Page 18 of It's a Widow Thing

“It’s the exact same floor plan as your place,” she said.

“I know. It’s just funny to see someone else’s take on it. I never would’ve guessed your apartment would look like this. You’re always wearing black.” The words hung in the air.She’s a widow, jackass.“I’m sorry. Of course you wear black.” He turned, able to take full survey of her in wonderfully clingy gray yoga pants. After last night, part of him wanted to hug her and tell her that everything would be okay. Part of him, mostly the lower half, couldn’t deny that he desperately wanted to see and touch every inch of bare skin beneath her workout clothes.

She shrugged. “To be honest, black makes me depressed, but it’s an easy choice in the morning when you’re half awake. It’s not any more complicated than that.”

“Whatever the reason, I like this more colorful side of you.” Sabrina was a different woman in this light and in this place, her sanctuary—open and vulnerable, far from the steely vixen that rode the elevator with him.

She stepped closer and opened the bakery bag, peeking inside then pulling out a cheese Danish and taking a bite. “You’re very thoughtful, you know. I’m not sure my behavior last night warrants such nice treatment.”

He inhaled her sweet scent, inched closer as if he were an aimless moon and he couldn’t help that she possessed a gravitational pull. “I can deal with it if a woman wants to put on the brakes, regardless of the reason.” A tiny smear of icing sat at the corner of her lips. How he wanted to lick it off. “You have a little, uh…” With his pinky, he gently touched her cheek, which was such a dumb idea. Skin touched skin and the line had been crossed. His body insisted that the line never, ever be put back in place.

A tendril of her dark hair fell from her ponytail when she shook her head. “I’m not surprised. My enthusiasm for pastries can get a little out of hand.” She plucked a napkin from the bakery bag and wiped off the sugary spot, sending disappointment through him.

So much for licking.

“I didn’t want to hurt your feelings last night,” she continued. “It had nothing to do with you.” She peered up at him, eyes brilliant and animated in the morning light. “You know, the rule-book for being a widow is confusing as hell. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“I never thought about that.”

“Meanwhile, the world loves to remind you that you’re a widow. It’s supposed to become your one true identity. And people expect you to act a certain way because of it. You’re expected to be sad, and if you aren’t, someone will say something about how they’re glad you’re moving on. When the reality is that you’re just having an okay day and why shouldn’t you be allowed to have a blip of happiness without it meaning some drastic shift? It doesn’t mean I’ve fully healed from everything.” Her eyes flamed with intensity and she began gesturing everywhere. “And the instant you show even the tiniest bit of sexiness, people are shocked. Or they think it’s a sign that you’re over the person you lost. But of course you aren’t because you never will be.” Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, her shoulders trembled, and red rose in her cheeks, telling him exactly how difficult this was for her. No wonder she’d fled the two times they’d kissed—her mind must have been a torrent of thoughts of other people’s judgements.

“I’m sorry I said that thing about you being too young to be a widow. I was got caught off guard.”

She sighed and shook her head. “It’s okay. Believe me, you aren’t the first person to say that to me. I’m still learning to navigate other people’s expectations while trying to listen to what my head and my heart are saying. But a lot of times, I can’t switch off my brain. I can’t shut down the thoughts. That’s what happened last night. It’s what happened at the cocktail party. I’m stuck in an endless loop of wondering if what I’m doing or feeling is right.”

He nodded, working overtime to wrap his head around the way she felt. He couldn’t truly imagine everything she’d been through. She’d lost her partner in life. Someone she’d obviously loved very much. Meanwhile, he’d never actually been in love. “That makes so much sense to me. Totally understandable.”

She laughed quietly. “Then add in the fact that was my body was wondering what in the hell was going on. I haven’t wanted someone like that in a long time.”

And there it was. The glimmer of hope he’d wanted. He wasn’t imagining things. She’d admitted it in words as indisputable as the aquamarine of her eyes. But she’d also hinted that there hadn’t been a man since her husband. This wasn’t normal guy-wants-girl pressure—it went far beyond that. It was time to prove to himself that everything he’d said to Alyshia was true. His player days were behind him. “I like you, Sabrina. A lot. And I’d like to be more than the guy you flirt with in the elevator. But I will take things at your pace and I’ll understand if you aren’t ready. Disappointed, but I’ll understand.”

“Disappointed? Really?” Her shoulders dropped and she let out a sigh, but neither seemed born of exasperation. It was more like relief. “When you came to the door, I was sure you were going to tell me you just wanted to be friends. I’m sure the last thing you want to deal with is a woman with a bunch of baggage.”

His attraction to Sabrina was now matched by something strong and far more difficult to label. It came from the center of his chest, made every defense he possessed fall away.Alyshia called it. Sabrina was sure I was going to walk away.“Don’t say that. Don’t minimize what you’ve been through by calling it baggage.”

“It doesn’t matter what I call it. It’s still there, and it’s not going anywhere.”

“Of course it is. We all have a history. We all have a past. I want to understand yours, not run away from you because of it.”

She smiled and shook her head slowly. “Talk about surprising someone. You’re not exactly what I took you for.”

“I don’t know what you thought I would be, but I want you to know one thing. I would never, ever hurt you, Sabrina. Never.” Even he was taken aback by the conviction with which he’d spoken the words. “And I’d like to spend some time together today if we could.”

CHAPTEREIGHT

Sabrina had sensedMichael was a passionate guy, but the tremor in his voice when he said that he’d never hurt her? It hinted at something deeper. His words, the stormy blue of his sweater, and his warm brown eyes were such a potent combination. Whatever he wanted, whatever it was that they were doing, whatever was about to happen, none of it felt like he was a player and she was a conquest.

“It was really hard to walk out of your apartment last night,” she said.

“Believe me, watching you walk down that hall was not fun.” He cracked a smile. “I enjoyed the view though. You were working that skirt like nothing I have ever seen.”

Damn. That smile.It made his face come to life, brought out the dimples hiding behind the stubble, and made his eyes flicker. “Maybe that just wasn’t the right moment for us.” Michael with fewer of his advantages—his slick apartment and a seduction dinner—had her feeling far less nervous. Maybe it was being on her own turf. Perhaps her body was simply over being skittish and was more eager to embrace the idea of well, embracing. Heat flooded her cheeks as he stepped closer. “I’m happy to wait for the right moment.”

Just like last night, this closeness had her teetering, toes hanging over the edge of please-take-me-now cliff. It still eluded her why she was in any way hesitant to jump. She’d spent more than enough time imagining this happening between her and Michael. But she didn’t want to kiss him and have everything get weird again. They needed to get on an stronger footing first. “I really appreciate you being such a good sport about this. About me.”

“Are you kidding me? Have you looked in a mirror? Have you listened to yourself when you talk?”

“You don’t have to compliment me.”