This Summer Will Be Different(21)

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 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.