Page 48 of Just One More Thing

“I almost kissed her.”

“What stopped you?”

I let out a breath that turns into something like a laugh. “Smoke alarm. The universe. A piece of salmon. Take your pick.”

He side-eyes me. “You’re blaming seafood?”

“It was over buttered,” I mutter.

“Tragic.”

“Very.” I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite make it to my mouth.

“And then?” he asks.

“And then I sent her away.”

Charlie’s quiet for a moment. “Why?”

Because I’ve already scared her once in my life. Because I told her I loved her and watched her go still.

Because ten years later, I can still hear the exact way she said thank you, polite as a stranger, like I’d offered her a favor instead of my whole damn heart.

I take another drink. “Because I don’t want to rush her,” I say instead. “And patience isn’t exactly my brand.”

Charlie turns toward me a little more. “How long have we been friends?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Longer.”

“Okay. Longer.”

“You’ve loved Emory longer than that.”

I don’t argue.

“You’re the most patient man I know,” he says. “And the most forgiving. Don’t start rewriting yourself just because you’re nervous.”

I drag my thumb down the side of the bottle. “I never thought I’d get another shot.”

He doesn’t answer.

“I made peace with that,” I go on. “Or I told myself I did. Told myself it was fine. Then she walks back into town like nothing ever changed.”

“And everything did.”

“Yeah.” A breeze shifts across the dock. Otis keeps singing about wasting time.

“She’s temporary,” I say quietly. “She always has been. Summers. Holidays. Now this.” I shake my head once. “Every time I start thinking past tomorrow, something reminds me not to. I keep hearing that countdown.”

Charlie leans back on his hands. “I was on scene when Maddy broke her leg.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Tripped over one of those inflatable inner tubes she insists on hanging everywhere. Went down in slow motion. Arms flailing like a whirlybird.”

“It’s not funny, but knowing Maddy, it’s funny.”