Don't Kiss the Bride

I’ve missed her smile and her spark.

What Erin did to her changed her. She’s been quieter, withdrawn, more OCD, cautious. She suffered way more than just a nasty cut on her head.

Every time I look at her, I’m reminded of what happened, and I fucking hate myself because it’s my fault. Maybe in some sick way the scar is meant to never let me forget all the shitty decisions I’ve made. I just wish it was in the middle of my forehead and not hers.

“We should put up a ton of lights on your house next year,” she says as we drive past a house that has cool glowing icicles and lights bouncing across the yard. “You have that cool fir tree on the front lawn, we could put a big star on it, and lots of lights. And you could outline the house and windows like the other houses we saw. Maybe we could get the Santa with the sleigh and the reindeer and put it on the roof, and get one of those waving snowmen to put on the front porch.”

As she babbles on, I reach across the console to hold her hand. Her happiness is contagious. Her hope is infectious.

Through her, I see us.

I see tomorrows and next years.

And I like it.

There was never supposed to be a next anything.

It’s like our temporary arrangement has turned into a runaway train and we can either hang on for the ride, or jump off.

She grips my hand and bounces it up and down on her thigh, totally oblivious that I’m sitting next to her completely enamored with her smile, her eyes, her voice, the way she weaves her fingers through mine, her giggle—fuck, her everything.

“This was the best date, Lucky.” She leans across the front seat and plants a big kiss on my cheek. “You have no idea how much I’ve always loved to look at holiday lights. When I was little my grandparents used to drive me around on Christmas Eve and my gram would tell me if I looked out the car window, I might see Santa flying around. If I saw the lights of a plane fly over, I totally thought it was Santa and his reindeer.” She glances over at me, her lips quirked in a shy smile. “Does that sound silly?”

I smile back at her, drawn to everything honest and innocent about her. “Not at all, babe.”

“I miss them,” she says, craning her head to look at the sky from the car window.

“I’m sure they’re watching over you.”

She smiles up at the dark sky. “I hope so.”

“Can I take you to one of my favorite places?” I ask.

She nods happily. “I don’t want to go home yet.”

It’s almost midnight by the time we get to the cliffs, and the temperature has dropped. I pull the truck off the desolate, mountain road and onto the dirt pathway that you wouldn’t even know was there unless someone pointed it out. I’ve been here so many times I could find it with my eyes closed.

We zip up our coats and I dig a pair of my extra work gloves out of the console for her to wear. Her small hands are lost in them but I insist she keep them on so her fingers don’t freeze.

“Wow, look at all the stars. It’s gorgeous,” she says after we step out of the truck in the small clearing that parts the woods. The sky is the perfect shade of royal blue-black, pebbled with millions of shining stars. There’re no streetlights or houses nearby, but the moon is bright enough to give us enough light to see each other.

She lets out a little laugh when I lift her and perch her on the hood of my truck and then hop up next to her, hoping the heat of the engine will keep us warm enough to enjoy the view for a few minutes.

“This is so beautiful,” she says dreamily, looking out over the downtown lights beneath us. “I had no idea this was even here.”

“I’ve been coming here since I was about fourteen. The view is cool during the day, too, but on a night like tonight, the stars are wild. And now, with all the holiday lights up, it’s even better.”

I watch her as she stares out over the cliff—her breath blowing out in frosty puffs, the lights reflecting in her eyes. She looks so beautiful that it hurts me to breathe. I don’t deserve something as special and good as her. I know this, and she probably does, too. But, like with anything else that’s beautiful and rare, I can’t resist getting closer. Taking what I can while I can.

“Look,” I whisper, brushing my lips across her silky hair and pointing to the right, where a stag and a doe have quietly stepped out of the woods just a few feet away. Like us, they stare out over the cliff for a few moments.