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I wasn’t sure I could live without her.
So, I went with the one sure thing I had in my arsenal. The one thing I knew without a doubt that Sage loved.
I made her origami.
Ducks. Swans. Cats. Dolphins. And because I was a giant wuss and couldn’t actually send them to her, I piled them on the windowsill in my office, so they could nicely complement the heart lights I hadn’t yet taken down. Might never take down, if it meant she might take pity on my unromantic soul and come back to me.
I found myself making the origami at the oddest times too. It was as if I had so much in my head that keeping my hands busy was my only option. More than one client got to sit by as I walked them through a contract while simultaneously working on that day’s shape. I had just finished a meeting with Hal Gunderson about selling his rental property, and was working on a particularly tricky dragon, when my brother stepped into my office and shut the door.
He took one look at me and shook his head. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“Worse? What worse? I just signed a contract with Hal to sell that sweet three-story mixed-use space on—”
“Look at all this.” He crossed the room and poked at my origami zoo, touching fowl and water creatures with about as much care as a toddler wrecking a playroom. “What is going on with you?”
Discreetly, I shifted my dragon to my lap. “I don’t have a clue what you mean.”
“When are you going to contact Sage and put an end to this madness?”
Even her name made my heart pick up speed. Too much caffeine, I decided. Not enough sleep. “I’m still waiting for clarification on what you’re referring to.”
“You know damn well.” He picked up a pterodactyl. I growled low in my throat. “You need sunlight, man. You’re holed up in here day and night making paper animals. It’s creepy.”
“Origami is actually an ancient art used for—”
“Dude, I know what origami is, and I’m still going to guess you’re keeping busy with all this crap so you don’t think about your bed being empty at night.”
“Who says my bed is empty?”
“I’d say it’s fairly obvious.”
“And that bothers you, why? You made it clear that if anything happened between Sage and I, it must be because I was convenient.”
“I didn’t say that.” He grimaced. “Exactly.”
“Pretty close.” Despite Ally trying to explain away Seth’s comments, they still stung. “Has your wife been working on you?”
“About you and Sage? No.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe a little. We’ve possibly had some discussions on the subject.”
I crossed my arms. This should be good. “And?”
“I was worried about Sage, man. She has a soft heart sometimes. I didn’t want you to hurt her. So maybe I said some really rude, inappropriate stuff to dissuade you from going there.”
I locked my hands behind my neck. “I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes. Or I suspected as much. You and Ally love her, even if you don’t always see her strength or give her enough credit for knowing her own mind.”
Seth didn’t argue. Just prodded an origami swan I’d made from this silver paper with a sheen I’d picked up at the craft store. I’d never been in a place like that in my life until Sage. She’d needed some plastic pockets and some paper doilies and stickers—stickers, for God’s sake—for her memory journal one night, and I’d been buoyed by the promise of sex, enough to consent to an hour amongst glitter and bows.
Much to my surprise, I’d actually enjoyed wandering the aisles at her side. She’d pointed out a few different papers and ephemera, her excitement evident. She’d even showed me a couple of pages in her journal and how she’d decorated them. I hadn’t gleaned any of her juicy secrets, but her pleasure in the creation of each page had been contagious. By the end of it, I’d grabbed a few sheets of fancy paper with the intention of making her more origami. I’d even suggested we go to the craft store again sometime?
?sex afterward optional—and she’d looked at me as if I’d presented her with a car.
What had she put in her journal about the day we’d argued post-baby reveal and post tying up? Was there a sticker for that?
If so, it was better I didn’t know. Bad enough I’d already seen the sheet of rainbow-colored poop stickers Laurie had gotten in her kindergarten class to mark when she turned in her homework on time.
