Page 113 of Hidden & Held

I open the door of my childhood home, waving to my parents as we step out. Phoenix is ahead, strutting toward my car. Her hips are back to their natural movements with the boot gone, including the sway I always made sure to catch secret glances of. Before she puts her hand on the car door, I accelerate forward.

“Excuse me, that’s my job,” I say, placing my hand on top of hers on the handle. Awareness runs through me as her breath hitches at the contact.

“Thank you, kind sir.” She steps back, letting me open the door for her.

She easily gets herself into the car, ankles crossing over one another in the front seat. And once again, I am struck with the nostalgia of missing that old Ford, needing to help her in. Closing the door, I jog over to the driver’s side, anxious for my surprise.

“Ready for this long drive back? You going to fill the silence with any past show tunes?” she chides.

“Only if you want me to, Sugar.” I lower my voice and see her breath hitch. Good. She isn’t as unaffected by me as she tries to show.

“Actually, we have a pit stop to make first. Shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes to get there.” Her brow quirks up as she eyes me suspiciously but doesn’t poke further.

Five minutes into the drive, the unexpected happens. Phoenix leans toward me, putting her elbow on the center console and sliding her smooth hand into the crook of my elbow.

It’s one of the first physical gestures she’s initiated since I ruined everything, and I want to stop time and live in this moment. Her thumb gently strokes my bicep, and I force my eyes to stay on the road.

The ride is comfortably silent as we watch the variety of trees pass from oaks to firs, in all shades of green, as the setting sun dances through the leaves.

A weathered wood sign hanging on cast iron posts appears, reading “The Quiet Bend.”

“We’re here.”

Driving on the gravel path, a smattering of cottages dot the scenery overlooking the Willamette River. I pull up to cabin four, the one with the best patio and view of the meandering water.

“And where exactly is here?” Phoenix questions.

“This is the place I always dreamed of taking you.”

“Jackson—”

“Don’t worry, I got myself a room at the motel half a mile down the road. I don’t expect anything. I … I spent so long imagining you sitting on the rocking chair, sipping a glass of cabernet, watching the sunset over the river. I wanted you to have that peace.”

She’s not looking at me but at the green riverbanks, long grass blowing in the breeze.

“If you don’t want to stay here, I understand; I can take you home tonight.”

“So this is why you had me pack a bag ‘just in case.’”

I shrug. “It’s always a good idea to be prepared with an overnight bag when traveling over the pass. You never know what could happen.”

Phoenix faces the river and her shoulders drop, only a centimeter, but it’s enough.

“This place is beautiful. Serene.”

“It is,” I say, looking at her, not the view. “I also got you the upgraded package with the fuzzy robe and slippers you get to keep.”

“Jackson,” she starts, then turns from the cottage to face me. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Let me get you settled, then I will head out.”

Back at my car, I grab her bag from the trunk. Phoenix is already standing outside the cottage, not in any hurry to go in.

“I love these window boxes.” She traces the edge of one, herbs spilling over the sides. “I keep thinking about doing them at home. Doesn’t really work on the duplex, though.”

I smile, watching her—the way she looks at something and already sees what it could be.

I punch in the code, and the cottage door creaks open.