In the ensuing silence, I think about how that was true. Just a few weeks ago, I did think that way. Now that I’m sitting here across from Rowan… I don’t know if I still do. I don’t know if I want to give up on hope entirely. I don’t know if I want to believe the worst in people any longer. At least, not in her. Now I’m feeling things I haven’t felt in—in, well, a decade. She makes me wish my life was something more than burying myself in work, hanging out with friends when it gets too lonely, and casual encounters when I absolutely need human connection.
I realize how pathetic I must have looked to my parents—how they’ve seen me act this way for ten years. I really do fully understand why my mom did what she did. She couldn’t take it anymore. How long could they just watch me rot away like that? I obviously wasn’t happy. Why did I ever think I was?
I didn’t believe in love. I didn’t want love. I didn’t want to take those risks again.
And now? Now I’m sitting here thinking about taking Rowan into my arms and asking her if I can chase away the pain I can tell she still feels. I want to ask her if I can be the one to make her smile every single day. I want to make her laugh. I want to make her happy. I want her, and I don’t just want her physically. I want to share something with her that I didn’t think I was capable of sharing with anyone. Something bigger.
I’m pretty sure this is what infatuation feels like. Or maybe my brain signals are getting scrambled by lack of blood flow because I’ve been walking around in a constant state of lust. My dick has been doing most of the thinking, using up all the blood flow and oxygen in the process.
Rowan suddenly turns. She’s not smiling, but the intensity in her eyes steals my breath. “Do you think people can change?”
“Uh, I don’t know. I guess it depends.”
“Us, I mean. Me. Really change?”
“I think so. Everyone does. It’s inevitable.”
“I’m not talking about aging or changing your opinion on something, although that can be really useful. I mean, do we really change what we want and who we are? At the very center of us?”
I have to shrug. “I’m not a philosopher, so I don’t really know. I studied business, which is about as opposite from philosophy or things like that as possible.”
Rowan’s lips twitch. “But you have to have an answer. Or an opinion?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. That’s the best answer I can give. I don’t have the answers to a lot of things. All I know is I’m glad you’re here. That we’re both here right now.” I suck in a hard breath because that was not supposed to pop out. I’ve said more tonight than I’ve said in ten years, at least when it comes to deeply personal stuff.
Rowan’s expression softens, but her eyes become more guarded at the same time. Right. It’s a not so subtle reminder that neither of us was looking for this. Whatever this is.
“Cliff…”
“Rowan.”
“I’m supposed to be talking about how your date went. I’m supposed to be sitting here thinking about my last-ditch chance at finding you a good match.”
“What if I don’t want you to be thinking about any of that?”
“It’s unprofessional not to.”
“What if I don’t care? What if it isn’t? What if none of that matters? What if we’re just two people who want to enjoy a fire in a decrepit barn in the middle of nowhere? What if I’m… What if I’m just a guy who wants to kiss you right now because I think you’re beautiful and amazing?”
Rowan scoffs, but then her face goes carefully blank when she realizes I’m serious. That I’m not teasing her or arguing with her or trying to push her into whatever we usually push each other into. Sparring matches or sparks or battles of wills or whatever it is.
“Cliff…” She says my name again, but it’s different. There’s that same note of warning there, but there’s also something else. Something deeper. Darker. Wistful.
Rowan might be able to keep a straight face, but she can’t keep the desire from flooding her eyes. Her pupils explode, her lips part, her skin flushes, and the firelight illuminate all of it.
“I’m stubborn,” I blurt. “I’ve been childish. I was hurt, and I let the dagger stick in me and poison me for a long time. I have no doubt that I’m no catch. I think most relationships go to pot sooner rather than later. I don’t honestly see the point in any of it, and not just because I’m worried about getting hurt, though I have to admit it would be nice not to. I thought I’d be happy living the rest of my life as a single person. I know I have a lot of work to do. It should never have taken my mom, of all people, to make me see this. I get how none of that is remotely attractive or even complimentary. I know that the first time I saw you smile, I wanted to see it over and over and over. The first time I heard you laugh, I felt like the sun had just come out after—I don’t know—ten years of darkness or something. I also know I’d rather cut off my left nut than hurt you. And I know that right now, I want to kiss you.”
“Oh… oh, really?” Rowan whispers. The flames continue to flicker over her features, both hiding and emphasizing the play of emotion there. Uncertainty. Desire. Fear. Anticipation. Pain. Longing.
“Really.”
