We had decided to keep it platonic when I'd taken the job on the other side of the country two years ago. That a long-distance relationship would be too stressful on us both.
But I had lied.
I had agreed because it was what you said you wanted. Who was I to argue when I would do anything to please you? To make sure you were happy? I loved you too much to persuade you into a committed relationship but force us to be apart. So I lied to protect you and left. Even though it broke my heart.
I also kind of lied about why I was in town.
Yes, I was heading east for a work assignment. But stopping to see you wasn't a quick pitstop like I'd said when I called yesterday. Already only a state away. I had purposefully scheduled in a detour for the whole weekend with one hope in mind: that you'd be available to meet up for a meal.
I'd lucked out.
My astute planning had failed to book a hotel room, though. Or maybe that was my subconscious having wishful thinking. As I parked the car, I told myself I could always get a room after dinner. Because I wouldn't impose on you. I just wanted to see you. A couple of hours would suffice. To just get a fix. If you wanted more, I'd gladly oblige. I wouldn't press, though.
But all throughout dinner, I couldn't help noticing.
How your eyes would shine and you'd get a soft smile on your face whenever we spoke of the good times we'd had together. Or how your gaze dipped down and you worried your lip whenever I mentioned my new life out west. But especially your laugh, which still gave me goosebumps, when we joked about even the most ridiculous things.
Just being in your presence made my chest ache with longing to hold you again. The hug we'd shared by the register hadn't been enough. Then we'd been seated. You'd played with the silverware and napkin while we waited for our food to arrive. You were right there, across from me. I could reach out and take your hand. So close yet so far away. Somehow, I resisted.