Page 28 of Restored Dreams

I slept with someone else.

I pause for a moment outside Lily’s door, uncertain how to proceed. My knuckles raise to knock, but I freeze once again. What do I say to her?

The truth. Always go with the truth, my mind murmurs.

I decide not to knock. Instead, I turn the knob and let myself in. “Lily,” I call out softly.

“Please leave me alone,” she says, her words choppy and short. She lies on her side with her back to the door like last night. She’s hurt. I saw it written in her face downstairs. Shit. Shit. Shit. She’s crying.

“Don’t cry, Lily pad,” I coax, crossing to the bed in two quick steps. She rolls to face me, tracking my movements.

“I’m not crying,” she snaps. “I’m pissed.”

“Why are you mad?” Taken aback by the sharpness of her voice, I round the corner of the bed to stand next to it.

“I’m mad at myself.”

“Why?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing it again.” My throat tightens at her words. I don’t like where I think this is going.

“Doing what?”

“You said there wasn’t anyone else this morning.” Her voice sounds petulant, riddled with jealous anger. I shouldn’t like it, but I do. I also notice she hasn’t answered my question.

“There isn’t.”

“Then who’s Sheila?” My head flinches back at the mention of the woman who comes into the shop a little too often for my liking.

“She’s no one.”

“I thought I was no one,” she bites.

“Lily,” I admonish softly, reaching out for her hip as I sit on the edge of the mattress next to her. “You aren’t no one. I didn’t know what to say. Did you want me to tell my son I was here with you?” I would tell the world if you wanted me to. Her eyes close, and she shakes her head. A subtle tension trickles between us.

“Right,” she mumbles. “One week.” As much as I wish to discuss our calendar, I need to tackle one issue at a time.

“Sheila’s married.”

Lily’s mouth falls open, and her shock says she’s ready to rip into me. I hold up a hand to stop her.

“She’s an unhappy woman who comes into the shop looking for something more than I’m willing to give her.”

“Have you given her something that she’d want more of?” Lily chokes.

“No. I don’t do married women.”

“Why would she want something from you?” The hesitation in Lily’s voice brings back a wave of memory. Why would she do this?

“Because she assumes that, as a single man, I’m desperate to get under her hood, which I’m not.”

Her bright blue eyes narrow as she glares at me. “Did you just try to be funny? Was that a car joke in the middle of…of our fight?”

For some reason, this makes me chuckle. I shift to crawl over her and reach for her wrists, pining her to the bed as I straddle her hips. I want her full attention, and I lower my head. “Are we fighting?”

“Yes.” The singular word cracks like a whip. Her hips buck under me, and it forces me to firmly press her into the mattress. I respond to her bucking with a thrust of my own.

“What are we fighting about?” I tease because there’s nothing to argue over. Sheila is a dead issue. I’m not interested in married women—or any woman other than Lily.