This Summer Will Be Different(22)

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.





PART TWO


        Everything that’s worth having is some trouble.

    —L. M. Montgomery, Anne of Avonlea





11





Summer, Four Years Ago





I was twenty-five, and life was perfect. Bridget and I were both thriving at work. She’d been in the PR department of Sunnybrook Hospital for a year and had already been promoted to a more senior role, and I was killing it at the flower shop. My aunt had let me take over the bridal consultations, and she’d hired Farah, who was as fascinating as she was terrifying. I adored her. My parents’ inquiries into when I was going to get a real job had been reduced from a weekly to monthly frequency. We’d given our apartment a glow-up, courtesy of Bridget’s larger paychecks and a set of vintage wishbone dining chairs I’d found on a street corner. Three of my friends had sworn off dating apps, but I was on algorithmic fire. There was no one serious, but I didn’t want serious. I took after my aunt—cocktails, conversation, and a bit of fun were all I was looking for.

Then, one evening, Stacy took me to her office, pulled out the pair of crystal wineglasses she kept in her bottom desk drawer, and a bottle of chianti. She was closing In Bloom at the end of the year. Business was good, but she wanted freedom to travel more, maybe volunteer at a community theater. In her words: “I’m going to enjoy my life while I’m still young and gorgeous.” (Stacy was sixty, and she was gorgeous.) She knew a florist in Rosedale who would be happy to hire me, but I loved In Bloom. I didn’t want to work anywhere else. “If there’s one thing I can teach you, Lucy,” Stacy said as I sobbed into my wine, “it’s to live your life fully, to live it for yourself and no one else. I know how much you love this place, but I have to do what’s right for me, just as you have to do what’s right for you.”

I cried my entire streetcar ride home, and then into Bridget’s curls.

She called her mom that night. “I think Bee needs some fresh air,” I heard her say. “I’m going to bring her home.”

My aunt paid for the ticket.

I wasn’t worried about seeing Felix again. There had been plenty of guys in the year since. Yes, I thought about that night sometimes, but we had our rules. It was a one-time thing, and I already felt weird about keeping something from Bridget. Now that I knew who Felix was, I wasn’t going to repeat my mistake.

He picked Bridget and me up at the airport. I saw him as soon as we stepped off the tarmac and into the arrivals lounge. He was leaning against the cow statue, a book in one hand, a giant smile breaking across his face like a wave when he saw us.