Page 83 of Songs for Libby

I pulled back and slapped a hand over my mouth, looking at his shocked face, which no doubt mirrored my own. “I am so sorry.” I shook my head, trying to get it on straight again. “I didn’t mean to do that. It—it was just…habit…muscle memory.”

“Yeah,” he said in a tone heavy with confusion. “Yeah, of course.” He cleared his throat. “Just part of the routine, right?”

“Yes. Exactly. I’ll see you later.” I left, deciding that fleeing from the awkward was the best course of action.

I tried to shake off the incident, tried to brush it away as a silly little mishap, something forgettable. It should be forgettable, right? Except that it wasn’t. It wasn’t forgettable at all. It was the opposite of forgettable. It kept playing in my head. And each time it did, it seemed to mean more than the time before.

Kissing Sean had been the most natural thing in the world. Just as natural as kissing Jonas goodbye. And that was…wrong….right? That should be wrong. It felt wrong. It felt like betrayal and like I was forgetting my husband—replacing him. I didn’t want to replace him. I didn’t want Sean.

I didn’t want Sean.

I didn’t.

I shouted that phrase in my head each time the barely-kiss played in my head, and each time I believed it less.

But I couldn’t want him. Not when I knew he still had feelings for me. I couldn’t have a crush on him. That would just confuse my life. That would ruin our friendship. Because if I toyed with that idea….if I allowed us to become something more and then we came apart…

I couldn’t. It hadn’t even been five months since Jonas had died. I couldn’t possibly be ready to move on. My sanity was barely remaining within my grip as it was. Adding the element of a relationship with Sean—Sean—the boy who had used me and left me and loved me and let me destroy myself for him—

I couldn’t.

And the more I told myself that I couldn’t use him to fill the hole of my loneliness, the greater the want became. I found myself wanting more. I wanted the possibility. I wanted the easy love of a man who knew me inside and out. I wanted to love him for everything that he was. I wanted to love the brilliant musician he was instead of resenting that part of him. I wanted to love him for the supreme human being he seemed to have become.

Seemed.

Why was it that I couldn’t let myself believe that his change would stick? Why couldn’t I trust that this version of Sean was the one that would stay? The pieces of my heart that still bore the scars in the places where he had broken me wouldn’t let me trust it—trust him.

♪♫♪

I walked in the door after work, wondering if things would be weird between us. If we were still only friends—or, if I still thought we were only friends and that there weren’t any more complicated emotions between us—it would have been easy. Something to laugh off. Instead, I worried that my accidental kiss that had felt so natural would make him think things that I wasn’t sure I wanted him to think about.

It was certainly making me think things…

So my smile and greeting were probably a little too bright. “Hey, how was your day?” I asked as I collapsed into the couch.

Sean was sitting at my piano, working through a chord progression, altering it just a little each time as he tried to land on the right sound.

He looked up and gave a fleeting smile. “It was fine. I had a conference call with my security people and managed to convince them that I was still just fine here.”

“Think that will last?”

He shrugged. “It has so far.” He knocked on the wooden surface of the piano. “Can you help me for a minute?” He scooted over.

“Sure.” It was a familiar routine. He showed me the piece of music he was working on, playing the tune several times and then going to sit on the couch with his guitar. We worked for the next hour and a half as he strummed and sang, adjusting notes and lyrics while I adjusted the piano to fit into what he was doing.

“I might have to put your name on my next album,” he said as he pushed his hair back.

I chuckled. “No thanks. I’m happy to remain the anonymous muse.”

He did a funny eyebrow-raise-head-tilt as he continued to read over his notes. “You are that,” he murmured.

I was about to ask what that meant, but he stood and stretched, ready to pursue food instead of music, and went in search of dinner.

He kissed my head before he left that evening, like he’d done several times before.

I turned on a movie, trying to distract myself from the roiling confusion that had continued to churn my stomach ever since that stupid peck on the mouth had made me start thinking things.

I fell asleep on the couch.