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These are all very good signs.
I breathe out a long sigh of relief. He’s okay. The store is okay. I made the right choice.
As my heartbeat returns to an even, steady rhythm, I settle into the second task I came here to do.
Grabbing a juice pitcher, I fill it with water and get to work on the plants along the windowsill, then fill the jug a second time to tend the plants in his bedroom.
But as I step through the door, my heart completely stops.
His bed sits perfectly made. Not a single crinkle in the sheets.
Even though he’s supposedly been gone for days, the room still smells like him. Irish Spring soap and the faint scent of his cologne.
I’m struck by this terrible feeling. Like longing or homesickness or grief. It’s hollow. As if someone has scooped out all of the good memories from my chest and thrown them splat on the floor in front of me.
See this? It isn’t yours anymore.
I have this urge to climb into his bed and suck in all the Dax-like smells that still linger on his pillow. To slide between his sheets and close my eyes and pretend he’s there beside me. As if at any moment he’ll roll over, lace his fingers through mine, and remind me that we’re forever.
However, my tortured thoughts are interrupted by the sound of keys in the door, and my fight-or-flight mammalian brain takes over until it dawns on me that thieves don’t use keys. But Dax does.
Every cell inside of me is on edge as the lock flips, and I steel myself for the conversation I’m about to have. The one I should have had years ago.
He doesn’t notice me at first. He’s too absorbed in the actions of throwing down his leather weekend bag and tossing his keys into the little porcelain dish on top of his bookshelf. I stare at him from the doorway like a creep. Eyes appreciating, heart longing, everything below that lusting after the man who has always been my other half.
“Hey.” The floor creaks beneath my feet as I step forward. Dax whips around at the sound, grabbing a shoehorn with his hand and raising it above his head.
“Jesus Christ, Gems. You scared the shit out of me.”
I hold up the still-full water pitcher. “I’m here for the plants. You asked me to—”
“Yeah, sorry. I know. I was just thinking about you, and then you appeared out of nowhere. I wasn’t sure you were real for a second.”
“You were thinking about me?”
He drops his eyes to his bag, which he shoves to the side with the toe of his boot. “Yeah. I was up north. Needed a few days to clear my head. But I was going to call you when I got in. And then you were here.”
“I’ve been thinking about you too.”
There’s a sudden tension in the air. It’s heavy and thick. As if we both know that a conversation is about to happen that will change everything. It becomes a game of chicken. The first one to talk lays their heart on the table. Open. Exposed. Where anything can happen. And I don’t hesitate for a second to do it.
“I love you, Dax.” The words come easily. I’ve had a month to practice. “I am totally and completely in love with you. And I know you’re probably standing there ready to remind me that I spent the last four years with someone else. And you’re right, I did. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I think I stayed with Stuart so long because he was safe. He was easy. And losing him would not devastate me.”
A hard lump forms at the back of my throat. I swallow hard and continue.
“But losing you would. And I think I was afraid that if I loved you, one day you could change your mind, and we wouldn’t be Gemma and Dax anymore, and I couldn’t risk that. But then I had a small glimpse of how it would feel to not have you in my life, and it made me realize that you are my person, Daxon. And I want to be with you. Even if it means I might lose you one day.”
I pause to breathe. To regroup. Maybe even to see if Dax will hint at how his side of this conversation will go. But Dax doesn’t move from his spot by the door. He doesn’t move at all. As if my sudden and unexpected confession has frozen him in place.
“What are you thinking?” I finally ask him.
“A lot of things.”
“Are they good things?”
His answer is a tentative half step forward. Then a deep breath. Then another. “I spent the last week thinking that maybe we needed to stop being friends.”
A sharp pain shoots through my chest as I face my worst fear. “You did?”
