“Kaia, he stopped while you were in his bed after the worst night of your life. That part is not the problem.”
“I know.”
“The part where he decided you were too confused to know whether you wanted him?”
“Yes.”
“That part can go directly to hell.”
I sit back.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
Bev appears long enough to refill my coffee, glances at the destroyed pie, and silently leaves another fork.
I love her.
Joyce waits until she is gone.
“Do you want him?”
I look out the window.
“Unfortunately.”
“Kaia, I’m serious.”
The answer comes too easily.
“Yes.”
My stomach knots.
“Yes, I do.”
Joyce studies me.
“Since last night?”
I laugh once.
“God, no.”
That is the ridiculous part.
I wanted him before the fire.
Before I knew what his mouth felt like.
I wanted him when he fixed my porch step and acted like it meant nothing. When he noticed frightened children at the community center. When he stood in my living room and looked at me as if he could see every nervous joke I used to hide behind.
The fire changed a lot of things.
It did not create this.
I look down at the remains of my pie.
