10
Now
Felix is crouched in front of the fridge, stowing lemons in the produce drawer. I set his bag and the wine on the table, temporarily mesmerized—the broad shoulders, the muscles shifting under his T-shirt. I watch as he continues filling the fridge—strawberries, peaches, red leaf lettuce, green beans, shallots, Brie, cream cheese, eggs, bacon, and a pink package of Cows Creamery cultured butter. I can’t get it in Toronto, and Felix knows how much I love it.
My heart is a monster, filling at the sight of it. But I know how easy it is to mistake Felix’s thoughtfulness for deeper feelings.
“Wine,” he says. I hand him the bottles. “They’re not cold. Do you want one in the freezer for tonight?”
“No, we already got into your dad’s rye.”
“And the peanuts?”
“Of course.”
Felix doesn’t move. He stays like that, staring at a carton of milk. I can almost hear him calibrating what to say next.
“Bridget sent herself to bed a while ago,” I offer.
He stands and turns to face me, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Sounds about right.”
“Thank you for bringing all this.”
“You’re welcome.” His eyes fall to the pink ribbon at the neck of my nightgown; his jaw tightens.
“You got my butter.” This feels significant, worthy of pointing out. This is why it’s so hard to keep myself in check around Felix. He’s not just handsome; he’s good.
“I did. I figured you and Bridget probably spent the afternoon out
walking.”
“Thunder Cove. How did you know?”
His gaze finds mine. It’s dark. A tropical storm charting its course across my face. “I’ve known you for five years now, Lucy. You’d pick adventure and fresh air over a grocery store run every time.”
It could be the rye or the way he smells like the wind, but I’m certain he’s even more devastating than he was last year. The beard did it for me, but the full force of Felix’s face is ruthless. His jaw could have been cut with an X- Acto knife. I want to smooth my hand over his cheek, trace the contours of his chin. I want to map Felix’s temples and nose with my palm so I can keep the sight of him folded in a glass box in my apartment and take it out when I miss it.
Nope. Nope. No. These thoughts are not helpful.
“So you’re staying?” I ask.
“I’m staying. That okay with you?”
Absolutely not. “Absolutely.”
A weekend of Felix. I can do that. I’ll just have to ignore how my pulse races when we’re in the same room and stop picturing the teapot-shaped birthmark on his inner thigh. I can pretend I don’t want to twist my body around his like climbing ivy. Simple.
“It’s your home, not mine,” I tell him. “It’ll be fun, the three of us together again.”
“Fun.” His eyes are fastened on mine in a way that makes me feel stripped bare.
I shift my weight, pink climbing from my neck to my cheeks. “Not like that. That’s not what I mean.”
“No?” Felix looks at me like he can see right down to the marrow. I pick up a dish cloth and begin wiping down the sink.
“Of course not.”
I feel him watching, but I’m intent on scrubbing.
“Lucy.” The way he says my name. It’s velvet. It’s chocolate. It’s dirty
sex in the bathroom upstairs.
I wipe harder.
Felix moves to my side, his hip leaning on the counter. I think he runs hotter than other men. I can feel the heat radiating from him. “That sink is spotless.”
I squeeze out the cloth and dry my hands on one of Christine’s new linen tea towels. When I finally lift my gaze to his, it’s searing. As entrancing as it is perilous. Felix is a whirlpool, and if I’m not careful, I’ll get sucked in. This has been my longest dry spell, so I’m at a disadvantage. I used to be a serial dater. I liked the early days. The getting-to-know-you part, the rush of the first kiss. The thrill of being desired and discovered. But I’ve gone twelve months without even a kiss. Maybe that’s why Felix seems even more smoldery.
“I’m here for Bridget.” I’m talking to Felix, but I’m reminding myself.
“Right,” he says. “I’m here for Bridget, too.”
I know that. Just like I know there’s no way I undo Felix the way the mere sight of his hands unravels me.
I nod once and begin to back away. “Good.”
Space. Ice-cold showers. Focus on my best friend. Forget all the things I like about Felix that have nothing to do with the way he looks. That’s how I’ll get through this weekend.
“I’m going to go to bed,” I say. “I’ll move my suitcase out of your room. I can sleep with Bridget.”
I’ve climbed two stairs when Felix says, “Keep your stuff where it is. I’ll crash on the pull-out in the TV room.” Our eyes meet across the house, and even from that distance, a zap of electricity passes between us. “You sleep well in that bed from what I remember.”
• • •
I BRUSH MY TEETH, BUT WHEN I LIE DOWN, THE NIGHT I WENT TO HIM PLAYS BEHIND
I BRUSH MY TEETH, BUT WHEN I LIE DOWN, THE NIGHT I WENT TO HIM PLAYS BEHIND my eyelids. Felix above me, his hand on my mouth. Even with the window open, it’s stifling in this room. Or maybe it’s me. This damn bed. “Sleep well” my ass.
I creep to the bathroom and splash my face in the dark. I fill a glass and take a long sip, when the door opens, and a broad body strides inside. I spin
fast.
“Shit that’s cold.”
I’ve spilled water everywhere, including on Felix.
“You surprised me,” I say, grabbing a hand towel, dabbing it over his chest, which is very bare and very warm and very hard. I shove the towel at him. “Here, you do that.”
“I didn’t realize you were in here. Why is the light off?” He flicks it on.
Felix’s chin is lowered to his chest, drying himself off, so he doesn’t witness my jaw dropping at the sight of him. He’s wearing only underwear.
Boxer briefs. White. I take in the sculpted muscles, the flat stomach, the grooves of his hips, the line of dark hair that dips into his waistband. Lower.
It’s not the first time this bathroom has given me problems.
There’s water all over the floor. I reach for another towel, and crouch down, sopping it up. But I’m right in front of Felix’s bedrock thighs and teapot birthmark. That’s where I’m staring when he says, “Can I help you, Lucy?”
My eyes jerk upright. Felix stares down at me, gaze heating, so still I’m not sure he’s breathing. I get to my feet faster than I ever have in my life, and slip. Felix has me before I fall, one large hand on my elbow, the other on my lower back. He’s hauled me close to keep me steady, and our lower halves are crushed together. Through my nightgown, I can feel how hot his skin is.
His smell is everywhere. We stare at each other, my nails digging into his shoulders. The way my body demands his feels almost primal.
More, it says. Felix.
I’m literally panting. There’s no way he doesn’t notice. But he’s not unaffected. I can feel him growing hard against me. My eyes widen at the press of him, and his go black, his pupils swelling. It would be so easy to give
in to it. This desire that comes from a place I don’t recognize, a place that isn’t accessible to me unless I’m with him. But I can’t be that reckless.
I clear my throat, and Felix blinks. His hands fall from my body; mine drop from his shoulders. We separate. He turns his head to the side, running
his fingers through his hair.
“That was . . .” He doesn’t finish.
“I’m gonna . . .” I gesture to the hall.
“Lucy.” My name is gravel on his tongue. “Let’s—”
But I shake my head and brush past him, hurrying back to the bedroom.
I lean against the door, taking deep breaths. But I need more than a piece
of pine on hinges between me and Felix.
I need a football field.
Provinces.
A whole damn country.
But I’m not sure that would even work. Somehow, I always find my way back.
