Page 35 of The Long Way Home
“I’m sorry, Rhett.”
She glances down at my mouth. Just for a second. It’s fast, and maybe she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, but it moves a current through my chest.
“Me too, Sunny,” I say, the words catching in my throat. “Me too.”
I let my hand rest on her thigh, light enough that she could brush me off without effort. But she doesn’t. Instead, she leaves it there while she reaches for another slice.
I break the moment by removing my hand and lifting an open box as I stand. “Where should I put the books?”
Rachel scans the shelves. “Top one. You always put the unread ones out of reach.”
I let out a laugh. “Still judging me for owningThe Odyssey, huh?”
“Only because I know you never made it past page three.”
I grin, setting the box down. “Guilty. But at least I tried. Now it’s just for show.”
“Still trying to convince women you can read?”
“I can read, Sunny. Don’t need to convince anyone.” I toss it lightly, though something in my chest knots when she looks at me like that.
“What’s the last book you read?” she pushes.
“Okay, I haven’t read a book per se in a while, but I read articles all the time.”
“Sure, ya do.” She walks past, her arm brushing mine, and kneels beside another box. “Honestly, you have way less junk than I expected,” she says, pulling it open.
“I cleared a lot out when I moved. Fresh start and all. I didn’t see the point in dragging old, meaningless stuff to this place. Everything in this place either means something to me or serves a purpose.”
She glances up, eyes catching mine. “Yeah. I get that.”
I shift toward the window, watching dusk bleed orange into lavender. “I know the house is small. But it’s just enough space for me… and maybe one of those women who are impressed I own books.”
Her laugh spills out quickly, catching her off guard. “Careful. That almost sounds like commitment.”
I glance back over my shoulder, watching the way the fading light hits her cheekbones. “I kid,” I say, half smiling. “I’m not looking for anyone.”
Not looking, because she’s the only person I see when I picture what this place could feel like with someone else in it.
“For as long as I’ve known you, you really haven’t dated anyone.”
“Come on, Rach, I’ve dated,” I toss back as I move the last book out of the box.
“Whatever you say, Hayes. I’ve never seen you with a woman besides a couple dates. And as we both know, that’s like four dates over the span of a decade.”
“It’s like you’re trying to hurt me, Rach. I have been gone for a couple of years, remember? Maybe it’s more than four.” I joke back at her, and she quickly rolls her eyes.
I’ve dated. Tried to, at least. But it always circles back to the same truth. No matter who I’m with, I keep seeing her in them. I would be looking at them but imagining her laugh or her smile. Even sleeping with them didn’t help. At first, I thought it would help lose the connection to her. But it never erased the way my mind always drifted to her.
No one has ever made it feel natural, inevitable even, to be myself. I can’t outrun her. I can’t replace her, no matter how many times I try.
Rachel leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she peers into another box. I watch her as she reaches for her beer.Her fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle, and I can’t help but stare at the way her lips press against the rim.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for the help today.”
“Thanks for letting me. I didn’t know how much I needed this.”
“Me either.” I study her profile in the fading gold light: the curve of her cheek, the loose strand of hair slipping over her eye. My fingers itch to tuck it back, but I stay still.
