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I don’t know if I have it in me to resist his milk requests tonight.
“I, um . . .” He shrugs. He’s wearing blue jeans and a gray T-shirt. His shoulders are wide, and his chest is broad. Regardless of how things have worked out between us, I know there has never been a more beautiful male specimen on the face of the earth.
“I just . . .” His eyes hold mine, and once again, I can tell that he’s nervous.
“You what?”
“I just wanted to see you,” he murmurs. His eyes drop to my lips.
It would be so easy to kiss him right now.
“Why?” I act brave.
“I . . .” He pauses. “I wanted to . . .” He shrugs as if feeling stupid.
I frown. “What is it?”
“Can I have a hug?”
“What?”
Oh, gentle Henley is here . . . the one that I love.
“I just . . .” He swallows the lump in his throat, and unable to help it, I take him into my arms.
We hug, tight and close, and my eyes shut as I lean against his shoulder.
“Do you ever think of me?” he whispers.
I get a lump in my throat. “Yes.”
He nods as if processing my answer.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I think about you. A lot.”
I can pretend that I don’t care about our demise, but the reality is that we really should be together.
Why doesn’t he get it?
My nostrils flare as I try to hold in my emotions. Why does he affect me so much?
“I just wanted you to know that”—he frowns as he articulates his words—“it’s not that I don’t want to be with you. This has nothing to do with you.”
Wow, that old chestnut.
“‘It’s not you, it’s me’?” Annoyed, I pull out of his arms. I give a subtle shake of my head. “Is that what you’re saying?”
He nods.
Frustration sets in. Seriously, is that the best he’s got?
“Is that it?” I ask.
His eyes hold mine. “Do you want it to be it?”
Come out with it. If you want me, have the balls to say so.
