I understand that more than anything. It’s filled with us, the good and bad, which is probably why I haven’t been in the room I was assigned. It’s the master bedroom, and it’s exactly what I remember.

Just opening the door I felt as if I had been hit in the chest and it made it impossible for me to take a step inside it.

So, my bags sit just on the inside of the door. I’m such a coward that I changed in the bathroom down the hall.

I don’t want to be afraid, but I don’t know if I can tell him everything, so I start where it feels safest. “Even when we forget things or make ourselves try, it’s like the world won’t ever really release it. After we broke up, there were times when I’d hear a song and I was back to a moment we shared. Or I’d hear a laugh, and I’d swear it was you.”

“Did you want it to be?”

I swallow and look away. “Sometimes I . . . I was sad when it ended.”

Grayson shifts so his hand rests on my thigh. “Answer the question, Jess. Did you want it to be me?”

The heat from his touch, the way I feel it all the way in my marrow, makes it hard to think. My brain, it’s scrambling, I can feel the words. “You. We. Jump.”

He touches my chin, turning it gently toward him. I can see the questions swimming in those blue eyes. I would know that unique color anywhere. If I were to close my eyes, I would be able to draw them perfectly. The deep blue in the center that lightens as it goes, and the specks of green that fray right at the edges. So perfectly him.

“Take a second. Breathe,” he coaxes.

I do. I focus, allowing the thoughts to form more concretely. My lashes lift, and his face is so close it makes my chest ache. Instead of speaking, we move at the same time, and his lips are on mine or mine are on his.

The past flows around us, cocooning us in this house where we made love more times than I can count. I feel it moving between each breath, reminding me of all that we were—the promises, the hopes, the dreams. This kiss is different from the ones that came before it. It’s rougher, more urgent and demanding. I feel the search for questions as his tongue touches mine.

God, it’s different and yet the same.

He’s still Grayson. My Grayson. The boy who stole my heart and gave me hope that maybe not all men would be like my father. It was a time when we were more than two kids, we grew together, found each other, and then I let go.