‘There’s something I want to tell you’ – not those words again.

Didn’t girls understand that saying any variant of ‘we need to talk’ or ‘I need to tell you something’ was akin to a knife stab in the gut while saying ‘don’t worry’.

“It’s about my past,” she was saying, her eyes still turned toward the sunset.

I only let her head settle on my shoulder, saying nothing. It wasn’t time for that. The gulls were fluttering the skies, quiet, the waves were purring on the shore, quiet. And I too, had to be quiet to leave space for her words. It was time to listen.

“My former fiancé,” she clarified. “Brent.”

She took a deep breath and stiffened slightly under my arm.

“We were high school sweethearts,” she said. “Met at sixteen, engaged at twenty. He was my everything – my best friend, my lover, my greatest supporter. We had it all figured out – the house we were going to move to, the day we were to have our wedding. And then…”

She exhaled.

So far, her story had filled me with goosebumps. The ‘but’ had been evident as soon as she’d uttered the words ‘former-fiancé’. Although, when she dropped the bomb, I still wasn’t prepared for it.

“He died.” An involuntary quiver went through her and I tightened my arm around her. “He was killed in a car accident. Bad roads, bad rain, no one’s fault.” Her breath hitched. “And I was there.”

Forgetting myself, I whirled around, peering into her downturned eyes. “What?”

She could only give a sort of nod, not looking up. I waited for the more that never came.

When I said something, she sat up. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have told you.”

“Don’t say that.”

The line of her mouth was hard. “The point is, that was three years ago, and I still don’t know if I’m ready for anything serious. I haven’t been with anyone since him.”

For half a minute, I fumbled for the right words to say. Finally, though, I said the only thing I could, “Of course, I understand.”

Although I wish I could’ve told my body that. Because, in the encroaching moonlight, the pouted swell of her lower lip, her far-off staring eyes, were only beacons. They beckoned to dip my face in and then…

When Cin’s head rested on my chest, stifling a sob, I couldn’t. Not like this.

Although what happened next did surprise me.

“About before, in that room,” I said. “All the frustration I was letting out – it was from breaking my hand. When it first happened, I was sure I could get back to fighting as soon as it healed, no matter what the doctors said. But then, after months and months of trying to fight and failing, even trying to make a go of it with my left hand as my main, I had to face facts. My boxing days were over.”

My hand had settled over the small sphere of her head, stroking lightly amidst the highlights in her hair.

“When I first got into managing, I thought it would make a nice segue from being the boxer. I’d get to work with my brother, see the inner workings of the boxing world….”

I trailed off, my own ‘but’ on the tip of my tongue. Just how much was I willing to reveal to Cin. No way could I tell her everything, I hadn’t even told Jake everything.

“But it hasn’t been what I expected,” I said finally.

Cin’s head stirred from its rest, turning so she could peer at me. “What would you do if you didn’t manage?”

“That’s the thing.” My fingers dipped into the sand, the packed dampness somehow soothing. “I’ve got no idea. Here I am, treading water in this job I hate, itching to leave, and yet I don’t have a Plan B.”

I paused, amused to see that I’d aimlessly finger-written in the sand: JOP.

“I’d still manage part-time to be close to Jake, most likely,” I said. “It just feels like there’s something missing in what I’m doing now.”

“What about photography?”

Her question was light, easy. It swept in like a bird and disturbed the excuse-ridden rafters in my mind. “It’s just a hobby.”

“You like it, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but-” I stopped myself before the excuse could come all the way out. Cin had a point.

“It’s just an idea,” she said with a dismissive figure-eight wave of her hand. “Maybe I’ve just had too much chocolate.”

“Or not enough,” I said, passing her the now half-done bar.

As we passed it back and forth, our bodies eased back into each other. All of me was buzzing with the wine and my attraction to Cin, pounding harder with every heartbeat.

“We should go,” I said, making no move to leave.

“You’re right,” she said, not moving either.

Or wait –

Cin was moving alright – toward me. Lead by her lips, it only made sense that they touched me first. Her lips pressed to mine, blotting everything away.

What happened after was more of what made sense to me: our bodies eased into each other fully. My hands cupped her face, her soft coconut-scented cheeks. Her fingers traced the outline of my pecs under my t-shirt. Our hands finally met, finger to finger, finger through finger, just like our mouths. Our tongues were one fraught twist, my arousal a full-body takeover.

What didn’t make sense was when she abruptly pulled away.