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Blaze hesitated. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose...”
But Dad brushed aside his objection with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble at all.”
I added my own insistence until Blaze relented with a smile. “Well, alright then. Dinner it is.”
In the kitchen, Blaze and I worked side by side with Dad to get the food on the table. It all felt so natural, so easy, the three of us orbiting around each other in effortless choreography. As I set down the salad bowl, I noticed Dad lean in close to Blaze, whispering something that made Blaze duck his head with an embarrassed little laugh. But when Dad clapped him on the shoulder approvingly, Blaze’s face lit up.
Watching their exchange, something warm and hopeful bloomed in my chest. Dad’s obvious delight in Blaze’s company told me everything I needed to know. His blessing meant the world to me, even if Blaze and I still navigated our feelings. Just knowing Dad approved lifted a weight I hadn’t realized I was carrying.
As we settled around the table, the buzz of contentment remained. Dad filled my glass with wine, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at me. “To new adventures,” he toasted.
I smiled back, raising my glass. “To new adventures.” And to the one sitting right beside me, I added silently.
As we dug into the food, Blaze turned the conversation to Dad’s love of classic car restoration. “What’s your dream car to work on?” he asked. Dad’s face lit up at the question. He launched into an animated description of his vision for rebuilding a ‘67 Chevy Impala. I leaned back, content to listen as their discussion flowed. Blaze’s questions showed genuine interest in my dad’s passion. He even offered suggestions on how to track down rare parts, making Dad’s eyes gleam with appreciation.
The evening passed in a warm haze of good food and easy conversation. But a somber mood crept in as the dishes were cleared and leftovers packed away. Blaze stood, stretching, and announced regretfully that it was time he headed out.
I followed him down to the parking lot, the chill of the night air doing nothing to dampen the heat that had built between us over dinner. As he turned to face me beside his car, neither of us spoke at first. Then, in a rush of movement, his hands were in my hair, his lips finding mine hungrily. I melted into him, savoring the feel of his body pressed to mine, his fingers tangled in my curls. We came up for air, both breathing hard, foreheads touching.
“I don’t want this to be over,” I whispered, voicing the fear that had taken root in my mind. He kissed me again, softer this time.
“It’s not over. I’ll see you again soon, I promise.” His words were reassuring, but uncertainty still gnawed at me as he got into his car. I stepped back, arms wrapped around myself against the cold.
Watching his taillights fade into the distance, I couldn’t stop the nagging thought - what if this was the last time I’d ever see him? We’d made no concrete plans and set no date for meeting again. The future stretched before me, vast and unknown. But remembering his hands' touch and the sincerity in his voice when he’d said we’d meet again, I clung to hope. Whatever lay ahead, somehow, our paths would cross once more. I had to believe it with everything in me. Because the alternative–never seeing Blaze again–was one I refused to accept.
SEVENTEEN
BLAZE
I had barely drivenout of town when I knew I was making a mistake. I should be with Trisha, not driving away from her. She was everything I never knew I wanted - funny, sexy, adventurous. Our road trip may have started as a matter of convenience, but it had become so much more.
I turned the car around, eager to go to her, but then hesitated. It was late on Christmas night. She deserved to spend this time with her dad without my sudden reappearance complicating things. I’d give her tonight. First thing tomorrow morning, I’d find her and convince her we should try to make this work.
Resigned to waiting and not wanting the drive back to San Ramon, I headed for the Four Seasons.
The hotel loomed like a beacon as I pulled up, a luxurious sanctuary in the midst of my tumultuous thoughts. Soon after, I found myself in a suite that whispered wealth and comfort, but the plush surroundings did little to soothe my restlessness.
I cracked open the minibar, letting the cool air wash over me. A miniature bottle of whiskey caught my eye—amber liquid promising temporary solace. I poured it into a glass, ice cubes clinking like distant bells.
As I sank into an overstuffed chair, my mind played a relentless tug-of-war. Trisha was out there somewhere on the East Coast; Baltimore was my home base. We’d danced around personal details like two actors avoiding stage directions.
I’d always held that long-distance relationships were like trying to keep a boat afloat with duct tape—eventually, the water wins. But Trisha wasn’t just any passing ship; she was more akin to an unsinkable vessel.
Was she worth the shot? The whiskey warmed my throat as decisiveness settled in my bones.
Yes.
First light would find me at her dad’s doorstep, laying it all on the line. No half measures or hesitations—I’d ask Trisha Easton to take a leap with me into the unknown because sometimes, just sometimes, you meet someone who makes every mile between you seem trivial.
* * *
The morning sunhad barely stretched its fingers across the sky when I stood in front of Trisha’s dad’s apartment door, my hand hovering over the doorbell. The previous night had been a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but one thing was clear—I couldn’t let Trisha walk out of my life without at least trying to keep her in it.
I pressed the bell and waited, shifting from foot to foot. The door swung open, revealing Matthew, his expression a mixture of surprise and warmth.
“Blaze! Didn’t expect to see you so soon. Come on in,” he said, stepping aside.
“Thanks, but I can’t stay. I came for Trisha,” I replied, urgency lining my words.
