nature created him off-the-charts beautiful, but the firelight is working wonders that make my mouth bone dry.
