HF01 - Almost Forever

by Deborah Raney

  He tapped the side of his head. “What can I say? I’m just borderline brilliant.”

  Sparky cooperated while she lifted his other paw. She pulled the rest of the shirt down around his middle and leaned back to survey the result. Sparky cocked his head as if striking a runway pose, and Bryn laughed and clapped.

  In the front seat, Garrett wasn’t having quite as much luck getting the other doggie sweater on Boss.

  “Here, let me help.” Bryn hauled Sparky across her lap to the other side of the bench seat and crawled out of the truck. She opened the passenger side door and clucked for Boss to come. Garrett handed her the sweatshirt, and between the two of them, they managed to wrestle the stubborn bulldog into it.

  When he was ensconced in the ill-fitting “sweater,” Boss gave Bryn a grumpy look. She turned his head so Garrett could see, and that set them both laughing.

  With the dogs dressed for the snow, Garrett grabbed both pairs of skates and carried them over to a snow-covered picnic table. He brushed one end of the bench clean and patted it with his gloved hand. “Sit . . . I’ll help you with your skates.”

  She obeyed, slipping off one boot at a time as he knelt in front of her and helped her into the skates. He wore a serious expression. She wondered if he was remembering the last time he and Molly had gone skating together. Was it here at the park? Had he helped his wife with her skates like this?

  She grasped for something to say. “Can you skate on top of snow?”

  “The pond was clear yesterday. I don’t think this will be too bad. At least not yet.” He looked at the sky. “I guess we’ll find out, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  He finished lacing her skate and gave her ankle a pat. “Is that too tight?”

  She put her foot down, testing. “It’s fine.”

  He patted his knee. “Next.”

  She wiggled out of her other boot and offered him her foot.

  A few minutes later, she stood on wobbly ankles clutching the edge of the picnic table while Garrett put his skates on.

  The dogs raced each other down to the pond, and Bryn held on to Garrett’s arm as they half clomped, half skated to where the ice met the banks.

  “You’re positive it’s safe?”

  “I read it in the paper.”

  “You believe everything you read in the paper?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Now you sound like my mother. And no, I don’t believe everything I read in the paper.” His face darkened. “Not since the fire.”

  “I know. Me neither.” She felt herself tensing, wishing the subject hadn’t come up. She didn’t want to talk about that day. Didn’t want to spoil the magical mood of this moment.

  Garrett must have thought the same thing, for he grabbed her hand and tugged her onto the ice. “Let’s go.”

  Squealing and flailing to regain her balance, she let him pull her along. “Slow down, Garrett. I haven’t skated since I was a kid.”

  “It’s easy. And you were going to prove that you’re not a klutz, remember?” He let loose of her hand and spun on the ice, facing her and skating backward away from her. The snow that settled on the ice was powdery, and his skates sliced through it like a knife blade through powdered sugar.

  She put her hands out in front of her and shuffled her feet, feeling wooden and clumsy.

  Garrett laughed, spun 360 degrees, and skated back toward her. “Give me your hands.”

  She let him take her hands and pull her across the ice.

  “Try to relax. You’re more likely to fall if you’re all tensed up.”

  “I’m likely to fall no matter what.” Her laughter came out warbled.

  “If you fall, you just get back up. How hard is that?”

  “Easy for you to say. Oh . . . !”

  He sped up, tightening his grip and holding her gaze. “You’re doing fine. Relax. Bend your knees and lean forward a little bit.” He tugged gently, pulling her closer to him. “Take tiny steps. Don’t try to pick your feet up. Just let them glide . . . find the rhythm.”

  She sucked in a frigid breath, forced her muscles to relax.

  “That’s better . . . see there, you can do it.”

  Gradually her whole body found the rhythm, and soon they were almost dancing on the ice, matching each other’s gait step for step. New snow swirled around them, and Sparky and Boss romped beside them. Bryn couldn’t stop smiling.

  Garrett smiled back, and in one smooth motion reversed, came alongside her, his hand at her waist. She became acutely aware of the weight of his arm around her. He took her hand, and even through the thick gloves they both wore, she could feel his warmth, his strength. She’d forgotten how much she’d loved holding hands with Adam. How safe and loved it had made her feel.

  Her toes were starting to go numb, and her face stung with the moist air, but she didn’t care. She wanted this day to go on forever.

  Bryn made it easy to think

  of her as more than a friend.

  Much more.

  17

  From the banks of the pond, Garrett stood laughing as the dogs ran circles around Bryn. She cut through the powdery snow, turning circles on the ice, improving by the minute, but still a bit wobbly solo on her skates. Molly’s skates, his conscience corrected. He brushed the thought away like a bothersome cobweb and finished lacing his boots.

  He was worn out and the snow accumulating on the pond was making it harder to skate, but Bryn seemed to have boundless energy. She’d caught on quickly and her delight in this newly acquired skill made him feel the way he did when the light came on in one of his student’s eyes after solving a pesky long-division problem.

  It had been a good day. Bryn’s company always made him feel he could carry on another day, that there was something worth living for, even though Molly was gone. Recently he had dared to entertain the idea that he and Bryn might end up together. It was too soon for either of them, but Bryn made it easy to think of her as more than a friend. Much more.

  He’d grown more cautious, distant even, with the other teachers at school, wanting to avoid any more attempts to set him up with eligible young women. He wasn’t ready to tell them about Bryn. Besides, what was there to tell? He didn’t really miss the times he and Molly had hung out with other young couples from church or from the firehouse. She’d been the gregarious one in their marriage, always planning a party or a get-together with friends. She’d often accused him of being a loner, of never needing any friends but her. He didn’t deny it. And now, if he couldn’t have Molly, he’d found the only friend he needed in Bryn.

  He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them. The snow was still coming down, and he flicked a few flakes off the sleeves of his down coat. “Are you about ready to go? It’s freezing out here.”

  “Not if you keep moving.” She glided toward him, smiling, turned a rather clumsy pirouette, and skated away with Sparky and Boss in pursuit.

  He rose and slung his skates over his shoulder. “I’ll be in the truck . . . drinking coffee.”

  At that she skated back to the edge of the pond and clomped up the slippery bank. “Okay, okay . . . but I was just getting the hang of it.”

  “We’ll come back soon so you can practice.” He extended a hand and helped her up the slippery bank. He loosened the laces of her skates and pulled them off. She changed into her boots, and they trudged back to the truck with the dogs nipping at their heels.

  With the dogs in the backseat together and Bryn in the passenger seat beside him, he started up the truck. The radio came on, and Kenny Chesney crooned a love song. Fitting. Garrett turned up the volume and put the heater on full blast.

  Bryn unscrewed the cap of the Thermos and divided what was left of the coffee between their two mugs.

  He popped the steering wheel up and sat sideways in the seat, facing Bryn as he pulled off his damp gloves. The frigid air from the heater gradually warmed, and he rubbed his hands in front of the vent.

  She placed her mug beside his on t
he dashboard and did the same. “That was fun,” she said, grinning like one of his fifth graders. She lifted her mug in a toast.

  “It was.” He scratched Boss behind the ears and took a sip of coffee. “You were getting pretty sure on your feet out there, too.”

  “I was, wasn’t I?”

  “I was talking to the dog,” he deadpanned.

  Bryn looked flustered for a minute, then he saw the memory dawn in her eyes, and she burst out laughing. “Oh, touché. You’ve just been dying to get me back with that, haven’t you?”

  He chuckled, peering at her over the rim of his mug, loving the way she looked right now with wisps of dark hair floating around her face and her cheeks rosy from the cold. Loving having her here in the truck with him. Wishing he didn’t have to take her home in a few minutes, that she could just come home with him and forget about the rest of the world.

  He’d only had Molly for a few years, but they’d made it till “death do us part.” That was almost forever.

  “What are you thinking about, so serious there?”

  He looked up to see Bryn studying him, her eyes still laughing. He didn’t want to spoil the mood. Didn’t know how to answer. He drained his mug, buying time. The warm liquid felt soothing on his throat. “I’m thinking that I . . .” But he wasn’t thinking. He was acting, almost unconsciously, not willing to let rational thought keep him from what he wanted in this moment.

  Holding her gaze, he set his coffee on the dashboard and took Bryn’s mug from her. Her hands were cool to the touch, and he rubbed them briskly between his own, warming them both. He edged closer to her on the bench seat and brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

  She looked at her lap, fidgeted with the scarf at her throat. But when her eyes met his again, he knew that she wanted this as much as he did.

  He reached up and tucked a strand of hair back under her cap, drawing her close. Her lips were warm and soft, and her mouth fit his the way it had in his dreams.

  Her arms went around his neck, and she kissed him back. When he finally pulled away, he couldn’t stop touching her, tracing a finger down her nose, outlining the cupid’s bow of her lips, cupping her smooth cheek in the palm of his hand.

  He leaned to kiss her again, and she responded in a way that made him think he needed to put this truck in gear and take the woman home. To her house. Before he did something he would regret.

  He forced himself to let her go. Fumbling under the steering column for the mechanism that put the steering wheel back in position, he slid back to his side of the cab. He dared to look over at Bryn and saw that her eyes were brimming with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

  “I’m not.”

  Her words took him aback. And didn’t fit with her tears. “I . . . I don’t know what I was thinking.” He put a hand on the gearshift.

  “You really don’t?”

  “Huh?”

  “You really don’t know what were you thinking? Are you sorry? I . . . I don’t think that was an accident.”

  He shook his head, too upset to speak. She was right. A guy didn’t just accidentally kiss a woman, did he? He sure hadn’t left home this morning planning to kiss her. But here they were. Why would he risk what they had, risk losing the only friend who understood what he was going through, just because he’d been wanting to kiss her for two weeks now?

  “Bryn, I had no business doing that.” He held up a palm and pasted on a sheepish smile. “Can we just . . . pretend that didn’t happen?”

  “Garrett . . .” She dropped her head and picked an invisible speck of lint off her ski pants. But when she looked up again, there was a spark in her soft mink eyes. “What if I told you . . . I’ve been wanting you to do that forever?”

  He siphoned a breath and opened his mouth to remind her that she used the word loosely . . . her definition of forever couldn’t mean longer than ten weeks. It was too soon. Too soon. For both of them.

  But instead of speaking the words he should have spoken, words that would put them back to where they’d been this morning—nothing more than dear friends—he moved back across the seat and folded her into his arms, kissed her over and over again, hungry for the taste of her.

  This time it was she who pushed him away, breathing hard, her shoulders lifting with each quick breath. Her hands went to her mouth, as if shielding her lips from him. Her cheeks glowed pink, and above her hidden mouth, her eyes held a smile. But her slender fingers trembled. And not from the cold. It was obvious she was as shaken as he was.

  He slid back under the steering wheel and put the truck in reverse. The snow was falling faster now, piling up in the streets. Sometimes he bucked against all that his faith required of him. Chastity, for instance. The thought made him feel guilty, but it didn’t change the fact that, right now, he wanted nothing more than to take this beautiful woman home with him and spend a snowy day making love to her in front of the fire at his apartment.

  The temptation was almost more than he could bear, and he had a feeling she felt it, too . . . that all it would take was one word, and she would come inside with him. Or at least want to.

  But because of Molly, he knew the reward of waiting, knew that as wonderful as acting on his desires might feel in the moment, he would regret it later.

  He pressed the accelerator pedal and gripped the steering wheel harder. The pickup fishtailed on the ice, and Bryn reached both hands out, steadying herself on the dashboard.

  “Sorry.”

  “I’m not.”

  He gave a nervous laugh. “I meant my driving.”

  She snickered.

  He gave her a sidewise glance. Their eyes met, and they both dissolved in laughter.

  When he pulled up to the curb in front of her townhome a few minutes later, she put a hand on the handle of the car door, then turned to Garrett and narrowed her eyes. “I’m not sorry, Garrett. I’m not.”

  He gripped the two ends of the scarf she wore and tugged her close for another kiss. “Me neither.”

  “I’ll call you, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  He let loose of her scarf, then did a double take. “Hey, isn’t that mine?”

  Bryn gave a little gasp, then giggled and dipped her head, unwinding the scarf. “I . . . meant to give it back. Really. You loaned it to me . . . that first day on the riverwalk. Remember?” She handed it to him. “Sorry.”

  “I wondered where that thing was.” He took it from her but put it back over her head and wound it around her neck, giving her one last kiss. “You keep it. I have another one.”

  She didn’t argue with him but wrapped the scarf tighter, hugging herself. Almost like she wished it was him.

  They were skating

  dangerously close

  to a topic they’d

  best leave alone.

  18

  The phone rang not ten minutes after Garrett dropped Bryn off. She had just dried Sparky off and was heading to the shower to get ready for work.

  Caller ID displayed Garrett’s number. She smiled and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Hi.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

  “Hi. What’s wrong? Did you change your mind about the scarf?” she teased.

  He laughed. “No, but I wondered if you’d changed your mind.” His laughter died. “About us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He exhaled into the phone and his words came out in a breathless gush. “It’s just that . . . I know you’re going to start thinking through everything that happened today—between us. And it’s not going to make sense. It’s going to seem like we were just acting on our loneliness. Like it’s way too soon for either of us to be thinking about having anyone else in our lives.”

  He paused. But when she didn’t say anything, he rambled on. “If you call up one of your girlfriends, she’s going to freak out and say, ‘Are you crazy?’ and if you tell your dad, he’s going to try to convince you that I’m taking advantage of
you, and how could I possibly care about you when I’ve barely had time to grieve my own loss and how could you even think about another man when you’ve just lost your own husband and—”

  “Garrett—” She closed her eyes and a picture of Adam materialized behind her eyelids. A wave of longing—for her husband—washed over her, stronger than any grief she’d felt in the beginning. Oh, babe . . .

  She forced her focus back to Garrett’s voice, not wanting to go where her thoughts threatened to carry her. Garrett rambled off his list of the thousand and one reasons—all good, reasonable reasons—that they shouldn’t be together.

  And he was right. Her father would say those things, and if she told her friends—the few she’d kept in touch with since the fire—they would coo well-meaning platitudes. But she would see the judgment in their eyes. Especially Jenna, whose own loss was identical. She could already hear her friend’s lecture—or the one she would have given if they were on speaking terms: It’s way too soon, give yourself some time to grieve, don’t jump into anything for at least a year . . .

  Bottom line, all the advice would mean the same thing: what could you possibly be thinking?

  “Garrett.” She tried again to get a word in edgewise.

  “Huh?”

  She forced a laugh. “I know all that. Okay? And you’re right. Everyone will probably tell us it’s too soon. But how can they know that if they haven’t been where we are?”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “We won’t do anything stupid. We’ll take it slow.”

  “We will?” He laughed. “I mean, we will.”

  “Right.” How they were going to take it slow when all she wanted to do was kiss him again, feel the warmth of his arms around her . . . she didn’t know. She cleared her throat. “Is that the end of your speech?”

  “Why?”

  “Some of us have to go to work, you know.”

  “Oh. Sorry. The library’s open?”

  “As far as I know. Myrna hasn’t called anyway. The president has to declare a national disaster before she’ll close the place. I think she thinks we’re the post office or something.”