Chapter 23: The Curb

"They're back," I said.

Briggs looked down at the pavement around his boots. He saw asphalt and a dropped glove and a bit of gravel.

"Tell me," he said.

"White. All of them. They're up to your knees."

I laughed, shakily.

"They're on the neighbor's lawn. There's one on the hood of Maeve's car."

He tipped his head back and laughed too, and then he stopped.

"Lena. Seven years ago I stood at a curb like this one, and I couldn't see a single flower."

"I know."

"I'm still standing here, and I can't see a single flower."

"I can," I said. "I'm looking right at them. I'm looking at you."

He opened his arms.

I walked into them in front of the whole block, with Maeve pretending to inspect a tire.

He smelled of cold air and cedar. His heart was going under my cheek.

"Take me somewhere," I said into his coat.

"Where?"

"The hotel. Fourth floor. I'd like to go back to the beginning and do it right."

"We did it right," Briggs said.

"Then I'd like to do it slowly."

Maeve cleared her throat.

"I'll drive the boxes home," she said, without turning around. "Don't hurry."

The room still had the made bed and the lamp on, because Briggs had never checked out.

I shut the door and leaned on it and watched him take off his coat.

"Stop looking at me like that," he said.

"Like what?"

"Like you're deciding where to start."

"I'm deciding," I said.

I crossed the room and took his face in both hands.

"I'm going to undress you," I said. "All of it. And you're going to let me look."

His throat moved.

"Yes."

I did it slowly, as I'd promised.

I unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it from his shoulders.

I kissed each scar I found, the long one over his ribs and the small one at his collarbone.

I knelt and undid his belt and drew his trousers down his legs.

He put one hand in my hair and said my name, low and rough.