Page 37 of Meet Me Back Here

“He’s exactly like you described him,” she says, lifting her chin and jerking her head toward the dance floor.

By the edge of the ring so they don’t cause any collisions, Melina’s brother Cristian and our other friend Ava are both still shouting footwork at Forrest as he tries to keep up with the crowd of cowboy-hat-clad people. It’s not going very well at all, but all three are red-faced from laughing so hard.

“He’s a good man.” I sigh and take a long drink from my bottle.

“I’m still surprised he’s here with you, after everything.” Melina is the only person who knows why I came to Arizona the first time.

I wanted a fresh start here, so as far as everybody else knows, it was just a simple school transfer for a great writing program. With how close Melina and I were, I was safe to tell her my fears and my mistakes. How poorly I handled leaving Forrest, and how guilty I felt about it after the fact. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to tell someone until I told her.

“Important things survive.” I look over at her, finding rich mahogany eyes staring into mine. “You and I did.”

“We did.” She smiles brightly and pushes her long, dark curls over her shoulder. Her expression becomes serious again. “So, you’re ok? You talked things out? Told him how you were feeling?”

I know my face gives me away from the way Melina narrows her eyes at me.

“Camilla…” The accusation in her voice is clear. “You did talk, right?”

“I—” I have nothing good to say.

“You know you have to⁠—”

“If we’re just friends, do I though? Can’t I just let us be happy?” I look down at my now empty bottle and start peeling strips of the label off. I know I should talk to Forrest, just to close that door and clear the air. But is it wrong of me to just want to move forward? “I don’t want to fight with him about it.”

“You are stronger than this. You don’t need to be afraid,” she says softly. “He’d be a fucking fool to let you go again.”

“But what if he does? What if bringing it all back up again breaks us for good this time?” I ask, voicing one of my deepest fears to the person who has proven she will hold my secrets safe.

“No man who looks at you like that is going to let anything take you away again,” she says with a knowing smirk.

“Like what?” I ask, looking between her and the dance floor, where I see Forrest’s eyes dart back to Cristian. I can’t tell what Melina thinks she saw. “It’s nothing. We’re just friends. He’s spoken for.”

“Someday you’ll see it,” Melina says with a shake of her head.

She taps the neck of her bottle against mine before stepping around me and onto the dance floor, the overhead lights making her bronze skin glow.

Cristian and Ava look to Melina when she shouts that she’ll show them how it’s done, but Forrest’s eyes slide to mine. I give him a little wave, and he jogs over to me.

“You can’t bring me line dancing and then just watch from the sidelines,” he says once he reaches me, a brilliant smile bringing out the often-hidden dimple on his cheek.

I scrutinize his face, trying to figure out the look Melina was talking about. Is this it? This is just happy Forrest. His hair is curling more than usual from sweat, and he’s still flushed from a mix of his sunburn and the heat in here, but he looks so alive, free.

“What?” Forrest asks as he takes off his glasses to wipe sweat from his face with one of the little cocktail napkins on the counter before me. I try to figure him out like one of those optical illusions that pops out toward you when you cross your eyes.

“Nothing,” I say, shaking my head. “I was just taking a break. Let’s go.”

I turn and immediately crash into somebody.

“Sorry,” I say, getting my footing and hopping back from the tall man in a cowboy hat.

“No, I’m sorry. My fault,” he says, before he looks me down and back up and smiles a Cheshire cat smile that makes my skin crawl. He smells like old beer and sweat. “Can I buy you a drink to apologize?”

I’m about to decline when a strong voice comes from my side.

“No,” Forrest says clearly, drawing both mine and the cowboy’s attention. It must be a trick of the light, but his eyes look like an inferno.

Cowboy looks between me and Forrest before taking a step back, hands held in front of him, palms out in surrender.

“Ope,” he chuckles, but Forrest doesn’t smile back. “Alright, alright. Sorry then.” Then he actually tips his hat at us and walks away, stumbling a little to one side as he goes.