Pete turned his back to me and studied the wood shelves displaying my collection of desk toys while I stewed in silent aggravation over his answer to my question. The thing that bothered me the most was that I knew he was right. Why should I care what he- or anyone- thought about what I decided to do with my life? Why did I crave the approval of my family and friends so much? Maybe because it was somehow easier than not caring, knowing I had their support and that no one was waiting for me to fail, so they could say "I told you so."

"What's all this?" Pete asked.

"Desk toys. I collect them."

He picked up the Jacob's ladder and watched the wooden blocks flip downward as he moved the top one back and forth. Then he set it back on its shelf.

"When you have a handheld computer that does everything, these must seem old-fashioned."

"Not old fashioned," I said. "Timeless." And I felt myself blush.

He looked at me like I was a puzzle he was trying to work out and I didn't understand why. I'd divulged everything at that point and felt about as mysterious as a goldfish swimming around in a bowl. When he kissed me the night before, I kissed him back. I'd explained that Eric was only a friend. I'd bared my soul in the letter I gave him.

"Did you read the letter I gave you?" I asked.

"I didn't."

"Oh. I guess you didn't get a chance before the fire."

"The letter might've caused the fire," he said, cringing.

"You burned it?" He was obviously not happy to see me that night, but burning my letter seemed especially bitter and vicious.

"I thought it was for the best, at the time." He took a flat plastic case filled with colored sand from a shelf and tipped it, focusing on the layers of sand swirling together as he explained. "When you were about to leave that night, I realized I didn't want you to go after all. I thought you'd have to ask me to open the door for you. So I figured I had some more time to come up with an apology or explain somehow, but you went ahead and opened the door yourself. And then you were gone and I thought I'd never see you again." He replaced the sandscape on the shelf, but he still wouldn't look at me. "I thought about it for a while, and then I decided that reading it wouldn't do me any good at that point, so I threw it in the wood stove."

"I'd probably be dying of embarrassment if you'd read it, anyway."

"I regretted it. Right away. As soon as I saw it catch fire I tried to pull it back out, but it was too late. That's probably how the fire started. I was pretty far gone by then, trying to pull burning paper out of the stove with fireplace tongs. What did it say?"

"Nothing, really."

He did not look convinced. "You wrote me pages and pages of nothing? And thought all of that nothing was important enough to bring to me, hours away from home, in the middle of the night?"

"I didn't find you just to give you the letter."

"I know. You found me to convince me to go back to my old life in Palmer, so you wouldn't feel guilty anymore."

"That's not it. I didn't want you to feel guilty and punish yourself for something you didn't do. And I brought the letter in case you couldn't see me."

"Why wouldn't I be able to see you?"

"Sometimes people in the past can see me, sometimes they can't. Remember?"

"So, what did it say?" he asked again.

"A lot of stupid stuff. Some things I already told you about how I didn't understand yet what happened with Grace. I asked a lot of questions even though I knew they weren't going to get answered. About your life and what you were up to. But the basic idea was that I missed you."

"Anything else?"

The pleading look in his eyes was going to break me, and so I let the words rush out of my mouth.

"And it said that I loved you and I wish I would've told you that before."

"And now?"

"And now, what?"

"Do you?"

"I don't know," I admitted.

His lips pressed together in a thin line and he slowly nodded.

"I mean, I think I might. If you're the same person underneath whatever this is. You're standoffish and grumpy most of the time. And you get mad at me for trying to help you. I wish you'd let me help you because I ruined your life. Twice! I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for saying that I'm sorry, but I can never be sorry enough. After all that I get why you can barely stand to look at me.

"And I know you're hurt and probably in pain all the time and that things have to be so strange and confusing for you. I don't expect you to be all perfectly happy to be here, but you don't have to be here! I could've taken you back and you decided to stay. I offered to try to fix what went wrong and you don't want me to. I'm just not sure what you want."

"Last night, I-"

"Walked away. You kissed me and then you took off. And I couldn't sleep last night and all day I've been wondering what I did wrong. It's like I do one wrong thing after another."

"You made a face after and I couldn't- I didn't want to stick around to find out why. I was afraid it had something to do with him."

"Ohh," I exhaled in relief as I remembered. "That was an embarrassed face, because I made, like, a noise."

"A noise?" His face contorted in confusion.

"I made, like, an orgasm noise. Or something."

His eyes widened and he covered his mouth to mask a grin. "I thought it was an 'Oh no, that was a mistake' face."

"No, no, not at all. It was like a 'that was the best kiss ever and I can't believe I completely lost control of myself' face."

He sighed as he shook the Magic 8 ball. As an answer to some unspoken question floated up to the window, he frowned and set it back.

"And your music was so loud," he said quietly, almost to himself. "I didn't even hear it. I'd like to sometime, though."

"You...what?"

He guiltily glanced over at me and said, "I'm not gonna repeat that."

He took the Rubik's cube off the shelf and his forehead wrinkled as he tried to solve the puzzle. My heart was thumping so hard I could see my chest rising and falling with each beat. I watched his hands as his fingers gripped and turned the colorful blocks. I wanted those hands on me and it sounded like he did, too.

Were we at a standoff because I wasn't ready to tell him that I loved him? Even though he'd been acting like he barely even liked me? It didn't seem fair.

He finally set aside the Rubik's cube in frustration, pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and walked over to the window to take in the view. It was beautiful. The sun set early in late December and it was shining directly through the window. Everything was bathed in golden light; the entire sky and the leafless branches of the trees lining the edge of the frozen fields.

Pete was beautiful, too, with a border of light surrounding him like a halo. His eyelashes and nose and mouth traced in gold. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth and released it. I was mesmerized, until he turned away from the window and stepped toward me, finally holding my gaze for more than a second.

"Listen, I'm sorry for how I've been acting." As he closed the space between us, his halo faded and his distraught face emerged from the shadow. "I know it's not a good excuse, but you're like the goddamn surface of the sun. If I get too close to you again, it's over for me."

He looked so vulnerable and shaken that watching him felt intrusive so I gazed past him and out the window.

Then he stepped forward, took my hand and threaded his fingers with mine. And then I couldn't look away.

"What I'm trying to tell you is that I still love you." He lifted our clasped hands to his chest. "It stayed here all that time and never went away. Even when I wanted it to. And I'd really like to kiss you again, if that's alright."

"Mmm hmm," I nodded eagerly.

It wasn't desperate and urgent like the night before. He brushed his lips against mine, teasing me, and pulled away. When he looked at me the light in his eyes that I hadn't seen since the summer returned. He watched my face as he traced my jaw with his thumb and then drew circles on the skin behind my earlobe. I leaned into his touch, because the light pressure there was way too much, too soon. But Pete took advantage by kissing behind my ear on the other side and slowly making his way down my exposed neck. My teeth were lightly chattering in anticipation and I shivered.

If he kept this up, he'd be hearing the sounds he wanted to hear soon.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his breath warm against my skin.

"Yes," I said, my voice wavering, "but if you don't kiss me soon I might pass out."

We kissed slowly, like we had all the time in the world. And it occurred to me that maybe we did. The thought ignited a blooming warmth in me and I finally stopped shivering.

Something was off though. He smelled like a beach; like citrus and sea salt and something green and woodsy that belonged in a warmer climate. His sweatshirt still smelled like Eric. It needed to go.

I gently tugged at the front of the hoodie. "Can I take this off?"

He unzipped the sweatshirt and I ran my hands along his arms to push the sleeves down, letting it fall to the floor. I wrapped my arms around him and pushed my hands under his shirt and then he was pulling the t-shirt over his head, wincing a little. That was the first time I saw the bruises. I lightly brushed my fingertips over the patches of purple and black and walked them up to his chest. He was more muscular and defined than I remembered.

We kissed again and he tucked his hands below the hem of my sweater and lightly dragged his fingertips from my hips to meet at my lower back and then back again. He dipped his thumbs under the waistband of my jeans for a moment and then tugged up the bottom of my sweater. He stopped abruptly and his hand flew to his side, so I took over and added my sweater to the pile on the floor.

I saw our reflection in the full-length mirror in the corner of the room and had an out of body experience. Was that me? Was that Pete, the person I nearly convinced myself that I imagined, in my bedroom, in 2016? Planting kisses down my neck? Was that my hand fanned out across his back, pressed against his skin? How was this even happening?

He held my face in his hands and kissed me again. Terms from anatomy class ran through my head as I brushed my fingers over his skin from his jaw to his shoulders to his chest and down his torso. Sternocleidomastoid, my favorite muscle name. Deltoid. Pectoralis major. Those were bigger than they used to be. Maybe those were my new favorites. External abdominal obliques. Who was I kidding? They were all my favorites. Everything about him was my favorite.

Then his hands traced the same path on me, when his thumbs brushed over my bra along the way, I sharply inhaled as a tingling sensation traveled to my throat and I dug my fingertips into his skin. He moved his hands to my hips and pulled me back to the bed.

Pete sat on the edge of the bed and I stood between his legs with my hands threaded in his hair. I kissed his eyelids and the tip of his nose and he had a dreamy smile on his face like he was waking up from the most restful night of sleep he'd ever had.

When he opened his drowsy eyes again, they locked on mine and I felt more in love with him than I'd ever been before. It was dizzying.

His eyebrows drew together like it almost hurt him to look at me. He wrapped his hand behind my neck and pulled me in again. Just before our lips met, he murmured, "I've dreamt of this for so long. It doesn't seem real."

I tried not to think about whoever might be able to see us through the window, glowing in the late afternoon light. There were only distant neighbors and deer in the fields and cars buzzing by, anyway. Then Pete fell back on the bed and I carefully climbed over him and his hands and his mouth were on my skin and I didn't think of anything at all.