Oh. Yes.
My orgasm hits me so hard that I have to grip the counter behind me, bucking into my hand as I shout, my head tipped back. Through the rushing in my ears, I make out Benji’s growled curse as he comes, and as I drift down off my own peak, reality crashes back over me.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
What the hell did we just do? Any pleasure I feel disappears, leaving me cold, and I rush to get dressed again, not daring to look at Benji as I do it. I wanted totake things slow, not jump into sex before I even knew what we were to each other.
“Paige, wait.”
“I’m sorry.”
I don’t look back. I just run, taking advantage of his nakedness to put as much distance between us as I can.
Chapter Fourteen
PAIGE
Ten steps. That’s all that separates his store from mine, but every one of them might as well be a mile as I race back to the safety of Skye and our shop.
After he disappeared, it took a month to stop expecting him every time our door opened.
Two to stop thinking of things to text him.
Six before I stopped sneaking looks at his shop, with its hollowed-out insides and dustyFor Rentsign.
Missing him hurt for so long that finally forgetting him felt good.
Now it’s all come screaming back. The looks. The longing. Every skipped heartbeat at the sound of his voice.
I’ve tried so hard, all day, every day for a whole year—a year—and none of it matters anymore because thesecond he walked into that hotel, I knew nothing had really changed for me.
I’ve been so good for so long that I didn’t think about what I would do if he came back.
Maybe I should have prepared better, should have done some breathing exercises or learned whatever technique they taught people to pass polygraphs. Maybe now I wouldn’t feel like screaming or hiding from him forever.
It’s too late for that now. I’ve looked. Looked and longed and felt my heart knock against my chest like it was trying to write a love letter in Morse code.
When he leaves again—and he will—it won’t just hurt. It’ll be devastating. That must be why they call it a crush—because it flattens you.
A sweet elderly couple hovers near the register when I burst inside, but as soon as Skye sees me, she apologizes and says we’re closing for a short lunch break.
“Oh, of course, dear. Don’t let us hold you up.” The wife pushes her husband out the door, promising to return.
I try to smile as they pass me, but it’s strained, and tears prick at my eyes.
Once the couple is out the door, Skye locks it and pulls me into the studio. “What the hell happened?”
“I’m still in love with him,” I say, blinking back tears.
Skye opens her arms, and I fall into them, hugging her tightly. Her hair smells like roses. “I know.”
What is forgiveness, really? Is it a choice? An urge?
Is it letting go of something or accepting it? Is it forgetting? Or does it mean more if you remember?
I want to forgive Benji. I can feel it like a barrier between us, air that needs to be cleared before we can breathe again. I know he’s scared that I haven’t. I see it in his eyes, every time he thinks I’m not looking.
I’ve heard that forgiveness isn’t a choice. That it’s as unpredictable as falling in love. But there has to be a will underneath, right? You have to want it a little bit first.
