Chapter Twelve

After dinner, David lights a fire in the living room and Francesca fills up everyone's glasses. The plush couches and worn, stately armchairs become cozy and filled with blankets, giggling, and conversation.

Grayson shows Diego how his Transformer toy works. Alice pulls Caroline's hair into a ponytail with sticky fingers. Maggie, David, and Francesca discuss their mutual obsession with government conspiracy theories. I sit on the hearth, staring at the fire through my glass of wine, and focus on the snap and crackle, trying to tune out Adam and Kate's conversation behind me.

Mostly I just hear her say: "Oh my God, I love that," on repeat.

My watch timer buzzes, so I shrug off the blanket I've wrapped up in and toss it to Kate.

"Thanks, Vee," she smiles, covering her shoulders.

I venture into the kitchen and turn off the oven. Maggie's brownies arrived crumbled and stuffed in a Ziploc bag, so I'm glad I prepped my own dessert before dinner. I pull out the baking sheet and set an apple and pear galette on a cooling rack. I hold the sifter over the sink and scoop some powdered sugar into it before carefully returning to my hot, crispy, crunchy dessert. As sugar is dusted over it, I feel eyes on me.

I see Adam through my periphery, leaning against the archway into the kitchen. Just standing there like a shadow. He doesn't move. Maybe he doesn't realize I see him watching me.

Fourteen years ago, I would bake in this kitchen, despite the heat of summer, and he would sneak in while Fran and David went out on the lake. He'd help if I asked, but mostly sat in a barstool, leaning on his elbows, or standing as he is now, warm and rough, observing me with softness.

He would push off the wall to kiss me, so long as Heddy wasn't in the room.

"Vienna's?" He suggested one day, snuggling his face in the crook of my neck.

"No," I vehemently objected. "That's gross."

"People name bakeries and restaurants after themselves all the time."

"Narcissists. All of them."

He said, "Then, how about… Adam's ."

I spun around and wiped frosting on his bottom lip. "Musicians are narcissists, too."

"Not all of them," he muttered, leaning in so I could kiss him clean.

On this dimly lit, cold Autumn night, I finally lift my eyes to his. Adam doesn't look away. His arms are crossed, his mouth pinched tight, and his body twitches when Diego laughs loudly behind him.

My throat tightens.

It's just two of us, standing in a kitchen I've called home for my entire life, and everything I ever felt for him comes flooding back in a wave of pain and anguish, like I'm not allowed to remember how good it felt without being reminded of where it led me. Which is here. To this place where Adam stares at me with an unreadable expression.

He swallows, I hear the click in his throat. He lifts his eyebrows and comes back to his senses. "Bathroom," he sputters, pointing down the hall.

"Oh," I respond.

I close my eyes, breathing in the smell as he walks by, pushing away old memories. They stir feelings too low in my belly to control how I show up in the present. I can't concentrate.

Giving myself a few moments to steady, I look for a cutting board. They used to be in the cabinet beside the sink. Now that David is the only one who cooks in this kitchen, he's moved some things around, but I'm not going to go ask him. He'll mansplain to me how he's found the optimal location for kitchen tools.

I spin around the island, pushing a stool in, headed for the pantry.

"Whoa," Adam says as we bump into each other.

He grips me by the arms. Our chests press into one another. I'm leaning backward and he pulls me upright with him, my arms hooked behind his elbows. Once on my feet, he drags his hands down my sleeves, fingers still gripping the fabric.

Goosebumps electrify my neck. We're an inch apart, if that, and the urge to sink into him overwhelms me. He's different and the same. This close, our bodies in a familiar position, the eighteen-year-old in me recognizes safety and comfort and it's as if no time has passed.

Then, the mind kicks in.

What are you doing?

Adam releases me abruptly and I clutch the countertop to keep from falling again. He grumbles, "Watch where you're going," and leaves.