Page 4 of Love Again

The moment I see her standing by that old beat-up Corolla, the breath leaves my body. It’s as if I don’t need to breathe. I could stand here forever—if I could freeze time.

My mind floods with all the questions I know she has, and as she fires them off, I almost can’t hear her. Her questions, the anticipated questions, the answers I can give and not give, are all tossed together and render me mute. All I can do is stare at her.

Devon is beyond beautiful. She has this ethereal quality to her skin, her body, her bones, that transfixes me. This happens every time I see her. Her force, her energy, is contagious, and you need to get on board or get lost. I chose to get on board and hung on for as long as I could.

The first time I really saw her, it was like this. She was getting out of that very same car. It was three years ago, and the Corolla, though used, was newer, shinier, and Max kept telling me this girl was awesome. She was part of a new recruit unit—fresh out of college with a double major in forestry and fire management, then fast-tracked into the Colorado smokejumpers program. She had on denim shorts, a sleeveless buttoned shirt that was tied at the waist in a cute, throwback way, sneakers, and this long, straight black hair that glittered like obsidian in the sunlight.

Her lips parted and she said something to me, but I was already a goner. Max slapped me on the shoulder to try and get my tongue to work, and she laughed. But she and I never spoke, and she shipped to a different unit.

We met again two months later under very different circumstances.

She had no idea how beautiful she was.

Watching her now, she probably still doesn’t.

This morning, she’s dressed in shorts—a little brave for early spring in Maine—and for someone so small, her legs just keep going. Long, slender, powerful, with well-defined calves that taper to delicate ankles. She’d hate that word: delicate.

She’s wearing a blue, cotton button-up shirt, open at the neck with the sleeves rolled to her elbows. She swims in it. A white T-shirt is layered underneath. And her hair—it still glitters—is in a thick, tidy bun that leaves the small, long shallows of her neck revealed like soft secrets.

I can practically breathe her in. If only I could remember how to breathe.

I wish this morning had unfolded differently.

The move from Colorado last month was hard, I admit. I didn’t want to leave, but I had little say in the matter. I’ve had plenty of time to think about this, about showing up in her life again.

And I failed to do it with any grace.

Now she’s sitting on the edge of the seat, looking at both of us, and her eyes widen. Those green eyes of hers ignite.

“Oh my God,” she says. “You’re . . . oh my God.” Her shoulders sag in defeat.

With Devon, there’s always a battle somewhere.

Keller says it before I can straighten out an explanation in my mind.

“Luke’s my brother. He never mentioned a brother?”

Her hands are over her face. When she drops them, she’s trying to connect all the dots. “Of course he did. But you’re from Wayne. And L…” She swallows my name and points in my direction. “He’s from Orono!”

She glances back and forth between us.

“Half brother,” I say and dig my hands into my pockets.

She still volleys her glance between us.

“Different dads, same mom,” I try to explain. I didn’t add that they’ve all passed now.

Color pricks her cheeks and a blush spreads. She’s pissed.

“Do you mean to tell me,” she starts, rising from her seat and heading in Keller’s direction, “that all this time you were talking to him about me?” She points to me. “About my family? The Inn? My private business?”

My brother looks genuinely hurt.

“No, of course not.”

“Nothing?” Her lips press together.

Keller shoots me a look of desperation, which, given his massive face, is almost comical.