Waiting for April

by Jaime Loren

“No.” He turned to me. “I built it.”

  The air was sucked from my lungs. Each polished board, each nail, each brushstroke of paint—all put here by Scott William Parker. I wanted to run my fingers over every inch of this cabin and feel every second of heartfelt labor, every delicately smoothed line from floor to ceiling. “When did you do this?”

  “1949.”

  Sadness weighed at my limbs. “This is where you came after I died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why here?” My chest tightened.

  “Because this is where you were the night before you died.”

  I lifted my hand to my mouth. It didn’t get much more romantic than that—a man building a house in the place where his soul mate had been the night before she died. If you didn’t count the fact he’d waited for me in each of my lifetimes, that was. Or the fact he’d tried to save me nineteen times. Or the fact he’d been faithful to me for almost three hundred years …

  “Come here,” he said, slipping his hand into mine and pulling me toward the door. We crept down the stairs and walked past Henry snoring on the couch.

  It was bright outside. I lifted one hand to shield my blurry eyes as Scott rubbed his thumb over my other hand. With each heartbeat—each step—memories came flooding in …

  Scott leading me by the hand when we were only toddlers …

  Building sandcastles when we were no more than seven …

  Mud fights at the age of ten …

  Arguing at thirteen …

  Stolen glances at fifteen …

  His touch melted me through. The grass was soft beneath my feet, and the warm sand slipped between my toes when we reached the shore.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, my heart already racing.

  “We’re going in the water.”

  “But I don’t have my swimsuit on.”

  He scooped me into his arms, his eyes never leaving mine as he carried me toward the water. His muscles were hard beneath his shirt. I didn’t know where to put my arms, my hands, my head. When I looked down to see where the water was up to on him, he tightened his hold. Our mouths came dangerously close when I swiveled my head back to his.

  “I won’t drop you,” he said.

  “I know.”

  “I’d never do anything to hurt you, April.”

  I nodded and slid my arms around his neck. “I know.”

  He took a few more steps, the water now level with the belt of his jeans as far as I could tell. I could feel the resistance of the water against him; his abdominal muscles tightened against my left hip. And then he stopped.

  “This is it. This is where we shared our first kiss in 1949.”

  “In the water?”

  He jerked his head toward the dock. “I’d already built the dock, hoping you’d agree to a first date.” He focused his eyes on the end of it. “You did, and we had dinner under the stars, surrounded by lanterns.”

  Strawberries and champagne for dessert. My heart swelled. I remembered that, too.

  “Then we went for a swim.” His mouth turned up. “Or rather—you pushed me in when I reached over to stop our bottle of champagne from rolling off the edge of the dock.”

  “You probably deserved it,” I said with a tear in my eye.

  He chuckled. “You’re probably right. And I think I hit the bottom of the lake before the champagne bottle did.”

  I smiled and bit my lip. Scott’s eyes grew distant as the expression fell from his face. I squeezed him. “I want to know more.”

  His brow furrowed, only slightly. “Full disclosure?”

  “Yes.” My voice was hoarse.

  He nodded slowly. “I stood right here … and you stood up there,” he said, motioning toward the dock again. “And you were laughing and saying something about how you expected me to put up more of a fight. I can’t remember your exact words, because while you were talking, you were unbuttoning your blouse.”

  My heart pounded.

  “You kicked off your shoes and unbuttoned your skirt …” he stopped and gave me a tight-lipped smile. “But I guess you don’t want to hear all that.”

  “Tell me,” I whispered.

  Scott swallowed hard. “You stopped laughing when you saw the look on my face. Your skirt fell to the planks and you stepped out of it …” His breathing grew somewhat heavier, which made mine falter. “I felt like an idiot, standing in waist-deep water, fully clothed, while you peeled your underwear off. I was almost too scared to look at you.”

  “But you did?”

  He exhaled sharply. “Yes.” He pulled me harder against him, but I don’t think he realized. I didn’t mind. In fact, I was tempted to shed my clothes for him right now just to see the look on his face.

  “You jumped in, and I started to panic when you didn’t resurface for a good ten seconds. I was scared you’d bumped your head, or been caught in a sunken log.” His eyes held mine. “But then you surfaced right in front of me, wrapped your arms around my neck, and kissed me.” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together, as if he could still taste mine.

  Kiss me. Please, kiss me?

  He opened his eyes. “If that was the only kiss we’d ever shared, I could have lived off that memory for the rest of eternity.”

  “We didn’t do anything else?”

  He grinned, caught in reverie. “You slipped from my arms and climbed back onto the dock, smiling from ear to ear as you got dressed again.”

  The giggle started in my chest, swelling and rolling up until it crept from my lips. Scott nodded.

  I covered my mouth. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice of me.”

  “Well it was, and it wasn’t. I couldn’t get out of the water for a good ten minutes after that.”

  “Why not?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “Let’s just say I needed a good … two-foot berth.”

  I laughed, then. Hard.

  “I’m glad you still find that amusing,” he said, chuckling.

  It was a minute or so before we stopped laughing, by which time I’d lowered my head to his shoulder. “That was a good story.”

  “Yeah. It was a good night.”

  I lifted my head and patted him on the cheek. “See? You can be funny sometimes.”

  He smiled drily. “Thanks. I’m glad I could make you smile.”

  “Is that why you brought me down here? To cheer me up?”

  His smile faded. “Well, I’m getting the feeling half of your sadness is because you feel sorry for me.”

  I chewed my lip, not bothering to deny it. I hated the fact that I was destined to keep dying, but most of all, I hated the fact he was stuck like this because of my deaths.

  “So, one reason I brought you down here was because I wanted to show you there is no reason to be sad about why I built the cabin here. There are good memories here. We have good memories, whether you can recall them or not. Life isn’t about how long you live—it’s about how you live. And when we’re together, April, we are truly alive.”

  Aaaaaaaand I’m head over heels in love with Scott Parker.

  Again.

  My focus was now on his lips. “What’s the other reason?”

  “Oh, yes. There was another reason.”

  I hoped that reason was to pick up where we’d left off in 1949 …

  He stood up straighter, boosting me in his arms. The jolt snapped me out of my daze long enough to notice the devious look in his eyes.

  “There comes a time in everybody’s life,” he said, “or lives, when it comes to you, that they must pay for the wrongs they’ve committed in the past.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Huh?”

  “If you recall my story, you pushed me into this lake—”

  “What? No! You said you didn’t put up much of a fight!”

  “No, you accused me of not putting up much of a fight,” he corrected.

  I tightened my grip on him and shook my head. “You said you wouldn’t drop me! Scott!” I squealed as he loosened
his grip.

  He laughed and pulled me hard against him again. “No, you’re right. I did promise I wouldn’t drop you.”

  I exhaled, and relaxed.

  And then he quickly lowered us both into the water.

  I squealed again, the cold water seeping through my clothes, and dug my nails into him as I clung on for dear life. “You bastard!” I cried with laughter. “I can’t believe you—ah, Jesus, it’s cold!”

  He grinned from ear to ear. “See, I didn’t drop you. And now we’re even.”

  Considering I was already wet, I wriggled out of his arms and placed my feet on the hard floor of the lake. I shoved his chest and glared before making my way back to shore. Once my back was turned on him, my smile reappeared. In fact, I couldn’t wipe it away.

  One yard became two, and two became three before I heard the movement of water behind me. I was covered in goose bumps, and they weren’t all due to the cold. They were due to the realization I loved Scott Parker. I was in love with Scott Parker.

  I always had been, and I always would be, and no amount of dying would ever change that.

  He chuckled softly behind me, obviously still pleased with himself. So, feeling reckless, I turned around and walked straight up to him.

  He stopped. His smile faded as I approached and slid my hands up his chest, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him down to my lips.

  Smooth. Warm. Moist. Fireworks. There was no other way to describe the feel of his mouth on mine. When the shock left him and he responded, I’d never felt anything so tender, so focused. His tongue found mine, and I let myself go, the way I hadn’t been free to do a few nights ago. The tips of his fingers brushed against my waist as our bodies pressed together. The water was cold, but the feeling low in my belly was hot, and quickly migrating down. I was throbbing, aching, quivering in all the right places as our tongues danced slowly together.

  I remembered his lips tracing my collar bone as we lay in the field, nearly three hundred years ago …

  The feel of his thigh between my legs, pressing against me, making me all too aware of just how ready I was for him …

  The way I took his hand and placed it on my breast, and the way he moaned, softly, as his thumb brushed over my nipple …

  God, I wanted more. Now. Much more. Would that be too fast? Probably. Did I care? Not right at this moment. But we weren’t alone at the cabin.

  I drew back. The hunger in Scott’s eyes was a look I could definitely get used to.

  “Did that just happen?” he asked.

  I nodded, enthralled by his mouth, his eyes, his body … I licked my lips, tasting him one last time, and stepped away, keen to get one up on him again after he’d dunked me. His fingers slipped from my waist as I turned and headed back to the shore. The water pulled at my skirt. My top clung to my skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. When I reached the grass I turned around. Scott hadn’t moved.

  “Are you going to stand there all day?” I asked, fighting back the tug I felt in the corner of my mouth.

  He placed his hands on his hips, looked left and right, and then down at his crotch before meeting my eyes again. “No. Just another ten minutes. Maybe more.”

  A huge smile broke across my face, my heart thundering in my chest.

  I turned back for the cabin while I still had some self-control.

  Chapter 21

  (Scott)

  After dinner I dusted off the chessboard from the office and challenged April to a best of three, and we settled on the floor by the fire in the dimly lit living room. After twenty minutes and the loss of nine pieces, I found myself in a spot of trouble.

  “You make a formidable opponent, Miss Fletcher.”

  She pulled her hair free from its band. “I thought you’d be better than this, considering you’ve had hundreds of years to practice.”

  A devious spark lit her narrowed eyes, setting me on fire. The taste of her lips, despite my shower, had lingered for the rest of the day. So had other repercussions of that fleeting moment.

  “How about we up the ante and the loser of this game makes me dessert?” she said.

  I scoffed. “Let’s not get ahead of our … selves …”

  The words had barely left my mouth when she knocked out my queen and smiled innocently, batting her eyelashes.

  I groaned and lowered my head.

  Every. Single. Time.

  I looked up to find her sitting there, examining her nails. “I like my chocolate mousse extra fluffy, thank you, Mr. Parker.”

  I smiled and helped her to her feet, electricity humming from my head to my toes. It was the first time we’d touched since we’d been in the lake.

  April took a seat on the counter as I searched the fridge.

  “I, my dearest girl, could make you the most delicious chocolate mousse you’ve ever tasted in your life.”

  “That’s a pretty big call. I’ve had many lives,” she replied with a hint of a smile in her voice.

  “I work best under pressure,” I assured her as I turned around, juggling the ingredients and pulling out the necessary utensils at the same time.

  She laughed. “Let me guess—you spent a decade at clown school somewhere along the line?”

  “Me? No. This is natural talent. I’ve never done this before in my life.” I winked. “Here,” I said as I threw her an egg.

  She squealed as she caught it, and I wiggled my eyebrows, threatening to throw her another one. “I can’t!” she whispered harshly, looking toward the kitchen door.

  Henry. Of course. It would be best not to wake him.

  I juggled two eggs in one hand as I walked over and slid the door closed. “Then throw that one back to me?” I returned to the counter with my back to her.

  “I know you’re talented, but you don’t have eyes in the back of your head. Unless there’s something else you’re not telling me …”

  “I’m not asking you to throw it at my head. Over it would suffice,” I suggested as I stepped back to make room.

  She giggled. “Okay. Here goes.”

  The egg appeared over my shoulder, and I let it fall, causing April to quickly suck in air. But then I caught it on my shoe and flicked it up to bring it back into the juggle.

  “Bullshit! Where did you learn to do that?”

  I placed the eggs down on the bench behind me. “You, actually.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re capable of many things.”

  She gave me a melancholy smile. “Did we … argue a lot? As friends, we seem to argue a lot, but it—”

  “We used to fight like cat and dog.”

  “We did?”

  “It’s amazing we stopped arguing long enough for me to plant that first kiss. Up until that day in the field our relationship was like a Mexican standoff.”

  She smiled warmly. I think she understood. Our relationship wasn’t all that different now. “What made that day in the field so different?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think anything changed. I think we’d always felt that way about each other. We fought passionately, and we loved each other passionately.”

  We made love passionately, too. But that wasn’t something I could speak freely about. She nodded and looked down, and I continued with the mousse.

  “Is it weird that I’m her? Just another girl in a long line of girls you’ve loved?”

  I spun around. “What?”

  She fiddled with her sweater. “Sorry if I’m asking too many questions.”

  “No, I like that you want to know these things.” I walked over and carefully took her hands in mine. “The first thing you need to know, though, is that you’re you, April. You might not have all the memories, but you are all the same person. One person. Every time, you’re you.”

  “Right down to the name.”

  I smiled. “It does make you easier to find.”

  “Why am I always … me? Why not … I don’t know—Buffy McCracken?”

  I burst out laughing.
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  Her grin was wide.

  “My guess is that … each time, you are who you were always supposed to be. Clearly something went awry when you died, otherwise I wouldn’t be stuck like this.”

  “So I was born into some random Fletcher family and named April Anne because I was always fated to be April Anne Fletcher? Body and all?”

  “That’s my theory.”

  Her smile softened as her eyes searched mine. “Is there not even one thing different about my body?”

  I removed my hands from hers and trailed my fingers down the back of her neck. “You have a mole, here,” I told her, sliding my finger onto her shoulder, just inside her sweater. “It’s only small, so usually your bra strap covers it, but it’s there.”

  Her cheeks filled with color, but her eyes didn’t leave mine. Touching her, even a little touch like this, made me burn so deep I was sure I’d explode.

  “What else?” she whispered.

  “You can curl your tongue.”

  She smiled before poking her tongue out and curling it. “Can you?”

  “No.”

  Her eyes fixed on my mouth anyway.

  I picked up a lock of her hair. “You grow it to the same length in every life.”

  She scrunched her nose. “Really? How the hell did I survive without a straightener?”

  I sought her eyes. “I like it no matter which way you style it.”

  “You’re biased,” she said as she tapped my leg with her foot.

  “I don’t deny that.”

  She laughed and reached up to touch my hair, sending waves of pleasure through me, coaxing the fire toward the surface again. “Fate must love your hair. You’ve been frozen in time with a perfect style. Not too long, not too short. It sits perfectly. Stylishly.”

  I chuckled. “Well, that all depends on which decade it is.”

  “I like it,” she said. “Surfer boy.”

  My heart raced that little bit faster when the inside of her foot pressed against my leg and lingered, rubbing it. I moved closer, grateful when she parted her knees and used them to grip my waist.

  I pulled my eyebrows together. “You have a small birthmark on your left hip.”

  “It’s heart-shaped,” she replied, a little breathless. Her eyes wandered to my mouth again.