Just Pretend (Love Comes To Town)

Fuck, it feels so good… so right…

Afterwards, we lie there and let the hot water beat against our bodies. I turn on the bubbles with the switch on the side of the hot tub.

“Double bubble action,” I quip, and we laugh as the tub splashes even more bubbles to join our vanilla ones.

I don’t tell her this, because it’s a little fucking ridiculous and pointless, but Sierra looks more beautiful than ever right now. Her hair slicked back, her eyes happier than I’ve ever seen them.

I want her looking like this more. I want to see this face every day of my life.

I give my head an abrupt shake.

What the actual fuck is going on with me lately?

Must be the wine. Only… we haven’t had any yet.

Who fucking knows.

“Know what I’m thinking?” I murmur in Sierra’s ear.

“That was some good sex?” she suggests.

We both crack up at that. “Yes,” I say. “But no. I was thinking that it might be time for some stargazing.”

“But the tub,” Sierra protests with a sigh, nuzzling closer up to me with a pout. “So comfy. So warm.”

“There’s some cozy bathrobes,” I point out, gesturing to the ones hanging on the back of the bathroom door.

Sierra eyes the fluffy white things warily.

“Here,” I say, picking her up. “Let me help you.”

“Nolan!” she protests, giggling and wriggling to no avail.

“Come on,” I coax her, placing her on her feet and starting to help her into a robe. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Hruh,” is all she says as she reluctantly lets me help her into the robe.

A few minutes later, we’re outside in the two-person hammock, gazing up at the stars.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Holy crap.”

“Holy crap is right,” is all I say.

Sure, there’s words for what we’re seeing. But they wouldn’t do it justice, this astral symphony filling the sky before us. Star after star after star after star. More than I ever thought existed in my wildest dreams.

“It makes you wonder,” I say quietly. “How this is all up there all along, only we can’t see it in the city.”

Makes you wonder what else is there right in front of your nose that you’re refusing to see, either because of your current situation, or something else.

She nestles closer up to me.

“I mean it,” she says quietly. “This is amazing. Thank you. You keep surprising me.”

Her voice warms me from the inside out. It’s an odd feeling.

“Good,” I say.

“Good,” she says.

“Good,” I say.

She just laughs. “That’s it?”

“It’s a good word,” I protest. “Good?”

She laughs again. “Good.”

“I, just…” She goes quiet. Bathed in moonlight, her contemplative face is absurdly beautiful. “We never went camping when I was little. My mom was against it, since my dad loved it so much. Said it would just remind her too much of him, just hurt too much.”

“Doesn’t sound like he was a great guy,” I say.

“He wasn’t.” Her contemplative expression goes sad. “I don’t know how he could live with himself, just walking away from his own children, but he found a way to do it. Anyway, I’m lucky. I have a good mom who was always there for me. Not everyone can say that.”

“No.” Suddenly I feel heavy, like the hammock could snap under my weight. “Not everyone can.”

And suddenly, I don’t know why, I’m saying, “My mom walked off.”

“Oh.”

She doesn’t ask me to say more, to explain it, but I do. I don’t know why, but I want to.

“She didn’t give hardly any notice to any of us, either. I guess she was just fed up with my dad and all that, once she found out about his cheating. But she just walked out of our lives. We were close—at least I thought we were—I lived with her for months after the full extent of the cheating was revealed. But one day, she just wasn’t there anymore. First, she claimed an impromptu vacation to Barbados. Then she said she wasn’t coming back. Finally she stopped calling altogether. I guess it just hurt too much.”

“She just abandoned you?” Sierra asks, turning on her stomach to eye me with sad shock.

I shrug. “Not much different from what your dad did.”

“I don’t know.” She frowns. “What he did was horrible, sure, but we were too little to really realize what had happened. You were how old?”

“A teen,” I admit. “And yeah. It took me a long time to get over it. I’m not sure I have, even now.”

Her hand finds mine, squeezes it.

It doesn’t make sense—it shouldn’t make it better—but it does.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“I am too,” I say. “Just—for her, my dad was the love of her life. High school sweethearts and all that. To have to stick around and live with his betrayals… I guess she just figured it was easier moving away and starting a new life. My Dad tried finding her after, but he never did manage it.”