The Romantic Pact

by Quinn, Meghan

  “Why would I mind?” he asks.

  “I don’t know. Just seems as though you want to be alone. I could eat my dinner on the bed if you want.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want to be alone. I was just giving you space because you looked so freaked out.”

  “Not freaked out.”

  “Okay. Then sit next to me,” he says.

  “Fine. I’ll sit next to you.” Turning to the food, I lift the lids and don’t bother shifting the plates around since we both got a simple burger. Trying to keep things normal, I ask, “What are you reading?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, and as I dress my burger, I can feel his eyes on me, debating what he should say. I pray that he just moves on. Thankfully, he clears his throat and says, “The Witcher.”

  “Like the Netflix show?”

  “It’s actually a book and a video game. Netflix came last.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know. Is it good?”

  “I mean, I’m not much of a reader so it’s taking me longer to read it, but it’s neat getting details that you don’t get from the video game or show.”

  “You play the video game?” I ask. “Are you a gamer?”

  “No.” He spreads mustard on his burger bun. “I play with the boys on occasion, but I spend most of my time studying for school or for football.”

  “You don’t take a break?” I ask, wondering what Crew is like at school.

  “I do. That’s when I’ll hang out with River or Hollis, or go out to our favorite bar. But I don’t get too caught up in video games because I know I could easily become addicted.” He sets the bun on his burger and then cuts the whole thing in half. “When you have the kind of goals that I do, there’s no room for error.”

  “Oh, so your goals are more important than other people’s goals?”

  “What?” He turns to me. “I didn’t say that.”

  “You implied it.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You said your goals don’t leave room for error. Do other people’s goals leave room for error?” I question him.

  “Why are you trying to pick a fight with me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “Uh, yes, you are.” He sets his burger down and turns to completely face me. “You’re intentionally starting an argument with me. Are you trying to push me away? Is that the goal? Because there’s room for error on that, as well. You fail to realize I won’t let you.”

  “I’m not trying to push you away, and if I was, I would succeed because I learned from the best.” Fuck. She looks pissed as hell.

  “Oh, wow, okay.” He takes my burger out of my hand and puts it on my plate, only to push the cart away. “You want to get into this, even though I thought we’d made peace with that? Fine, get into it.”

  “Get into what?”

  “Whatever hostility you’re harboring toward me.”

  I shake my head. “There’s no hostility.”

  I reach for the cart but he stops me. “Do you want me to apologize for what happened this morning? Do you want me to say it never should have happened? Because I won’t. I fucking liked what we did, okay? I liked it too goddamn much to regret it.

  Stunned, I lean back. “That’s not what—”

  “Want me to apologize over and over again for how I stopped talking to you? Fine, I’ll apologize every fucking day. I’m sorry, Hazel. I shouldn’t have ever stopped talking to you. If I’ve learned anything on this trip so far, it’s how much I’ve missed you in my life. I was a fucking moron, a self-absorbed asshole. Okay? And I’ll keep admitting to that every day until you can finally, truly accept my apology.” He grips my hands. “I’m sorry. But I won’t apologize for what happened this morning or last night.”

  “I don’t need you to apologize.”

  “Then what do you need from me?”

  “I . . . I don’t know.” I remove my hand from his and push it through my hair, trying to understand these obscure and foreign feelings rushing through me. “I don’t know what I want, Crew. I feel . . . weird.”

  The anger in his expression softens. “What do you mean, ‘weird’?”

  “I mean, I want to hold your hand even though I know I probably shouldn’t. I want to joke around with you, but I don’t know if things are strained between us now. I want to be able to sleep in the same bed tonight and not worry if I need to cuddle or put a pillow between us. Things are just weird and I don’t know how to handle it.”

  He blows out a heavy breath. “Yeah, I don’t know how to handle it either. But I do know I want to hold your hand. I want to take pictures with you as we travel around Germany. I want to joke around and sing songs in the car and not be afraid to touch you like I always have.”

  “You want things the way they’ve always been, before . . .”

  “Yeah, but—” He turns away. “Hell, I don’t know, Haze.” He shakes his head, almost as if he’s trying to dismiss the thoughts in his head.

  “What, Crew? Just say it. Say what’s on your mind.”

  Head tilted down, he turns ever so slightly so I can catch the strain in his eyes, the torment that’s flashing through him, as if our situation is taking a serious toll on him. “I like you, Haze. But I’m afraid that type of liking you might fuck up everything we have already, and if today was any indication of that, then I don’t want things to change.”

  “Are you saying you want more?” I ask, my chest filling with anticipation and nerves at the same time.

  “I don’t know,” he says, looking down at his hands. “I think I’m right there with you in that I don’t know what I want, what I should do. It doesn’t seem as though passing this off as nothing is possible. Not with you, Haze.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. I tried to act normal today, but it just felt weird. I found myself pulling away, not wanting to look clingy or needy.”

  “You’d never come off as clingy or needy to me,” he says, and I can see the truth in his eyes as he looks at me. “Just because you made the first move doesn’t mean that you’re clingy or needy.”

  “I know, but it’s just how I feel.” Groaning, I lean back on the couch. “Do you think this is what Pops wanted? Do you think he was playing matchmaker?” I pick up the bridge letter from the coffee table and look it over. “Am I simply being overly sensitive, or does this actually seem like a matchmaking trip?”

  Crew drags his hand over his stubble. “I’m beginning to think that was the case. The bridge letter practically solidified that hypothesis.”

  “Now that I’m not drunk, I look at the letter and feel like I should be reading between the lines. Or this entire trip—how we have to keep sharing a bed, the romance of the wine tasting. The Romantic Road . . . I mean, I think I’m feeling the pressure.”

  “The pressure of what?”

  “You know.” I pull my legs up to my chest. “The pressure of having to make something of this trip. Of us. And I don’t know how to navigate that.”

  “Hey, we don’t have to make anything of this trip other than what we want to get from it.”

  “And what do you want to get from it?” I ask.

  Instead of answering right away, Crew picks up his water and takes a sip. Finally, he says, “Closure. I think that’s what I really need out of this. I never got to say goodbye, and that kills me every goddamn day. Coming on this trip, I wanted to get my head on straight and figure out where I was going with my future. Put some closure to the past and move forward, you know?”

  “Yes, I can understand that,” I say, feeling odd and out of place. I can’t put my finger on it—I can’t quite comprehend these thoughts going through my head—but it almost sounds as if he wants closure for everything to do with Pops.

  And I’m not sure if that includes me.

  Maybe teenage friendships can’t transfer to adult friendships because of the reality of our very different lives. Even if Pops thought otherwise.

  “What about you?” Crew asks.

  I pull
the cart close to us again and, this time, he doesn’t push it back, so I pick up my burger and take a bite. What did I want from this trip? After I swallow, I say, “Just one more moment with him. I wanted to see if he left anything behind, any hints, any clues, anything to help guide me. I feel lost and unsure, and I was hoping that maybe this trip would help me find what I was looking for. And it just seems like a grand scheme at a love connection.”

  “You’re not looking for a love connection?” Crew asks with humor.

  “I mean, are you?”

  “Wasn’t on the list of things to do,” he answers.

  “Yeah, me either,” I say, even though that doesn’t feel like the truth. Coming on this trip, I wanted Crew to be my partner in crime and there has to be a reason for that, more than just reconnecting. I think after what happened last night and this morning, I have my answer.

  I like him.

  I’ve always liked him.

  And I’ve never gotten over him.

  This trip is just making that more and more clear with every second we spend together.

  What’s even more clear is that Crew isn’t in the same headspace as I am. Yeah, he might have initiated what happened this morning, and he said he didn’t regret it, but he’s also a guy. Guys won’t regret anything that allows them to come. Might be vulgar, but it’s true. They can detach their hearts from their heads.

  Some women can do that, as well.

  What I’m learning is that I’m not one of those women.

  Not even close.

  “How about this,” Crew says. “How about we erase everything that we did. I know I said I didn’t want to forget it, but it seems like a giant, pink elephant in the room that we need to kick out. So, let’s just get rid of it. Acknowledge that we were intimate for a second, but we’re more focused on repairing our friendship.”

  Ah . . . friendship.

  Maybe a month ago I would have been happy to hear that, but being here with Crew, seeing him, holding his hand, Crew laughing at my jokes, reminiscing—the feel of his hard cock between my legs—I know that it’s not just friendship for me. It’s so much more, and that’s terrifying.

  “No pressure from Pops. He might think he’s trying to hook us up, but little does he know, we value our friendship more.”

  I swallow hard, pushing back the emerging feelings. “Yes, focus on the friendship.”

  “You’re sure? We’re not going to have any more awkward moments?” He lowers his head so he can catch my eyes.

  Braving a smile, I say, “No more awkward moments. Just you and me.”

  “Good.” He pulls me into a hug. “Come here, Twigs.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and it feels so brotherly, nothing like what I experienced this morning with him. “No more weirdness.”

  “No more weirdness,” I answer, feeling my throat tighten. Needing to get away before I lose it, I say, “Don’t squeeze me any harder. I have to pee.”

  “Oh, shit.” He releases me with a laugh. “Don’t need you peeing your pants while eating dinner. That would bring on the weirdness, and we’re trying to get rid of that.”

  “Exactly.” I quickly get up and run to the bathroom, where I shut the door and then lean against it, squeezing my eyes shut.

  Pops, what were you thinking?

  Crew has never liked me as more than a friend, never will. This just seems cruel.

  I try to catch my breath and still my racing heart.

  It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay, Hazel. Five more days. You totally can do this. Don’t be weird. Smile, laugh, and try to enjoy yourself. And after it’s done, Crew will return to his life, probably play pro, get married and have a full, error-proof, goal-driven life. And I’ll . . . I’ll return to the farm, to the town ridicule, to never knowing if I’ll ever succeed in meeting Pops’s expectations. I’ll be too busy to find a husband, and life might just pass me by. But there are five days with Crew that I need to endure . . . enjoy. I can do that.

  Deep breaths.

  * * *

  Crew is next to me, asleep on the bed. After finishing our dinner, we played some more Dots and Boxes, and then broke off to do our own reading. He went to sleep pretty quickly, but I can’t seem to find any need for sleep, so I turn away from him and reach for my phone where it’s charging on my nightstand. Knowing my friend, Mia, from back home will be in her florist shop, pruning away, I send her a text.

  Hazel: Hey, do you have a second to talk?

  God, I hope she has her phone next to her like she normally does.

  Mia: Uh, yeah. Sheesh, I’ve been waiting to hear from you. Last thing I heard was that you landed in Germany and confirmed it was Crew you were on the trip with. I need all the details now. Is he with you?

  Smiling softly, I consider how grateful I am for Mia. We’ve been friends for a few years now. Her husband, Johnny, moved them back to our small town to help out his parents, and she wound up opening a florist shop while he’s a social studies teacher at the K-12 school. We became fast friends, and it’s been really nice since she doesn’t know much about my background other than what I tell her.

  She does know about Crew, though, because she was there for me when he started ignoring all my emails and attempts to reach out. She’s also been a steady shoulder to lean on as things have gotten tougher on the farm.

  Already starting to feel some of the anxiety ease, I text back.

  Hazel: Sorry, things have been crazy. We’re nonstop moving around and attending activities Pops set up for us. And when we’re not doing something, we’re passed out from exhaustion.

  Or drunk, but I don’t say that.

  Mia: Sounds thrilling. I’ve loved the photos you’ve posted on Insta. It looks like a story book coming to life. Is that what it feels like?

  Hazel: Yes, it’s kind of crazy how unreal it feels. The buildings resemble something from Pinocchio, and it’s hard for my brain to wrap around the idea that I’m actually in a real place.

  Mia: I wonder if people from other countries think the same about America.

  Hazel: Probably. But yeah, it’s been fun. Drank a lot, visited some beautiful places, had some gingerbread, dry humped Crew, and we’re on a road trip now.

  Mia: Wait . . . what?. You dry humped Crew?

  Mia: Don’t think you can just slip that little detail in there and not get called out for it. Deets!

  Hazel: We were incredibly drunk and it just happened. I don’t remember much of it, but what I do remember is the morning after and doing it again.

  Mia: Oh my God! You dry humped twice?

  Hazel: Yes.

  Mia: Why the hell are you keeping your clothes on?

  Hazel: It’s not that easy. I think I like him.

  Mia: Like . . . *like* him, like him?

  Hazel: Yeah, and I know he doesn’t feel the same way about me, and this entire trip is built around our relationship and Pops trying to play matchmaker. We’re sharing a bed in every hotel, we’re partaking in romantic wine tastings, and we’re on a road trip called the Romantic Road, for fuck’s sake. It’s messing with my head and I don’t know what to do.

  Mia: How do you know he doesn’t feel the same way?

  Crew stirs next to me and I hold my breath, waiting to make sure he doesn’t wake. After a few seconds, I type Mia back.

  Hazel: He told me he’s here for closure, not for a relationship.

  Mia: Ouch. Okay, that’s a bit of a blow.

  Hazel: Yeah, tell me about it. I acted as if it didn’t hurt me and then ran to the bathroom, where I nearly hyperventilated.

  Mia: Aww, Hazel, that makes me so sad. I wish I could be there to give you a hug.

  Hazel: I could use one right about now. One that isn’t from Crew. God, Mia. He’s . . . he’s more than I remembered. Outgoing, fun, charismatic. Sweet, loving. I don’t understand what Pops was thinking.

  Mia: Maybe he was thinking that you two were meant to be together.

  Hazel: We could not be more polar opposite. He’s an Al
l-American college football star about to go off to the combine and try out professionally. I’m a farm girl with nothing to really show for it. Plus I have my sordid family.

  Mia: That’s not true, and you know it. You’re not just a farm girl. You have helped change McMann Farm into the bustling tourist attraction it is today. People drive up from all over during the fall season just to go to the farm. You helped create that.

  Hazel: And I’ve no clue what’s going to happen to the farm at this point. It could be bought out. I could be shit out of luck with no job.

  Mia: What’s really bothering you, Hazel? Is it the farm, or is it Crew?

  Hazel: The unknown. These unknown feelings. The unknown of what’s waiting for me at home when I leave this dreamlike bubble in Germany. It’s like, after what happened this morning, I can’t find a way to relax around Crew. I can’t find a way to have fun and enjoy the time here. I can’t find a way to connect with Pops and ask him for advice.

  Mia: Maybe this time, you have to figure it out yourself.

  Hazel: That’s what I’m afraid of. Once again, being alone.

  Mia: You’re never truly alone. You know that.

  Hazel: I know. I just . . . I miss him, Mia.

  Mia: Pops or Crew?

  Hazel: Both.

  Mia: And you’re dreading the end of the trip because you’re not sure when you’ll ever see him again.

  Hazel: I can’t even think about it.

  A lone tear slips down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away as my heart aches for what’s to come in a few short days. Another goodbye that I’m not ready for.

  Mia: Easier said than done, but I think you need to focus on the amazing opportunity Pops gave you. Enjoy being in Germany with Crew Smith. Focus on honoring Pops. And then when the time comes to say goodbye, you let your emotions take over. And, yes, that will be hard, but at least it won’t be every day you’re there.

  Hazel: You’re right.

  Mia: Usually am. And text me when you start to feel sad again. You know I’m here for you.

  Hazel: Thanks, Mia.

  Mia: Anytime. Now, tell me more about this dry humping.