‘What?’
‘It’s probably easier to just take a look.’
Stephen looked at the envelope like it contained anthrax. He didn’t move to take it. He didn’t speak.
When I reached out for it, Stephen’s eyes flashed to me sharply. Maybe in anger. Maybe in thanks for doing what he couldn’t. I didn’t know. I just figured, he needed time, and if he walked away without the envelope, he might regret it more than if he took it with him and decided to put it in the bin.
‘Well, I need to get back but, I’ll contact you if I figure out what the money was for—’ Trevor broke off because Stephen was already walking away again. Perhaps he wanted him to know what it felt like?
I couldn’t help but notice, he kept leaving me behind too.
Chapter Fourteen
Stephen was acting as though he was completely fine, but some wall had gone up inside. He’d apologised for walking away again but didn’t want to talk about anything that had just happened. I buried my disappointment at his distance and told myself he probably needed time to process his feelings. The shock of meeting the father who abandoned him and hearing that his deceased mother had been keeping secrets, was enough to make anyone retreat inside themselves.
We got back to his place in the late afternoon and he offered to cook me dinner. I opened his balcony doors and we ate at the table, the sound of traffic and music from other people’s open windows filtering in. He asked me more about my book and about publishing in general, and I knew he was listening…but I also knew he wasn’t really there.
It didn’t stop me from melting under his touch when he pulled me against him in the kitchen as we cleaned up the dishes. From wrapping myself around him as he pressed me up against the fridge, but I didn’t stay the night, and he didn’t ask me to.
Space. He probably needed space, I told myself repeatedly.
But as the week dragged on and I didn’t hear from him, the doubts began to creep in. Had he lost interest already? The search for his father was done and maybe we were done too?
I’d known this was a possibility. I’d gone into this with my eyes open as to who he was…but the Stephen I’d seen recently had made me think that he was capable of and wanted more, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself. I was teetering on the edge of wanting to believe I’d been right to give this thing between us a chance and the resignation that, yet again, I’d fallen for Type A and was going to swiftly be dumped.
I tried not to let it send me crazy, but it was hard now that I didn’t even have my book to distract me and I was on tenterhooks waiting to hear back from my editor. I was determined I wasn’t going to call him though. If this was it for us, I wasn’t going to act all thirsty. I’d done enough begging and compromising on Independence Day – ha, what an irony that was. I just wished half of me wasn’t as worried about him as I was about myself.
My cell phone pinged on Thursday at nearly midnight when I was lying in bed trying to relax my mind and go to sleep. Not an easy task when the heat lay on top of me like a pile of furs. I leapt for it and for the first time all week my heart didn’t drop with disappointment.
Stephen: Sorry I’ve not been in touch and it’s
late. How are you?
I debated not answering for a nanosecond so that I didn’t come off as though I’d been sitting at home waiting for him to call. But I couldn’t do that. What if he wanted to talk about what happened?
Me: I’m great. How are you?
Stephen: Good, just busy. It’s Patrick’s last
week so I’ve had back-to-back meetings. It’s
his leaving drinks tomorrow. Would you like
to come with me? I know it’s short notice. I
meant to ask you sooner. I’d really appreciate
it. It’s on a yacht.
So, no mention of how he was feeling about seeing his dad. And…he’dappreciateme going for these leaving drinks with him? Was it supposed to be a date or a favour? Or was he just tired and I was reading too much into his word choice.
I lowered my cell phone into my lap and chewed on my nail. It wasn’t exactly the effusive request to see him again that I’d been hoping for but there was no reason for him to invite me, other than the fact he wanted to see me.
Me: Go on then. As it’s on a yacht. ;)
Stephen: Great. I’ll pick you up at 8pm.
I blew out a breath and slumped back onto my pillows. Drinks with his work colleagues on a yacht. I’d been imagining a reunion of a far more private nature. One where we could catch up properly and I could see what was going on with him. One where I could take his pants off once I’d checked his emotional health was sound.
