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Ava.
Saturday. Predawn.
She was flying out this morning.
Fuck.
I let out a grunt to show I’d heard her, all the while fighting the urge to pull her in with me, strip her down, bury myself in her, and make her forget the time so she’d miss her flight.
Second choice would be to yank the blankets over my head and shut out reality.
“I hated to wake you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, so soothing when this day was anything but soothing.
We’d agreed not to make it a big, sad ordeal though.
I could shut things out with the best of them, so I ran my hand up her arm, over her shoulder, to the back of her neck and pulled her down to me. Her fresh, hint-of-flowers scent and the slight moisture beneath her hair told me she’d showered and was ready to go. Starting something would be pointless right now as the old-school clock on the nightstand told me she hadn’t left a lot of wiggle room for getting to the airport. I pressed a gentle, almost chaste kiss to her lips.
“Morning, gorgeous.” My voice was gravelly as hell.
“Hey, handsome.” She stood so I could crawl out of her bed for one final time.
Quit thinking like that, dumb ass. Only makes it harder. Denial, denial, denial.
I sat up to face the day I’d been dreading from the second she’d reserved her flight.
“I need to finish tidying up downstairs,” she said. “See you down there when you’re dressed.”
I mumbled some kind of halfhearted affirmative as she hurried out of the room.
Three minutes later, I’d rinsed with mouthwash, splashed cold water on my face, and pulled my clothes from yesterday on, then went heavily down the stairs, telling myself fatigue was my main problem this morning. It was a factor for sure—we’d stayed up till all hours, talking, making love, snacking on dry cereal sometime after two, then doing it all over again. It was as if neither of us could bear to let the night end, because we both knew after it did,weended too.
Yes, I actually thought the wordsmaking love. There was no denying it. I’d fallen in love with Ava again, or maybe it was still. But I hadn’t spoken of it. Telling her how I felt would only complicate everything, make it harder when she left today, and we’d agreed to make her departure no big deal. Not an emotional, wrung-out goodbye.
This—her leaving—was what we’d agreed on all along. This was the right decision, the way it had to be. But fuck, did it suck ass-balls.
Ava’s luggage was sitting sentinel by the door, her clutch at the ready on top. The lamp closest to the door was on a dim setting, allowing me to see the place was tidied to within an inch of its life. Ready to be empty for a prolonged period.
I swallowed down the need to say something, anything to stop her from leaving.
A glance out the door told me the car she’d hired hadn’t arrived yet, but the clock on the stove said the witching hour was two minutes away.
“I’ll take these out,” I said, grabbing the two suitcases.
Without a sound, Ava picked up the clutch and her carry-on, and we stacked them out by her aunt’s truck.
“Okay,” she said nervously, not like my Ava at all, and I got it.
And then reminded myself she wasn’tmyAva.
We’d agreed this was it. We would let each other know how the important stuff went—her first week on the job, whether or not Henry’s got ontoSmall Town Smorgasbord—but we were making this break as clean as possible. I’d offered to drive her to the airport, but that would betoo boyfriendly, she’d determined.
I wasn’t her boyfriend.
She wasn’t my anything except ex.
What would happen if you told her you loved her?
That was an easy one, the answer at the top of my mind because I’d turned it over in my head so many damn times.
