Him, Carey Heywood [books for 5 year olds to read themselves .TXT] 📗

I'm crying. I can't help it. I've loved this boy since seventh grade. He's always hated it when I cry and begins shushing me and using his thumbs to wipe the tears from my eyes as he places feather light kisses to my lips. "I didn’t mean to make you cry."

I plant my face into his chest wrapping my arms around his waist as he plays with my ponytail.

"Hate to trouble you," he says, kissing the top of my head. "But you didn’t actually answer my question."

I laugh, tilting my head up to his, putting my hands behind his neck to pull his lips to mine.

"Is that a yes?" he asks against my lips.

"Yes. Now shut up and kiss me."

And he does, slowly and deeply, his hands gripping my hips. My heart is thumping, and at a certain point, I feel like I'm just barely holding on. As though the whole park and the world around it has melted away again and I only exist to be in his arms. We may have kissed for only minutes or it could have been hours. For us, time stood still. When we finally pull back, his hooded expression makes my knees feel weak. My clearly dazed look amuses him. He reaches up to tweak the tip of my nose so I scrunch it at him and stick out my tongue. His eyes drop to my mouth as he licks his lips. Christ, I might swoon.

Shaking his head, he takes my hand in his. "Ice cream?"

I grin. Sure, there are plenty of places we could probably get ice cream at the park, but we never do. There is only one place we ever go to for ice cream. We pass a couple of our classmates on our way out of the park. Our early departure given our very public make out sessions will definitely lead to talk, but I don’t care. Like Will said, fuck them.

Chapter 9

Present

Waking up in my childhood bedroom is surreal. Part of me had hoped my parents would keep everything the same, but I guess I could see how having a guest bedroom made more sense. The bed frame and mattress are the same, though. I could recognize those squeaks when I turn over in the middle of the night anywhere. Falling asleep had been hard. Over the years, I have become accustomed to watching TV in bed until I fall asleep. That's what living out of hotels will do to you. Also, I can’t stop thinking about Will. Why did he seem like he had unfinished business with me? Did he want to apologize for what he did? I shake my head. As far as I am concerned, if that’s what he wanted, I'd rather he choked on it.

That isn’t true. Well, maybe a little. Will turning out to be such a big part of this trip had blindsided me. He was the friggin best man. It's a pity, but I'm annoyed he has a bigger role in their wedding than I do. Christine's best friend is her maid of honor, and I'm a bridesmaid. I don't know why that bothers me so much. Plus, it means I'll at the very least have to deal with him during the rehearsal dinner, the wedding, and the reception. I'm not mentally prepared to deal with Will in a tux. I roll over and eye the clock. It's later than I expect so I hurry downstairs. My dad is in the kitchen drinking his third cup of coffee for the day.

"Morning sunshine. Your mother went to the airport to pick up your Uncle Chip."

He tsks at me as I sit on the counter. "We have these new fangled things called chairs. Please try one out."

I roll my eyes and walk over to kiss him on the top of the head, surprised when I notice how thin his hair is up there. I mentally do the math, trying to remember the last time I saw my parents in Denver. It must have been only a year ago. I'd give him crap about it, but he had always been so vain about his thick brown hair when I was growing up. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Now he is sporting a Donald Trumpesque comb over. There are some muffins and a bowl of fruit in the center of the table. I pour myself a glass of OJ and sit down. I regret my drink selection after my first sip. Pulp. I hate pulp. I get back up and grab another glass and experience a blast from the past when I find my mother's mesh strainer on the same hook it hung from when I was in school.

My father watches me, shaking his head as I strain out the pulp. I can still hear him grouching at me all those years ago, trying to convince me the pulp made it healthier. I put my first glass in the dishwasher and go to sit back down, helping myself to a lemon poppy seed muffin and a banana. My dad and I hang out in a comfortable silence. Every time I meet his eyes with mine, he smiles. I'm usually so busy to notice when I'm at work, but sitting here right now, I can't help but wish I lived closer, saw my parents and Brian more often, and any future nieces or nephews. I haven’t really talked enough to Brian to see if he and Christine plan to have kids or not. I guess I just assume they will because she's a teacher and therefore I guess likes kids. I hope so. I think Brian would make a good dad, already a good big brother. Well except for befriending the guy who broke his little sister's heart. He kind of sucked ass in that regard.

When my dad finishes his coffee, he rinses his cup and puts it on the counter.