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I now understand the true story ofSleeping Beauty. For seven years, I have been in a dark slumber, and one kiss from Ash has brought me back to life. I feel invigorated and new. Colors are brighter, smells are stronger, and things sound sharper. The bubble has popped. I feel awake, and I feel set free.
The blanket vibrates and I look over to see Ash’s phone lying near the edge. He either left it, or it fell out of his pocket, and the name Juliet flashes across the screen, disappears, and leaves his phone illuminated to the home screen. There, right in the middle, is a brown-haired boy grinning back from ear to ear at whoever took the picture.
My stomach drops and reality crashes over me.
Oh my God.
Does he have a son? And who is Juliet?
For the first time in four days, I really wonder what his story is. Frantically, I flip through our conversations and remember him talking about his grandfather, but not once did he mention a sibling, so this can’t be his nephew, right? Not that I have a problem with him having a son, everyone has a past, but this is a huge piece of information to not disclose.
My heart starts pounding, and not in a good way. I reach up and push on my chest. Quickly, anxiety and confusion trickle in under my skin, and my back breaks out in a cold sweat.
Howisit possible that a nice, handsome guy like him is unattached? My mind drifts back to him sitting at the bar, the first night I saw him, and the conversation I had with Emma. I hate to think the worst of him after he’s been so nice, but what normal guy just sits at the bar while his friend is out meeting girls, having fun? I said it then and now I’m worried . . . maybe he does have a girlfriend . . . or a wife.
The phone turns off, fading to black, and I stare at it as if it holds all the secrets of the world.
I’m so confused.
Dropping my head to my hands, I fight back the blur of tears trying to form, and I suck in as much cold air as I can. I don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but the little boy did have brown hair and olive skin just like him. Granted his eyes were brown and not blue . . . oh, I don’t know.
He wouldn’t lie to me, would he? Then again, I haven’t been completely honest, but it was his idea to leave out our personal details. Mistrust swirls through my mind, and I hate that, because as far as I know, he hasn’t done anything to break it. He’s only earned it, just like I said.
I hate how five minutes ago, visions of happily ever after were skipping across my heart, and now I’m beginning to think all of this is more likely to be one moment in time.
What happens at the lake, stays at the lake, right?
Disappointment consumes me.
SHE LEAVES TODAY.
Waking up this morning, instead of an instant grin hitting my face at the thought of seeing her, I’m stuck on the fact that this will be the last time I see her until who knows when. I don’t like this, at all, and I need to figure out how I can spend more time with her.
I’m bewitched by her, and that kiss . . . it was better than all the kisses I’ve ever had combined. I could get lost for days in that little dip in the middle of her bottom lip, and just thinking about how it felt when her tongue danced with mine and the way she tasted, I’m addicted. I don’t think it will ever be enough.
When I got back from getting our drinks, she was sitting in her chair. Yeah, I was disappointed, I wanted to lie on the blanket with her some more, but the high of that kiss overrode any negative thoughts I had. I could feel her trying to put some distance between us, but given she just told me it’d been seven years, I gave her the space I assumed she needed to process.
How am I going to do this? How am I going to let her go? Maybe I should just lay all my cards on the table and see what she says. I hate the ambiguity that’s developed between us. I want to know her, and I want her to know me. No more secrets . . . but if she’s not ready yet, or I push too hard, things might not go in my favor.
Shit, this sucks.
Climbing out of bed, the reflection of the lake flickering on the wall calls to me. I don’t want to be tense or locked into myself today; I need to burn some of this off so I can enjoy our last few hours together. Throwing on some clothes, I wander out to the kitchen to find her leaning against the counter, staring out the window, already drinking a cup of coffee.
“Morning,” I say to her. She turns to look at me and smiles. She looks so good here in my house that my insides squeeze. I grab a cup and pour myself some coffee as both of the dogs tear by and out the door. She giggles and my heart soars at the sound.
“Sleep okay?” I ask.
She shrugs her shoulders.
“How’s your wrist feel?” She’s got the sling off and has the cast lying on top of the counter.
“All right. I took some more medicine. As long as I don’t move it too much it’s fine.” She looks away from me and back out the window.
She’s still distant and I hate this. How do I get us back to where we were? I want her smiling, laughing, and talking to me.
“I have an idea—how about you come out on the lake with me this morning?” She brings the cup to her lips and takes a sip of her coffee.
“But my arm?” She looks over the cup at me.
