“Do you ever grow out your hair?” The question poured out of her, subconscious obviously fixated on his head.
He peered at her. “What an odd question.”
“I know. I know it is.”
“Sometimes. Not in a long while. I grew it out for those first two years home, though.”
“Why?”
“I needed to be anyone but me.”
“You’re you no matter what your hair looks like.”
He gave a self-effacing shrug that was so vulnerable she almost cried.
“It’s easier to manage when I shave it.”
“Would you grow it out for me?”
“Why?”
“So I can see the you I wasn’t there to see?”
“I’m not that guy anymore.”
“You are, though, Gerald.” She leaned into him, her arm pressing against his, the scent of his soap so familiar. When they’d had rare civilian time together, he’d used a soap-aftershave combo that was distinctive. She’d smelled it for years after coming home, bracing herself for disappointment when the odor turned out not to be real.
She’d been chasing something that wasn’t there.
Someone.
“Have you had a serious relationship?” he asked, giving her a look that said if she could ask unexpected questions about his appearance, he could up the ante. “Been married?” His voice went gruff on that one.
“Yes and no.”
He winced. “Right.” She felt his hand go dead in hers.
“Hey. You asked.”
“I did. And I’m glad to hear it.”
“Glad?”
“Glad you moved on.”
“I never really did, though. I just thought I did.”
“What are we doing, Suz? Catching up on old times?”
“I don’t know. We’re talking in circles.”
He stood, pulled out his wallet, and put money on the table. “Let’s walk in circles, then. I have to get out of here.”
She stood, following him out, waving at the server.
His arm went around her waist nice and easy, as if it belonged there, as if a decade hadn’t passed.
“You really haven’t aged.”
“Three years of law school and seven years to make partner took years off my life, Gerald. I have under-eye circles that could double as football player smudges.”
“No. You’re radiant. You’re sharper than ever and you carry yourself with more confidence. It’s like you became more of the Suzanne I knew.” When he smiled, his whole face changed. Melting into that grin would be so easy.
She patted her hip. “A little more.”
“Not that.” His hand covered hers, pinning her palm against the slope of her rounded hip, down to her ass. “You’re more attractive than when I last saw you. Some women lose their shine over time. Your flame just burns brighter.”
And with that, they stopped, the kiss a quiet agreement.
Could the past be just the past? She sank into the kiss, wanting to taste his regret, wanting to feel his atonement, needing him to know her pain. Moving beyond these lost ten years meant doing more than acknowledging the wrongs.
They had to make certain not to make the same mistakes again.
They had to be different people this time.
Yet she hadn’t fundamentally changed.
As his tongue parted her lips, she tightened her grip on his arm, toe-to-toe with him, his hands like bands of steel around her waist, his chest warm against hers. They were right in the middle of the sidewalk, the first hint of autumn chill soaking into her bones, yet she basked in his warmth.
He was here, his mouth against hers, his graceful hands kneading her spine, fingers tracing up as if memorizing. She wondered if he’d sculpted her. Were there statues of the Suzanne she’d been ten years ago? The thought wasn’t preposterous; he’d done stunning sculptures of her, tiny statues he kept in his pocket, the clay hard-baked from the heat in Afghanistan, the tokens emotionally stirring for her.
In his wholly unique way, Gerald viewed her body as a lens through which he saw the world, and his hands recreated a permanent talisman of that vantage point. How could she resist?
His body language was so clear, the eagerness making her heart quicken, the hunger to touch stronger than the need for decency. He broke the kiss first with a breathless hitch, then blinked, breathing hard.
“Come back to my place,” they said at the same time, with the same weight of a decade pulling their words down, into a register where desire had waited to be unleashed.
“You choose,” he insisted, deferring to her in an unnatural way. “It’s only fair.”
“How is that fair?” she challenged.
“Because I never gave you a choice ten years ago.”
She didn’t argue, because really, why?
“My place, then,” she said, pulling his hand toward the T. “I want you to meet someone.”
“Gerald, meet Smoochy. Smoochy, this is Gerald,” Suzanne said as she pulled her keys out of the lock, the half-opened front door to her condo letting the hot air from the non-air-conditioned hall into her living room.
“You have a dog? You? You hate dogs!” Gerald said, his rumbling laughter making his chest shake as the little white puffball sniffed his feet, making him step back and sit down on Suzanne’s couch.
“I do not!” She handed him a beer.
“You did when I knew you. Said we could never have one,” he argued. The little bichon frise climbed into his lap, settled down with her chin on his thigh, and closed her eyes.
“She likes you,” Suzanne noted with a smile. “Smoochy doesn’t like everyone.”