Page 4 of It's a Widow Thing

Michael reached over and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, causing her breath to hitch. “I won’t lie to you, Sabrina. I like you. A lot.”

Her heart not only raced, it whirred around the racetrack of her chest. Everything about him, including the smooth exterior that made her wonder if he was playing her, was irresistible. But these weren’t merely scary waters—they were ice cold. There might be sharks. If she was going to go in, she’d need to enter them slowly. She might be capable of dipping in a toe to check the temperature, but that was it for now.

“I like you, too. I’m glad we’ve become friends.”

“I can’t help but feel like there’s more to it than that.”

There was an impulse to let her body crash into his, to blurt out that friendship was for suckers, but she knew that feeling wouldn’t last. She was way too skittish. Every time Michael did something that made her forget, her heart reminded her with an awkward flutter.

He lowered his head, his perfect lips were mere inches away, parted slightly, clearly about to connect with hers. Never before had she been so unprepared for a kiss, even when she had far more advance warning than was needed. There was no time to think it through. His lips were on hers—tender and soft, but still strong enough to say that he was all business. Until that instant, she’d had no idea how starved she’d been for a kiss. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the simple pleasure of it, arching her neck and molding her lips to his. This was a big step toward reclaiming herself. Could she find Sabrina again? Was kissing Michael the way to do it?

He palmed her thigh and leaned into her. His tongue found her lower lip, which made every part of her feel as though it might float up into the cloudless night sky. Kissing Michael was the nervous delight of a great first date and the warm satisfaction of Christmas morning, all rolled into one…

But then her mind leapt ahead. The kiss only led in one direction—more kissing, the elevator, one of their apartments. That would be a lot. Too much. And she didn’t want to lead him on. She gripped his shoulders and gently eased herself back.

“Michael, I’m sorry.” Her breaths came fast. It was so difficult to look at him, but his eyes drew her in. “It’s just, um, I don’t think this is a great idea.”

“I’m sorry if I was too forward.”

She sighed and shook her head. If only she could find a way to tell him how important the kiss had been, without sounding out of her mind. “No. It wasn’t too forward. It was wonderful. I’m just not ready for more than that.” She got up from the sofa and removed his jacket. A swift escape was now her first priority.

He sprang to his feet. “Please don’t go. We’ll talk. No kissing.”

“I wish I could, Michael, but I can’t.” She scanned his face while an especially cruel series of thoughts and images rifled through her mind—mornings in the elevator with Michael, lonely nights in her apartment curled tightly into a ball, saying goodbye to Andrew on that cold December day.

There was no way to explain any of it, at least not in a way that wouldn’t completely kill the memory of the kiss she and Michael had just shared. Still, it hurt to hurt him and she was about to do exactly that. She was about to take a sweet and sexy man and cut him off at the knees. She never should’ve put herself in the situation. She never should’ve puthimin it.

“It’s not you. It’s me.” She popped up onto her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek, then rushed through the French doors into the Van Cleeves’ living room. She kept her eyes trained on the floor, winding through the mass of people, gasping for breath, feeling like someone with enormous hands was squeezing the air out of her lungs. She broke free from the crowd, lunged for the elevator button, and luckily, the doors opened right away.

She hopped on board and jammed the button for her floor. Just as the tears came.

CHAPTERTWO

If Michael wasn’t careful,he was going to be late, which would be very bad on a Monday. Still, he couldn’t ignore this phone call.

“Hello? Who is this?” he answered, employing a comically gruff tone. It was part of the game he played with his niece.

“Uncle Michael, it’s Zoe. I know you have my number saved in your contacts.”

He had to try very hard not to laugh. A seven-year-old with a cellphone was fairly hilarious to him, but one with a keen understanding of Caller ID brought another level of absurdity. “Zoe… Zoe… I’m trying to remember if I know someone named Zoe.” He stuffed his laptop into his bag, eyeing the clock.

“I’m in the car with Mom. I just found your hoodie in the backseat. You must have left it in here after soccer.”

Michael grinned. “I’m not surprised. I was so blown away by the sheer athletic prowess of the goal you scored that I must have forgotten all sense of time and place. And where I put my hoodie, of course.”

“I’ll put it in my room for the next time you come to visit.” Any other kid might have giggled or asked him what prowess meant, but not his niece. She was unflappable and smart, but also far more polite than most adults he knew, all of which made it impossible to do anything but adore her.

“That sounds perfect. Thank you.”

“Hey, Michael?” Zoe’s mom, Michael’s sister-in-law Alyshia, asked over speaker phone.

“Yeah?”

“Are you doing okay?”

Alyshia didn’t need to be any more specific since she understood the stress he was often under during family gatherings, especially if his mother was involved. His mom had made time in her busy schedule to attend Zoe’s soccer game yesterday, as well as the late lunch that followed at his brother’s house. She’d also found a spare moment to make a few quiet comments to Michael about how his relationship with Zoe was the perfect illustration of the reasons he would make a fantastic dad and husband—if only he could finally settle down. “Oh, me? I’m great. Never been better now that Zoe found my hoodie.”

“Okay. Well, I hope your, uh…” Alyshia cleared her throat. “…appointment goes well this afternoon.”