I hit disconnect and pocket the phone before grabbing my keys. It takes everything I have inside to force myself from the safety of the BMW. I grab a few coins from my pocket, adding them to the parking meter before traversing the sidewalk and climbing the thick, cement steps.
As I pull open the door and step inside the shop, air gets wedged in my throat. My gaze coasts over the tables crammed together in the tiny space. There are a few couches and chairs situated around a coffee table. Bright artwork decorates the walls, and alternative rock plays in the background. The atmosphere has a hip vibe to it, which makes sense since most of the patrons look young—early twenties or so. This is definitely an artsy crowd.
It’s only when my lungs begin to burn, do I realize that I’m holding my breath. It escapes from my lips in a rush as I decide on a plan of action. No one here looks over the age of thirty.
Even though I’m late, she’s later. Or maybe she changed her mind and decided to pull another disappearing act.
How ironic would that be?
Instead of grabbing a drink, I head to a lone table parked in the back and settle on a chair that faces the door. Nerves skitter along my flesh as I slip the phone from my pocket and open the home screen.
I’m giving it another ten minutes, and then I’m out of here. I’ve already wasted enough of my time on this—on her. If Candace failing to show up to a meeting that she requested isn’t closure, then I don’t know what is.
I drum my fingertips against the scratched wood surface, wishing Alyssa were here with me. She’d offered to make the trip, and I’d turned her down flat. That’s a decision I now regret. She’s the one person who is able to settle all the chaos raging inside me.
Every time the door opens and the little bell above it chimes, I have a whiplash moment where everything inside freezes, only to realize that it’s not her. Tension spirals through me as I shift on my chair before glancing at my phone again.
Twenty-five minutes late.
Why is this even a surprise? I should have expected her to flake.
You know what?
I refuse to sit around and wait for a woman who walked out of my life when I was five-years-old. If I didn’t realize it before, I certainly do now—I shouldn’t have looked her up or contacted her in the first place. It was an error in judgment. As I make my way to my feet, the door opens, and in breezes a blonde woman with lavender highlights and large sunglasses that cover her face. She’s tall and willowy.
Just like I remember. Minus the highlights.
My mouth turns cottony.
Her gaze sweeps over the space until locking on mine. She pauses. Even though I’m unable to catch a glimpse of her eyes hidden behind the dark lenses, I can almost feel the way they slide over me. My breath becomes wedged in my throat as my heartbeat picks up its pace, pounding painfully against my ribcage. She glides through the tiny establishment, skirting around tables until finally arriving in front of me. For the first time in sixteen years, she’s close enough to reach out and touch. Resisting the temptation, I tighten my fingers into fists.
There’s a moment of hesitation. “Colton?”
That voice.
Deep and comforting. It reminds me of burrowing under a warm blanket on a cold night.
My throat closes up, making speech impossible. I jerk my head into a terse nod. There is so much tension filling the air that it feels like the atmosphere could shatter into a million jagged pieces.
When I remain mute, she advances a tentative step, closing the distance between us. “Would it be all right if I give you a hug?”
The question breaks the strange paralysis that has fallen over me. “Yes.” The word is blurted out before I can give it more thought.
Another step brings her close enough to slide her arms around my body. Even though I try to remain aloof, I find myself hugging her tight and burying my nose in the thick strands of her hair. I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale, shocked to realize that she smells exactly the same as she did in my childhood. It’s difficult not to tumble backward into the memories of the past.
They’re like a wave crashing over me as I’m inundated with images I’d long forgotten about. Time becomes irrelevant. I have no idea how long we stand there and embrace as her warmth seeps into my body. All I know is that it feels good. Good enough to assuage some of the pain that has been part of me since she walked out of my life.
When we break apart, her fingers trail over my arm before tangling with mine. I stare down at the physical connection—the one she’s initiating. Even as we slide onto our chairs, our hands stay linked together.