The Dance (59 page)

Hart leaned closer to me. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not. I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not leaving. I’m just going to my place.”

Even though my confidence had been rebuilt on a firm foundation I still had moments of doubts. Hart read me like a book and knew the exact words to say to put me at ease. After Will went back to his room, I said goodbye to Hart, Colin, and Sophie. As I headed upstairs to my bedroom I thought about Hart and Will’s day-long pissing contest and wondered if this arrangement would do more harm than good.

Living with someone after being on your own for months was an adjustment. When that someone was your ex/pretend husband there was just no adjusting to that situation. The first week I found myself forgetting Will was in the house at times. At first I thought I was having some sort of mental hiccup due to stress. I mean, how do you block out another human being living under the same roof? I chalked it up to my brain being full. There’s only so much the organ can hold before certain bits of information get lost in the shovel.

My forgetfulness resulted in me being startled twenty-three times week one. The police got involved during episode one. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of clinking coming from downstairs. I thought it was someone trying to break through a window. It turned out to be Will hitting the side of the mayo jar with a knife trying to get the last little bit out for his turkey sandwich.

I wasn’t trying to avoid Will necessarily but I also wasn’t going out of my way to spend time with him either. Even though I worked hard not to have any animosity toward him, at times I struggled. Hart supported me in my decision to let Will come back but he wasn’t a fan of the situation which was another reason why I limited time with my new roommate. And with the holidays right around the corner most of my time was spent at Good Eats, so in a way it was all working out.

When Will and I did find ourselves in the same room, we didn’t speak much. It always felt like so much needed to be said, that neither of us knew where to start. So we didn’t, until we did.

Pinning my hair in a messy up-do, I groggily shuffled into the kitchen in search of my morning fuel.

“Good morning.” Will was leaning back against the counter sipping his coffee, already dressed in worn jeans, a white T-shirt under a blue flannel long-sleeve shirt, and a pair of dark brown Rockports.

My insides startled a little at the sound of his voice.

I tied the sash around my robe and headed toward the cabinet to grab a mug. “Good morning.”

“I already have one poured for you.”

Glancing his way, I saw the ready-made cup of coffee beside him.

I lifted the black gold to my mouth and took a tentative sip. “How did you know I was coming down?”

“I was upstairs and heard you moving around in our . . . I mean, your bedroom. I’ve been up for hours . . . couldn’t sleep.”

“What were you doing upstairs?” The words came out harsher than I intended.

“I wanted to look in the second bedroom.”

The second bedroom, a.k.a. what would have been the nursery. I’d finally emptied it out months ago. Packing up all the baby’s things, I had it repainted to cover up the row of color samples that had lined one of the walls. It was wasted space, really. I never stepped inside and kept the door closed.

“You cleared it out.” There was a hint of surprise in his voice.

“The furniture and the things our parents gave the baby are packed away in the attic. All the other stuff I donated.”

An awkward silence fell between us. I took a long sip of coffee before going on guard.

“Listen, we discussed ground rules. One of them being space. You have yours and I have mine. There’s really no reason for you to be upstairs.”

It felt weird telling Will certain areas were off limits to him in his own house. After he moved out it was easy for me to make the transition from this is ours to this is mine. Now that he was back the line was murky. Technically this was still his house. He’d been paying the mortgage while I continued to live in it.

Raising one hand in surrender, he said, “True. I apologize. It was nothing more than a sleepless night and an active mind. I just wanted to see the room one last time.”

Will seemed to get over losing the baby with ease a lot quicker than I did. I may have been overly suspicious of his motives. It just seemed odd after all this time for him to act like a heartbroken father. I searched his eyes trying to detect whether or not he was playing the pity card but all I saw was sadness and sincerity.

Another round of awkward silence settled in the air.

I walked to the breakfast bar and chose a peaches and cream muffin from the basket. Nancy encouraged me to practice my baking skills. She had become a great mentor, taking me under her wing and teaching me all aspects of the catering business. Good Eats catered a lot of corporate breakfasts and Nancy was always looking for something to add to that menu. I’d been testing this recipe for a couple of weeks, trying to come up with just the right consistency.

There was a slight tremble in my fingers as I peeled back the paper and tore the muffin in half.

“Bryson, if this is going to be a problem then I’ll leave. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable and on guard all the time.”

I placed the crumbling muffin on a napkin. “It’s just weird having you here like this. We’ve barely spoken in months and now we’re living under the same roof.”

“It’s not like we haven’t done that before,” he said, giving me a weak smile.

“It’s different now. I’m different now.” I tried to keep my eyes focused on him, so he could see my confidence. It lasted for about a second and a half before my gaze fell to the floor.

The room filled with the sound of footsteps coming toward me. Will put his index finger underneath my chin and tilted my gaze up to meet his.

“So am I.” His gaze traveled down to my lips.

Turning my head, I pulled my chin away. “Will, don’t touch me like that.”

He dropped his hand and took a step back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.” Regret filled his eyes. “I wish I would have been the man you deserved.”

“Did you ever want to be?”

“I don’t think I could be.” Pausing for a moment, he collected his thoughts. “I know you won’t believe me but I did care for you, Bryson. I still do. The type of person I was . . . am had nothing to do with you.” He paused. “I’ve always idolized my dad. I tried to be the perfect son. The son he deserved. He wanted all A’s in school, I got all A’s. He wanted me to play football, I played football. He wanted me to take over the company, I was going to take over the company. He wanted me to marry a good girl, I married a good girl. But I was never the perfect son. Alex had his problems but at least he was brave enough to be himself.” Pause. “The online stuff was an escape that got out of hand. Men think with their dicks. But it’s the lack of character in the man that allows himself to be led by it.” He looked at me with watery eyes. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you weren’t enough because you were. I just wasn’t.”

Will had never told me he was sorry for his role in our marriage ending. He justified his actions, watering them down and blaming me for overreacting. I hated that it took an illness for him to realize how much he’d hurt me. But I was grateful that he’d found the strength and the perfect words to apologize.

I reached out and took his hand. Giving it a slight squeeze, I whispered, “Thank you.”

It made me sad that both Will and I had gotten caught up in the current of our lives. In a sense we’d both been pretending all those years, neither one of us having enough courage to step out of the path we were headed down. Looking back I realized there were several different versions of Will. The version his friends liked. The version his parents wanted. And the version I pretended existed. He was like an actor in his own life. Playing to his audience, giving each what they wanted. But it wasn’t real. This disease not only forced him to reflect on his life, it also freed him from the illusion he’d been trying to live.

I tugged on the handle of the storm door but it was locked. Just as I was about to press the doorbell the front door opened revealing everything I ever wanted in life.

Hart flipped the lock on the storm door and pushed it open. “Hey.”

“Hey.” I sighed.

“What are you doing here? I thought it was girl’s night.”

Since mine and Hart’s schedules were getting even busier, I ended up cutting girl’s night with Sophie short. I made it through dinner but thoughts of my boyfriend got the better of me. I missed him and knew I’d never make it through a movie. Thank god Sophie understood and gave me a raincheck.

Winking, I said, “I’m girly enough.”

His gaze roamed the length of me, causing multiple vibrations to invade my body. “You are the perfect amount.”

“So, what’s a girl gotta do to get invited inside?”

“Drop her panties at the door.”

My cheeks flushed. “Hart!”

“Bryson! What do you expect? You show up on my front porch looking all sexy in your
wool
coat and little knit hat. Flirtin’.”

I tilted my head to the side and gave him my best pouty look. “Are you going to let me in?”

“Are you going to drop your panties?”

God, he makes me happy and hot.

I rolled my eyes. “Not out here. It’s like forty degrees. Let me in.”

Hart shook his head. “Sorry, rules are rules. Drop ‘em or no entry.”

Darting my gaze from side-to-side, I made sure Miss Polly wasn’t peeking out her window or any of the neighbors were walking by. I blew out a breath. It was a good thing I wore a dress tonight. Looking at Hart directly in the eye, I reached under my coat and slid the dark purple lace down and off.

Dangling the delicate material on the tip of my finger, I said, “Happy?”

Hart’s gaze bounced from my face to my lacy drawers. “I will be once you come in here and sit on my face.”

My knees caved in toward each other. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make it inside. Hart had a way of rendering me completely immobile with just a few words. He reached up taking the other end of my panties between his fingers and guided me through the door.

Once inside I couldn’t believe what I saw. The room was dark except for the flickering candles covering every flat surface.
Turn Me On
by Nora Jones flowed from the speakers.

“Ho-ow . . . how did you know?” I stammered.

We were still connected by the purple lace between us.

“Sophie ratted you out. She called me after y’all left the restaurant.”

“What’s all this for?”

Hart’s blue gray gaze locked with mine. “Because I’m in love with you.”

My chin quivered as my eyebrows squished together. Gulping several times, I tried to keep my sobs down.

A look of horror crossed Hart’s face. “Don’t cry.”

Drawing in a ragged breath, I said, “I can’t help it. You’re beyond sweet.”

“I can dick-it up if you want.”

My hands flew to cover my mouth as sniffles, snot, and laughter came out of me.

“I need a tissue or something.”

Hart raised the lacy material. “Here.”

“Not my panties!”