Page 115 of Error Handling

We haven’t traded words since the incident in his car when I rejected his kiss. I don’t respond now. It’s starting to feel too much like cheating.

A moment later, Christopher texts again.I know you’re confused, and I don’t want to make things worse. I’d like to say I’m sorry I tried to kiss you the other day, but I’m not. I like you, and I’m not ready to let you go. I know you have feelings for me. I just want you to know, I’m here. I’m still here. I’ll be here.

Another long pause.

I guess that’s all I wanted to say. Except. I miss you. I want to feel your lips again.

My stomach drops a few inches after reading his last comment. I can’t respond. I can’t do that to Chris. So, I reread the texts and then finally toss the phone to the end of the bed.

A gnawing feeling digs into my stomach. This isn’t Earl the Squirrel. It’s guilt. I kissed and harbored feelings for Christopher as my relationship with Chris was developing. Conflicting emotions aren’t a sin, but was kissing ChristopherafterChris tried to kiss me bad form? (It was. I know.) The fact that Chris’s ex cheated on him digs the teeth of guilt in deeper.

If (bigif) Chris and I become an official couple, I want to start with a clean slate. I need to be honest with him and tell him I stupidly kissed Christopher and that it meant nothing. He needs to know that short part of my life is over.

Life was simpler before hormones.

Chris

I find the cottage, thanks to Google maps. As Sarah hinted, her dad’s rental is impressive: two stories, wrap-around porches, white lattice galore to complement the blue siding. I pull into one of the gravel parking spots in front of the house and kill the engine.

I’ve had a lot of time to think. My time in Missouri was mostly boring, sitting on the couch, watching television, poking around on my phone, dodging my mom’s questions about my future.

I barely mentioned Sarah to my dad, and I didn’t tell my mom about her. Mom would have hyperventilated and/or handcuffed me to the leg of the upright piano so I could never leave.

It’s been a week since I’ve spoken Sarah’s name, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been on my mind. She has. I even dreamed about her. Explicitly. The only other female I’ve had intimate dreams about is Allison.

I can’t help my unconscious mind. Sarah makes my hormones rage, whether she’s next to me or hundreds of miles away.

Just thinking about the dream makes me blush. I won’t be sharing it with Sarah. Not until we’re more acquainted anyway. And that’s what all my thinking resulted in. A decision. Finally. I want to become more with Sarah. I want a relationship. If that means we have to speak every night on Facetime while she’s in Charleston and I’m in Puerto Rico, so be it.

Although...

Staying away from her for a week was a struggle. How will I handle a year without feeling her silky hair, kissing her pink lips, feeling her curves against my body?

Maybe I can come home quarterly, get a week’s worth of kissing in to store up for the next quarter.

I thread my fingers through my hair before stepping out of my truck. When I slam the driver’s side door and look up, Sarah is standing on the second-floor porch looking down at me with a broad smile.

The pink blush of her cheeks makes my heart swell. Is her rosy complexion from the sun or happiness to see me? Either way, I drink her in, from those cheeks to her cropped floral top, to her shorts that reveal more of her leg than I’ve had the privilege of seeing.

She waves, and I’m conscious of my smile. “Smile with both sides of your mouth!” my mom used to admonish when thefamily posed for pictures. I’m also aware of every inch of my skin as it tingles in anticipation of wrapping her in my arms.

Sarah bounds down the wooden stairwell and joins me in the sandy yard. She looks up at me shyly and brushes a lock of hair from her eyes.

“Well, hello there, stranger.” Her eyes sparkle in the sunlight when she smiles.

I can’t speak. A week’s worth of pent-up desire overtakes me. I gather her in my arms and kiss her with a passion I’ve never felt before. I feel so right in her presence. Why have I been fickle about her? This is what I want more than anything else.

I pull my lips away from hers. “Hello yourself,” I say, my voice unintentionally gravelly.

Sarah bites her bottom lip. Her cheeks flare red, definitely because of the kiss we just shared. Because of me. I’m almost certain she feels as strongly about me as I do for her. Her breathlessness after our kiss indicates as much.

“That—” she falters. “That was amazing.”

I maintain our embrace while she rests both hands on my chest.

“Yes, it was,” I say, smiling down at her. With both corners of my mouth. I missed her more than I realized. How will I handle being away from her for three months? A year?

I push the thought away. We have this afternoon. Just the two of us and the waters of Folly Beach.