“Do you remember that Halloween when my father caught you and your friends trying to t.p. my house?” Heat flushes through my cheeks as I laugh at the memory. Of course, the diminishing bottle of wine sitting on the coffee table probably has something to do with it.

“Oh, man. How could I forget? Your dad was so pissed. I thought he was gonna hand me my ass in a sling.” Mack’s eyes twinkle as he throws his head back and laughs. “I would’ve deserved it though.”

“Nah, his bark was worse than his bite, but yeah, he caught you red-handed.”

“We were so dumb about it too,” he runs his palm over his beard, “I mean, we had a laundry basket of toilet paper.” He shakes his head and then takes another sip of the white wine we’re polishing off.

After they finally came out to the car, Chris and Mack were joking around like lifelong friends. It did my heart good to see my boy so relaxed and happy again. I guess none of us were in a hurry to say goodbye. After Mack agreed to come over for dinner, he and Chris went outside and tossed the Frisbee around until the night sky grew chilly. Then they decided to warm up a bit by playing video games, talking smack the whole time. I swear, for a couple of hours, I wasn’t sure if I had one kid or two.

Chris went to bed hours ago, but Mack and I are still up, basking in the glow of our sentimentality. That glow burns a lot brighter when you pop the cork on the third bottle of chardonnay.

“I still remember what he said, too,” Mack continues. He puts his glass down on the table and straightens up as he imitates my father’s posture. “One of you boys better have a serious bowel problem,” Mack drops his voice like dad’s signature baritone. “Because if I find you throwing that toilet paper on my property, you’re gonna need every single sheet when I beat the shit out of each of you.”

Laughter rises up from my belly like bubbles in a glass of champagne. It’s nice to be able to laugh over memories of dad now. When the heart attack first took him, every thought of him stung. Actually, it feels good to let loose and laugh about anything again. With the year I’ve had, I was beginning to forget what feeling anything was like. Unless you count numbness and exhaustion. I was starting to believe those would be the only sensations I would ever have again.

“That was dad,” I smile and hold my glass up in the air, “bless his soul.” Mack closes his eyes and nods in a silent blessing. “Why were you trying to t.p. my house anyway? We were friends for a while by that point.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I was young and didn’t know how to talk about feelings and stuff back then. I guess some things never change, huh?” He looks over at me and winks.

Mack is many things, but an open book isn’t one of them.

“What were we,” he continues, “Chris’s age?” He slides his hand over my shoulders casually and resting my head against the crook of his arm feels like home.

“Yep, I’d say we were right around there,” I agree. Sitting back up, I swallow the last mouthful of my wine and put the glass down on the table. I quickly snuggle back against him, breathing in his scent shamelessly.

“I guess it’s probably because I loved you even then, but I didn’t know how to tell you.” His voice drops, but every word is etched into my eardrums and tattooed onto my heart.

Love me, even then? Does that mean he still…? I look into Mack’s face searching for meaning in the words he hasn’t spoken.

“Should I call you a cab soon? I don’t want my co-workers wagging their tongues about having you out all night,” I look over at the clock. It’s probably already too late for that, but him staying the night certainly won’t help.

“Why would they gossip about me being with you? Don’t you know I went to visit my great-aunt Mildred for the weekend? You’d love her, she’s such a sweetheart,” his eyes glint mischievously.

“Mildred? You don’t have a… oh, I get it,” I have a bimbo moment. I’m not sure if it’s because of the wine or if looking at Mack is distracting me. That’s not true. I know what’s clouding my head, not to mention my judgement, and it ain’t the chardonnay.

He’s gorgeous. I can’t pry my eyes off his blues. With a few drinks in him, they’re the color of a crisp autumn sky. Like a tumbling red maple leaf, I’m being tossed around, trusting him to safely place me on solid ground.

“Well, you can stay here then,” I look down at his lips. Why are they so damned distracting? “But, you’re gonna need to crash on the couch. I don’t want to confuse Chris.” I tell him honestly.

“I can respect that.”

His broad hand slides over the side of my face and under my chin. My heartbeat quickens as my eyes travel down to his pink lips. Suddenly, those perfect lips are crushing mine in a bruising kiss. I can feel the urgency of his desire and the longing on his tongue.

Can he feel how my body craves him?

How my soul aches for him?

How my heart beats his name?