Chasing Clouds

by Kathryn Andrews

  His thoughtful words ease a little of the guilty tension in my chest. He did have a good time; I know he did—we both did.

  “No regrets.” I echo his words and lean in to hug him. He hugs me back. It’s the best hug I’ve ever had.

  “One more picture?” he murmurs next to my ear.

  “Yes.” I smile at him as I wiggle out of his hold and drop down. I love that he’s taken so many photos of us.

  Pulling out his phone, he turns us so our backs are to the water and he can get us in the frame along with the sunset. Standing up on my tiptoes, I get as close to him as I can. The scruff on his cheek brushes my face as he drops down to be closer. We smile, he takes the photo, and I think life can’t get much better than this.

  WE KNEW THIS day was coming—it just got here a lot faster than I was expecting.

  We’re a couple weeks shy of the agreed upon two months together, but heading back to Savannah now is not an unreasonable move. After all, we went on a honeymoon, and now it’s over. Clearly, she has to get back to her life and I have to get back to mine, and if we are being watched, it is what it is.

  The drive up from Florida is mostly quiet. Repeatedly she mentioned just catching a flight home, but I insisted on driving her. That is something a new husband would do—and, well, something a decent human being would do, too. There is no way I’m not returning her to her doorstep, pretty much exactly where I found her.

  Looking over at Camille, my heart squeezes in my chest. Her feet are propped up on the dashboard and she’s flipping through the photos of our time together on my phone. I had to have all those pictures. I don’t know why—I’m not that sentimental of a guy—but I couldn’t get enough of them, her, or us. A few I sent to my mother, which made her happy, and then a few we posted on our social media accounts. That’s what a real couple does, right?

  A real couple . . . my mind trips over this, because we may have started out strangers, but too much has happened for us not to be a real couple, at least not now. I’ve never felt this way for another person. Somehow, she quickly became someone who means more to me than anyone else, and maybe that’s the difference. She was never some girl I was just going to hook up with; she’s always been so much more. Yes, the chemistry between us is off the charts, but I wasn’t looking to make that the only thing between us, and because of that, we became friends.

  “I think we should send this one to Drew and Beau and caption it Matt’s new love.” She grins as she shows me the picture of little Matt leaping into the air to catch a football.

  Turns out, Drew and Beau, Camille’s friends from New York, grew up across the street from Ali’s house. She moved in, met Drew, and the rest is history. The boy we saw glaring at us the night we arrived is their younger brother. There are three of them, the Hale brothers. He must be around fourteen. I remember when Nate was that age. Hormones, attitude, and in general, he just wanted to be older than he was. This kid wasn’t that different. Once we introduced ourselves, he came over a bit here and there, mainly to hang out with me and toss the ball around.

  “You know them better than I do. If you think it’s funny, send it.”

  Drew swims and is headed to the Olympics, Beau plays tennis, and this kid Matt wants nothing to do with either of those things. I get it, though; Nate always wanted his own thing, which is why he gravitated toward tennis.

  “Okay, I just airdropped all these photos to my phone.” She smiles at me and lays my phone on her leg.

  “What’s your favorite thing we did?” I ask as light blues music plays in the background.

  “Oh, that’s a hard one. I don’t think I can pick just one.” She frowns and traces the edge of my phone with her finger. I don’t know why, but my insides are reacting to this. It feels like she’s touching me, but she’s not. It’s a stupid electronic device. I’m losing my mind.

  I laugh to myself and at her, eyeing her smugly. “Did you just say you aren’t choosing? No this or that?”

  She grins back. “I guess I did. You’re rubbing off on me.”

  My lips press into a thin line as my eyebrows rise.

  Her eyes widen as she follows my train of thought, giggles, and then shakes her head and slaps me on the thigh.

  “You’re incorrigible!”

  “Maybe, but that’s only because of you. It’s your fault, princess,” I accuse, smirking and enjoying the playful banter.

  “Fine. If random comments have your mind immediately slipping into the gutter, I’m not complaining. You can join me—I frequent it often.”

  “What?” My jaw drops open.

  “You heard me.” Her cheeks blush pink, and damn she’s adorable.

  A few hours later, I pull up to the curb in front of her house. My heart sinks in my chest knowing I’m going to be leaving her here and heading back home alone. As I kill the engine, we eye each other briefly, silently, before I let out a deep sigh and get out of the car.

  Together, we haul all her things into the foyer, and she leaves them at the base of the stairs. I watch as she digs through her recently purchased beach bag and pulls out the large vase of shells she collected, along with the paper airplane. Walking into her living room, she places them both on the table next to the window where the first plane I gave her sits. She arranges them then turns to me and smiles.

  “There, perfect!”

  This girl is something else. She has so much, yet it’s the things that cost nothing that she keeps beaming over.

  “This really is a great house,” I tell her as we walk through the rooms and back to the stairs. I pick up most of her bags and we move to take them upstairs.

  “Thank you, I think so.” She looks around, down over the railing. She pauses briefly and then looks at me, a tiny frown marring her perfect lips.

  After spending the last couple of weeks together and knowing I’m not staying, this house suddenly feels too large, too empty. Just her, here all alone . . . I’m not sure I like this—not at all.

  “I’ve actually done a lot of work on it over the last couple of years. I didn’t stay in New York for the summers. I came home because this is where they wanted me to be, and it gave me something to do other than fundraisers and lunch at the clubhouse.”

  “Having my fingernails pried off sounds like more fun than that.”

  She giggles. I love the sounds she makes.

  Leaving her stuff in her room, I wander around the different floors and the different rooms with fresh eyes while she settles in and flips through her mail in the kitchen. When I was here before, I was more or less in shock, but now as each minute passes, I begin to feel more and more uncomfortable. At the beach, and even a little bit toward the end of our time at my condo, I felt like an equal to Camille, like she and I as a pair was natural and we belonged together. Here, I’m starting to not feel like that at all, even after everything we’ve shared. This house is so far removed from anything I’ve ever seen or even been in, and I’ve been to a lot of well-to-do football players’ homes, but here I feel out of place. I don’t want to; this is Camille and her fingerprints are all over the details, but the evident wealth is a reminder that we were never supposed to be, and suddenly I begin doubting the idea of us being a couple. I’m hesitant, and I’m never hesitant.

  My chest aches as I think someone like Patrick is probably much better suited for her than me.

  “Are you hungry? I can make us some dinner,” she asks, walking into the library, where I’m standing. I’m unconsciously sliding the wooden ladder used to retrieve books from the top shelf back and forth. My hands drop and I turn to face her. She’s smiling, and even after five weeks, the impact it has on me is still like a punch in the stomach.

  “I’m getting there. I’d love dinner.” We left first thing this morning and stopped for lunch on the way, but now it’s four o’clock.

  “More like you love my cooking,” she says, spinning around and walking out of the room.

  “That I do, princess, but I’m thinking we need to orde
r in. You’ll need to replace the food in your refrigerator.” I follow her into the kitchen and grin.

  “Ordering in sounds good to me.” She stops next to the center island, and her face dips with a strange emotion. It seems I’m not the only one who’s lost in thought. Then she’s moving toward me, into my arms. Immediately, I hug her back and drop my head to the top of hers.

  She calms the storm in me, and I wonder, This can’t be wrong, can it?

  The uneasiness I felt a few minutes ago is overtaken by longing, and not just the physical kind, but the emotional kind, too. I’m not ready to leave her yet. In fact, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. Maybe she feels the same way, and maybe that’s why we’re clinging to each other like it’s a permanent goodbye.

  “Can I stay tonight?” I ask, my head bent down, my lips in her hair.

  “Of course.” She squeezes me tighter as some of the tension dissolves out of her shoulders.

  “When do you think you’ll talk to your family?” I run one hand up and down her back as she leans back and looks up at me with eyes so blue, and now so familiar.

  “I don’t know.” She frowns. “Sooner than I want to. I’m sure they already know I’m back. Here in Savannah, nothing is a secret, yet everything is, if you know what I mean.”

  “Do you need me to stay?” I ask, narrowing my gaze and looking for any clue that she does. I would in a heartbeat if she wanted me to.

  “No, but thank you. They’ll never stop unless I make them. It didn’t use to be this way—I didn’t use to be this way.” She shakes her head and pulls away from me. “It’s important to me that you know that.”

  “Okay.” I agree with her, because it does seem important to her, but I have no idea what she’s talking about. How has her life ever been any different?

  “It’s because of my past, and the things I have to say to them . . . it won’t be a shock.”

  I nod; she seems so certain. “Well, you know I’m only a phone call away.”

  “I do.” She inches closer and rubs a soothing hand up my chest. Giving me a grateful smile, she adds, “And I appreciate that more than you will ever know.”

  She grabs her phone off the counter and we move back into the living room.

  “Do you know what you want me to order?” she asks as I flip on her television and select a music channel.

  “No, I’m indifferent. It doesn’t matter.”

  Sitting down on the couch, I reach for her hand and pull her to straddle me. Her legs fall beside my hips as she settles on my thighs, and she stills.

  Instantly, the music playing in the background is lost. My senses are overloaded, sight winning out, consuming my attention. Neither one of us moves, just staring at each other.

  “You are so beautiful,” I whisper, taking in so many details of her face. Pale blonde hair, heart-shaped face, perfect eyebrows, freckles across her nose, and a bottom lip slightly fuller than the top. Reaching up, I tuck a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear. My fingers tremble, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

  Her eyes widen just a little, and she takes in a long, slow breath before releasing it in a rush.

  Tossing her phone on the couch next to us, her hands run up my arms and wrap around the sides of my face, her thumbs brushing the stubble across my cheekbones.

  “Reid . . .” She pauses, her eyes imploring me to already know what she wants to say, but I don’t, and that makes me afraid, because it might not be something I’m ready to hear. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she blinks, and little wrinkles form between her brows.

  With my hands on her hips and a slight shake of my head to keep her silent, I pull her closer until her chest brushes mine and my lips seal onto hers.

  Hours and hours I’ve spent kissing her over the last few weeks, but this kiss feels different, more. It’s unhurried, deeper, more sentimental and tragic at the same time. Her fingers run across my scalp and tangle in my hair. I mimic her, gripping her silky strands and tilting her head to taste even more. She feels me harden beneath her and rolls her hips, letting out a small moan.

  God, what her sounds do to me.

  Piece by piece, our clothes vanish. We take our time exploring and memorizing in the late afternoon light, until finally, rising up, she positions herself over me then sinks down. My eyes roll back in my head and the tendons strain in my neck. This is the purest kind of torture—knowing how out of this world this feels, how she feels, and that I can’t have it every day.

  “Reid,” she whispers, her eyes closed. Her head tilts back, and her hair tickles my hands as I begin to guide her hips to move with mine. Her face is a mixture of pure pleasure and pain—pleasure because the two of us together is complete ecstasy, pain because this is devastating her heart like it is mine, and I completely understand.

  Time passes.

  There’s no frenzy, no rush, only a gentle tenderness to our cadence that creates and builds something so intense, it leaves us both shaking in the end.

  I pull her as close as I can, her chest flattens against mine, and she tucks her face into my neck.

  Somewhere in the deepest part of me, I hear a whisper like strokes of a feather. It cherishes her and calls her my wife, and in this moment, she is, by every definition of the word. She’s my wife, I’m her husband, and what we just shared was real and true. I made love to my wife.

  Warm wetness rolls over my collarbone and onto my chest.

  “Hey.” I tip her chin so she looks at me. There are sad, watery tears in her big blue eyes, a pout on her swollen lips. She blinks a few times as I study her, and my heart damn near bursts. I can’t allow this to be because of me. I need her smiling, not crying. “This isn’t over. We aren’t over—you know that, right? I’m not going to disappear, and neither are you.”

  “I’m not ready to say goodbye to you,” she says quietly, like she’s not supposed to admit it out loud.

  “Then don’t.” It’s as simple as that.

  She lets out a sigh, the muscles in her face relax, and after a few blinks, the sorrow recedes.

  “Like we’ve said since the beginning, nothing has to be decided today, okay?” I trail my fingers over her face, erasing the tracks of the few escaped tears.

  She stays quiet but gives me a small smile, crinkling the corners of her eyes.

  “We’ll figure this out, together.” I nod, willing her to agree, but she folds herself into me, hugging me tight.

  Right this moment, I’m ready to throw in the towel and say let’s do this, but I know I can be impulsive and we’re both caught up in this whirlwind of emotions. For once, I know I need to slow down and take a step back. I can’t just think of myself here, which is why I’m certain we can’t make any decisions today. We’ve just spent five weeks together, essentially isolated from everyone, and I need some time to think about this, to be sure, for both of us.

  “I’m going to miss you,” she mumbles against the skin on my neck.

  “I’m going to miss you, too.” I’m still in her; we haven’t moved, my arms are wrapped around her, and my eyes slip shut.

  How do people survive these emotions? I don’t understand. I feel raw, vulnerable, exposed, and then to top it off, she slays me as she whispers, “My favorite thing we did was everything, because I got to be with you.”

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE you let him go,” Clare says from the entrance to my workshop. I was wondering when she was going to show up. I thought it would be yesterday, but she’s waited two whole days.

  I put down my paintbrush and turn to her. She’s wearing a long light pink dress. It’s loose and has spaghetti straps, showing off her perfect, flawless skin. Her hair is long and wavy, floating down her back, and my insides clench at the sight of her. She’s so beautiful. She’s also glaring at me.

  Two mornings ago, I knew when I woke up he would be gone, and he was. I slid my hand across the sheets wondering if they would still be a little warm, but nope, they were cool and smooth like they had been unoccupied f
or quite a while. What I did find, though, was another paper airplane. He sure knows a bunch of different patterns for planes. Instead of picking it up, I decided to leave there, on his pillow, his side of the bed, his plane. I know it’s dumb, and it’s just a piece of paper, but it makes me feel closer to him.

  “How do you know he’s not here?”

  She cocks her arm on her hip and frowns. “Because he’s not.”

  Letting out a sigh, I take my brushes over to the sink and begin to rinse them out. As usual, there’s no hey or nice to see you; it’s just straight into arguing. That’s one of her go-to moves: judge, argue, or evade. She hasn’t had an actual heartfelt conversation with me in years, and I don’t consider the five-minute you’re making the biggest mistake of life speech before my wedding one either.

  “What did you want me to do, tie him down?” Maybe I should have tied him down; the thought of him still being here and up in the house has me smiling. Then my thoughts turn in a different direction and my smile widens. Yes, we’ve been creative over the last couple of weeks, but never in a million years could I see Reid restrained. Poor guy couldn’t sit still to save his life. Even his job involves him running, and it’s like it goes down to the core. Plus, he’s a very very involved participant. I feel my cheeks redden at the thought.

  “If necessary, yes!” Clare yells, pulling me back to the present.

  “Clare, he has a job to get back to, remember?” I move back to the project I was working on and start cleaning up. “I don’t think he even wants to be with me. This was only supposed to be a temporary deal—two months, that’s it, and then we separate.” We might have become friends—even more than friends—but he’s never talked about what would happen after our two months, and even when we returned to Savannah, there were no reassurances or plans made for us to even see each other again. If he wanted to be with me, he would have told me, right?