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“I’d like to see you.”
After another pause, “All right.”
“I also think we should probably meet somewhere neither of us sleeps.”
That earns me a longer silence.
“Because of the kissing?”
I close my eyes. Subtlety is wasted on Kell. “Among other things.”
His laugh comes low through the phone, and some of the tension in my shoulders eases. “Where?”
“Hollis Creek Greenway? There are enough people around to keep us… respectable.”
“Probably smart,” Kell says.
“I thought so.”
“I still liked Monday.”
I smile despite myself. “So did I. Of course we both know that’s part of the problem.”
This time his laugh is warmer. We agree to meet in an hour near the footbridge, and when I hang up, I’m smiling. That seems promising.
The greenway starts a few blocks beyond downtown and follows Hollis Creek through a strip of mature trees the town has somehow managed not to pave over. By early November, the trees are well past peak, with leaves thinning overhead and collecting along the edges of the path.
The path is wide enough for bicycles and strollers, with benches scattered along the shore and an old stone retaining wall left over from whatever used to occupy this part of town before Hollis Springs decided people needed somewhere pleasant to walk.
Kell is waiting near the footbridge when I arrive. He’s wearing jeans, boots, and the black leather jacket we bought weeks ago. Mine is still hanging in my closet. I left it there on purpose. Monday made it pretty clear we don’t need to encourage our chemistry.
His attention moves over me anyway, taking in the coat, dark green blouse, black pants, boots, and haircut. “You look good.”
“Thank you.”
I stop a few feet away from him. For one strange second, neither of us seems certain what people who kissed each other senseless a few days ago are supposed to do when they’ve specifically agreed not to repeat it today. Kell solves the problem by gesturing toward the path.
“Walk?”
“Yes.”
We fall into step beside each other. The creek moves slowly to our left, brown-green water slipping around rocks and exposed roots. A woman jogs past with a terrier who looks personally offended by our existence, and I watch them disappear around the bend before I start the conversation I came here to have.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what I actually mean when I say I want you back.”
Kell waits. I’ve spent most of the day trying to find a way to say this without turning it into a speech.
“Dave and I had a good marriage,” I say. “A genuinely good one.”
“Yes.”
“He was steady. Predictable in the best way. We liked the same kind of life. We made decisions together, and most of the time neither of us had to work very hard to understand why the other person wanted what they wanted.”
Kell keeps his attention on the path ahead. “You fit together.”
“We did.” I think about that for a few steps. “I think I made the mistake of assuming the right relationship would always feel familiar.”
His brow furrows. “Familiar how?”
