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The regret is in the tacit engrossing us.
“Let’s find a quiet place, spread the blanket, and relax.” He takes my hand in his.
I give his palm a reassurance squeeze, “I’d like that.”
For a while, we walk along the beach, scouring for the perfect spot until we find a deserted area. As we lie down on our blanket, my eyes are fixated on the blanket of stars covering the darkened skies.
His comforting presence is next to me. “What is the first thing that pops into your head right now?” he asks.
“I wish I could be a star in the sky and watch us right now. How tiny we are like a dot on a map.” I answer as I continue to gaze above us.
He doesn’t say anything, letting the peaceful silence shelter us for long minutes.
I break it by asking him, “What would you do differently if you could go back in time?”
But he’s silent yet again, saying things his words don’t.
I wonder why we have to be reserved about what we say. We talked for months online and had no problem talking to each other about intimate stuff. Now, I guess because of our new titles he feels the need to keep quiet.
I wish he didn’t.
When he didn’t bite his tongue it felt natural and real. And an hour ago when he used it to explore my mouth it was all over the spectrum of mesmerizing.
“Nothing different.” He finally says. “Those moments shaped me.”
I want to know more about him but I also don’t want to overstep.
“Do you want to travel around the world someday?”
I think about it for a second, “I would love to. There are some places I’m dying to see.”
“Like?”
“New Zealand, Australia, Italy, Greece and Bali.” They’re all part of my bucket list so it’s pretty easy.
“Don’t want to rub it in your face but I’ve been to all of them.” He slants his gaze and his cute smirk encounters mine. “I can always be a tour guide, you need to be safe in those places. I don’t mind going there again.”
I poke his shoulder, “You already did. But that’s okay because now I have a free tour guide.”
“Who said my services are for free.” He chaffs.
“You did mister tour guide, and offered protection as well.” I quip. “Either that or I’m going by myself.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “Always paying attention to the little details aren’t you?”
A giggle escapes me, “Part of my job.”
He puts his hands under the back of his head. His ball cap is still tacked in place, and so is the stillness in his expression.
The wide window of our kitchen views the front of our house like a frame of a picture. I sneak glances outside, trying to capture the different contrasts of the light, the shades, and the shapes of the shadows.
Analyzing everything around me is my middle name—Analyza—is what my parents always call me.
Jamey sprints across the grass, and along the stone path, He breaks into the front door like a burglar, heaving like he ran a marathon.
He signals me to wait for him to catch his breath.
“Who did you run from this time?” I mock him while I continue to draw a sketch I’ve been working on for the past week. “You’re running skills are getting better, Speedy McQuinn.”
