CHAPTER 12
Rowan
Cliff doesn’t move. I don’t move. We’re both frozen in place in this terrible, amazing dance we’re doing without even moving. My mouth is suddenly so dry that I can’t swallow. I can feel my breath coming rapidly, my chest rising and falling. Harder. Faster.
I realize I’m looking at Cliff’s mouth. I quickly snatch my eyes away. I want to kiss him. I want him to kiss me. I suddenly want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything. Not only is my entire body rippling with awareness, but my skin is also prickling with fear. Can we start this? Should we? Would it really be starting anything? We haven’t had the best experiences. I don’t think either of us truly believes that romance and love work out. At least not for people like us. For other people, maybe.
Do I really think that? If that’s true, what happened to me? Did Calvin break the best parts of me? Did I let him do that? Or did I do it to myself after? Was Cliff right the night he said I’m just as broken as everyone else? Do I just mask it well? How can I arrange people’s happily-ever-afters and not believe in it myself?
“Cliff,” I breathe. His name comes out like I’m begging him, though for what I can’t be sure. Am I begging him to kiss me? Or not to kiss me?
I don’t know what I’m doing, but suddenly, I’m standing. I’m standing, and I’m studying the fire because it’s the only safe place to look. I feel like it’s an apt metaphor. If I take one more step, I’ll be in the heart of the flames.
Cliff stands too, so quickly that his lawn chair folds in on itself and crashes to the ground. I nearly jump straight into the fire at the noise, and he glances behind him. Suddenly, he laughs. It’s a nice sound. Masculine. Husky. It sounds really, really good on him. It’s also infectious, and soon I’m laughing too, even though I’m not entirely sure why. I just know it feels good. It releases the tension building between us.
I whirl away from the fire. I walk fast, but instead of retreating from the barn, I walk further in. There are old stalls there, sagging and decrepit, but still holding up. There are old horse tacks on the walls and a stool in one corner. It looks like an old milking stool, and I have to smile just thinking about what this place would look like restored to its former glory.
“I think you should fix it up,” I whisper. I don’t think Cliff hears me, but when I turn around, he’s standing just a few feet away. My heart skitters wildly.
“Really? You don’t think it would ruin its ancient aura?”
“No.” I glance around again. There’s a hayloft in the far corner. Strands of ancient hay still cling to the boards. Silvery cobwebs are illuminated in just about every corner of the place. In daylight, I’m sure there would be a thousand streams of light making their way through the gaps in the boards. “Maybe. I don’t know. Part of this makes me feel kind of sad. Part of it is really beautiful. I keep thinking about what it looked like when it was brand new. And how it looks now. How time has broken it.”
“Has it?” Cliff folds his arms over his chest, making his leather jacket creak and groan in protest even though it isn’t even that tight. I shiver again when I think about the play of his muscle and bone below.
“I don’t know. I guess so. Doesn’t it break all of us?”
“A few weeks ago, I would have said yes.”
Boom, boom, boom, crash—the sound of my heart furiously beating against my ribs then stopping altogether. “And now?”
“Time is inevitable. I keep hearing all these self-help-quotes about really living, not just existing. I always thought they were stupid.”
“They are stupid.” I can’t help it. I have to smile just a little. “When they’re put that way. The message isn’t, but we see it so often that it just gets cheesy after a while and ruins the intent in the first place.”
“I don’t know if this place just existed or if it really lived,” Cliff says gently.
His eyes meet mine, and my stomach pinches hard. If I said other parts weren’t humming and throbbing right along with my rapid heartbeat and crazy pulse—well, I can’t say it. I can’t even think it with a straight face. Whatever has been happening between us from the first second is undeniable. I don’t know what it is. I don’t even know if I want to put a term on it, but it’s there. Shimmering in the air between us—and no, it’s not just the weird heat waves coming off the fire and meeting the cold air.
“I guess if you rebuilt it, you could find out.”
Why did I say that? Am I even talking about the barn? I should tell Cliff that I’m blowing smoke out of my ass and ask him to take me home. I should tell him that if his last date didn’t work out, which I’m now sure it didn’t, I’d send him his third profile tomorrow afternoon. I should be thinking about my job. About my work. About how wrong being here technically kind of is, but I’m not. I’m not thinking about any of that.
Cliff takes a few steps forward. He walks toward me purposefully but gently, as if he’s scared he might scare me off. Or maybe he’s scared he might scare himself off. I don’t know. I just know my brain suddenly goes haywire and stops sending me signals about thinking about things. Instead, it starts sending me physical shocks that I feel
