Page 80 of Songs for Libby

“In love with you?”

“He didn’t say that.” That would have freaked me out even more.

“What did he say?”

“He said…adored,” I confessed, and the word fell over me like a warm sweater. “He said he’d…been holding back from kissing me for so long that…”

“Whoa,” she breathed. “Libby.”

“What do I do?” I begged her for answers.

“I don’t know. Be honest? I think that’s all you can do.”

“I love Jonas,” I said with conviction. “I miss my husband so much that—” I clamped my lips shut, unable to finish as I tried to keep the tears away.

“I know, sweetie.”

“What do I say to him?” I begged for an answer.

“The truth.”

“I don’t know what the truth is.”

“So give yourself time to figure that out. It’s not like he expects you to run back and insist on a quickie Vegas wedding. Give yourself the space to figure it out. I’m sure he’ll give you that.”

A ragged sigh escaped me. “We had just gotten to a good place, you know? We’d reached a state of normalcy. We were comfortable with each other.” I mourned the loss of the comfort.

“I know. And I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat. “So, now, tell me exactly how this conversation went down.”

I conceded and gave her the girl-gossip version, recounting every word and every look I could remember. We hung up only when I was nearly to my front lawn.

I opened the door with trepidation and anticipation and a sick feeling in my gut that may or may not have been pregnancy related.

It turned out my body had gotten worked up for nothing. Sean wasn’t at my house anymore. He must have gone home. I let myself breathe again, grateful he was giving me distance. The dinner he had made me was sitting on the stove, no longer on the burner but covered with a lid to keep it warm.

As I churned through my thoughts and feelings over the next day, trying to determine whether or not I felt any of that for him, I came to the firm conclusion that as of right now, I just couldn’t. Jonas had died less than five months ago. Perhaps sometime, someday down the road, I would look at Sean and be able to see him in that light, but my heart was still firmly tied to Jonas that any thoughts of indulging in romantic feelings for anyone else felt like betrayal.

I sat in that conclusion for another full day, and then I walked the few feet from my front door to his and knocked.

His footsteps approached the door and then paused. He was looking through the peephole. Sean couldn’t open the door for just anyone.

The locks clicked and ground open, then the door swung in and he stood there, his face apprehensive but softened somehow.

“Can I come in?” I asked.

“Of course.”

He stood back and I walked in, going to his living room and the chair that had the most back support. He sat across from me, his smile faint. “I was trying to give you time.”

“I know. And I needed it.” I sat back and looked at him, for the first time allowing myself to see the depth of feeling in his gaze as he watched me. Had it been there all those years ago? Maybe. I couldn’t remember. But I realized it had been there since he’d come to take care of me. It had been there every day, but I hadn’t seen it because I wasn’t ready for it. I still wasn’t ready for it.

“You were right,” I said, staring at my hands as they twisted and clutched in my lap. “You said I had too much going on in my life to be able to deal with…this…and you were right. It’s too soon for me to even think those thoughts. There’s so much…” I rolled my hands in front of me. “So much going on inside of me right now that I can’t identify. Trying to work out if, and when, and how I might feel about you is—”

“I know,” he said. “It’s the very worst time. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to, really. I just thought it was a known factor for both of us. So when you asked, I just answered honestly.” He shrugged.

“I don’t want things to change.” I needed things not to change.

“They won’t. I’m still here for you, Libby. I’m here for what you need, not for what I want.”

It was a relief to hear. It was what he should have said, what was right.

But there was a little part of me that latched on to that last word. Want. And the implication that what he wanted…was me.