Page 121 of Beautiful Place By the Sea

“Oh yeah?” Our faces are inches away now. It’s so easy, being with him. And even though the mood is tinged with melancholy given current circumstances, there’s definitely a more urgent need growing deep in my belly.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs, drawing me to him. “But I think we can wait to find out.”

I’m all over him then, a moth drawn to a flame. I want everything, always. We’re a jumble of arms and legs and bleeding hearts, and I can’t get enough. I’ll never have enough.

I think the term “lovemaking” was invented for nights like these; for the way Oliver’s looking at me in the dim light like I’m something precious. Everything feels heightened: his kiss, the way he moans when he slips inside me. The way we linger over every touch, savor each other like something decadent, because we recognize how fleeting these moments are.

Afterward, I fall asleep curled against him, feeling content in every way, other than the ache in my chest that’s throbbing to the beat of my broken heart.

Much to my chagrin, when I wake up in the morning, I realize I never got around to putting on his Kafka shirt.

thirty-five

If I’m moving to Springfield in less than a month, I need to do some serious organizing of my condo. It’s increasingly harder to spend time around Oliver, anyway—my chest aches whenever we’re together, anticipating the wound to come.

I broach the subject with him while we’re unpacking a shipment of picture books. “Would it be okay if we rearranged our schedule this week? I need two days off in a row.”

He looks at me quizzically. “Sure, but why?”

I cast my gaze downward. “I need to get some things sorted at my condo. To prepare for Springfield.”

“Ah.” He looks away. “When do you want to go?”

“Maybe Thursday and Friday?” That will get me back in time for the weekend rush. I don’t want him to have to deal with that on his own. Plus, the grad student who’s subletting my condo this summer is going on vacation later this week, so I’ll have the place to myself.

“Fine,” Oliver says, with a bite I wasn’t expecting.

“Is everything okay?”

His eyes narrow. “No, Ivy. Everything isn’t okay.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I say quietly. “No matter what choice I make, I hurt you.”

“See, but that’s the thing,” he says, words laced with a bitterness I’m not used to from him. “I’ve explained to you repeatedly that I’m okay with you taking the manager job. I don’t want it. Not if I have to give you up to get it.”

My voice quivers. “I don’t understand why you’re angry with me.”

He closes his eyes, as if he can blink them back open to a better outcome. “I’m not. I’m not angry with you. I just hate this.”

“I hate it, too.”

He reaches for my hand. “Then stay.”

I shake my head slowly. “I can’t.”

Oliver nods, but he doesn’t look at me. “Thursday’s fine.” Without another word, he crosses the bookstore and walks out the door, the jingle of its bells echoing hollow through the empty room.

At 5:30, I head home alone. Oliver’s working a closing shift, and I haven’t been to Beach Haven in a day and a half. I need to do some laundry, and possibly shower with body products that don’t smell like vanilla cedar. And besides, we barely spoke to one another for the rest of the afternoon. I’m not sure that we’re fighting, exactly, but things definitely feel a lot shakier than they did last night.

Laurel’s working on a bowl of cereal at the kitchen island when I walk through the door. “Hey,” I call out, far more cheerfully than I feel.

“Hey.” She doesn’t even look up from her phone.

I want to make things better, but I’m not sure how. Without considering the gesture too thoroughly, I slide onto the stool next to her. “How’s the dissertation going?”

She sighs. “I think I’m going to go home.”

“Oh. To see Nick?” I still haven’t gotten the low-down on whether she and Nick are still a thing.