Page 172 of Older
I’m coming into town next week to finalize the design with the architect. I’ll be flying in on Monday. Just a heads up.
Reed
Acid burned cavities in my throat.
It wasn’t like we hadn’t communicated over the years, considering I worked for his company and manned the communication aspects of the job. But every time I read over his words, or listened to the rich baritone of his voice on the other end of the phone line, time had a way of narrowing to nothing, all my hard-fought progress withering to dust.
Be strong, Halley.
Stay strong.
I shot back a quick, impersonal response that conveyed none of the still-open wounds carved into my essence and closed out the screen.
Thank you. We’re looking forward to the visit.
—Halley
In my imagination and varicolored daydreams, if I ever saw Reed again, I’d be a picture of regal beauty, dolled-up to the max with curls in my air, ruby stain on my lips, and wearing the sexiest dress fresh off the rack. My strut toward him would be a slow-motion glide of seduction and grace.
He’d be mesmerized, no doubt.
In reality, I was flat on my back after taking a miscalculated kick to the stomach by Mrs. Bronson, sweating profusely from every crevice as I wheezed out a lung. My hair was in shambles, my face painted in blood-red splotches, and my athletic shorts were riding up my ass.
Cartoon birds flitted behind my eyes as the ceiling blurred and a distorted face came into view above me. I blanched the moment the birds evaporated and the image cleared.
“Reed?”
An amused smile hinted as he stared down at me. “Hi, Halley.”
“Oh, my God.” I hauled myself up, popping to my feet and swiping my chaotic hair back as drops of sweat trickled down my forehead. “I thought you were flying in on Monday.”
“I came in a day early.”
I stunk.
I was within inches of the man I loved for the first time in years, and I smelled like year-old gym shoes.
Mrs. Bronson apologized profusely from behind me, her cigarette-parched vocal cords blowing smoke through our unexpected reunion. “Sorry, sorry,” she rambled out. “I went to that happy place you told me to go to and you suddenly morphed into my ex, Ronny. Nothing personal.”
“Um…” I glanced at her, trying to catch my breath as I begged my pores to douse themselves in feminine, floral notes. “No worries. I’ll see you next week, same time?”
“With bells on.” She winked at Reed as she moved around us, off the mats.
Reed was still smiling when I turned back to face him, the tilt of his lips softening; less amusement, more star-struck affection. We stared at each other for a few beats, my pulse pitter-pattering as I drank him in. He was thirty-eight now, but he was aging well, wearing only a hint of silver in his dark goatee. A golden-bronze hue colored his complexion, making his light-green eyes all the more striking. He wore a winter-gray T-shirt like a second skin, paired with charcoal jeans and familiar black combat boots that swallowed his feet. Muscles strained, his jaw ticked, and the smile faded the longer our eyes held, erasing the dimples I’d come to cherish.
We spoke at the same time. “It’s great to see?—”
“You look?—”
I laughed, ducking my head. “I look horrifying. I’m sorry for that.”
“No.” His voice was a mere whisper. He squinted like he was studying a lost relic, flicking a hand through his hair as he murmured, “You look exactly like how I remember you. Just…”
“Just what?”
His eyes rolled over me, head to toe. “Older.”
It sounded like a compliment, so I blushed and lifted my gaze to his. “Unlike you. Do you age?”