My fave.
ME
I’m aware.
I’m at the stove, stirring a homemade sauce, when the door slams at the front of the house.
“Honey, I’m home!” Loren calls out.
I lower the flame to a simmer and set the lid on. The pasta’s already cooked and draining in a colander.
Act normal, man. This is just dinner.
You can be cool.
Slipping the bread knife from the block, I move to the island and lay into a fresh loaf of sourdough. Cutting nonchalantly.
Like a totally normal man.
A moment later, Loren comes around the corner. “Mmmm. Smells good.”
She’s in a yellow sundress and sandals. Her work bag is slung over one shoulder. But from where I’m standing, I can only see the bottom half of her. The upper half is blocked by a cardboard box piled high with things.
There’s a big stuffed unicorn. Yearbooks. A couple trophies.
“Let me help you,” I offer, dropping the knife.
“Too late.” She sets the box on the table and hooks her bag on the back of a chair. Then she turns to face me, straightening. And that’s when I see it.
She’s wearing her mother’s choker.
The blue stone at the dip above her collarbone looks like it’s always belonged there.
Sapphire. Like her eyes.
I swallow, unable to speak.
Loren’s gaze drops, following mine, then her cheeks bloom pink. “I totally forgot.” She quickly fumbles with the clasp. “I found the choker in my mom’s jewelry box, and my dad seemed happy when I tried it on, so I never took it off.”
I clear my throat. “Something borrowed and blue.”
“And old,” she adds. She makes another go of the clasp. But a strand of hair is clearly tangled in it. So she sighs, yanking at the ends a little.
“Need help?”
“Yes, please.” She stills. “Otherwise, I’ll end up with a broken clasp.”
I move toward her, and as she turns around to give me access, I will my hands not to shake. Damn fingers. Might as well be baseball bats.
Shaky baseball bats.
“Here.” She reaches up behind her neck, and our hands brush. “It’s just?—”
“I’ve got this,” I say. “Let me.”
She drops her arms, and I try again. Deep inhale. Deep exhale.
You’ve got this.