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Every second they had together was precious and would be over too soon. The longer he stayed, the less time they had left.
Her heart beat like a ticking time bomb. Inevitable detonation creeping closer until every palpitation felt like the thump of a gong ringing between her ears. No more coffee.
She carried a plate of warm croissants to the front. “Ready to taste?”
He eagerly hovered over the dish, breathing in the sweet, buttery scent of the flaky pastry and melted German chocolate.
“They look too pretty to eat.”
“They’re not.” She scooped one up and bit into the pillowy, warm dough. Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “There’s nothing quite like a hot croissant.” Realizing he watched her, she flushed and covered her mouth.
“Even watching you eat turns me on.”
She laughed and fed him a bite. His lips closed over the pastry pinched between her fingers and he groaned, his eyes closing in delight as he chewed.
“Nothing should taste that good.”
“Right?”
He peeked through his lashes at her, then bit the last bite out of her hand. “I would weigh a thousand pounds if I worked here.”
“That’s why God made the good desserts so time consuming—to tame the temptation.”
He kissed her with buttery lips and whispered, “I don’t feel like pacing myself. Let’s get out of here.”
They bundled up and she shut off the lights. Knowing her mother would be there shortly, she left a note for her on the register telling her she left a surprise in the back.
It wasn’t unusual for her to sneak out and bake in the middle of the night. Insomnia had been an issue for her since the breakup with Bran—too many thoughts tormenting her at night when the world slowed down.
“Someone delivered a stack of newspapers out front.” Harrison bent to pick up the small bundle that got delivered each morning.
“Oh, thanks. I’ll put them inside.” She ran the stack of papers inside and paused, flipping one open and turning to page four.
Ward Montgomery’s obituary was at the top of the page. Short and simple, with only the mention of his two children, the hardware store, and the time of his service.
“His funeral’s today?” Mariella whispered to herself, the realization hitting like a thousand sobering bullets.
They were almost out of time. Why hadn’t he said anything? Warned her? She supposed he had, but she wasn’t listening.
Harrison waited out front in the glow of a street lamp, looking as picturesque as Cary Grant in his wool coat already dusted with flurries.
She couldn’t move. She wanted to freeze time and stay trapped in this moment forever. But that wasn’t an option.
Feeling sick, she set the papers in the rack by the counter and shut off the lights. She tried to fake a smile but failed. Swallowing back the threat of tears, she gathered her purse and keys and met him outside.
She refused to cry in front of him and would not shed a single tear. Their time was too precious to waste in sadness, but after…
Her heart would surely break once more. Maybe knowing what was to come would make it easier to bear this time around.
Now that they were both sober, they backtracked to the bar to get their cars. They didn’t speak when they reached the hotel. Harrison merely led her to the elevator and held her hand on the ride up to his floor.
“You’re quiet,” he commented as he unlocked his hotel door. “Tired?”
“Not really.”
“Good. Me neither.”
Once inside, he stripped off his coat and hers. She toed off her shoes and he did the same. Piece by piece, they removed their clothes and moved to the bathroom.
Freshly folded towels sat on the counter. The room filled with steam within seconds after starting the shower and she shivered. He pulled her under the spray and wrapped her in his arms, cradling her close as he pressed kisses to her shoulder.
It was one of the most loving acts a man had ever done to her. She thought about all the lies Bran had told her, all the hollow words he said to make her believe his feelings were true. They meant nothing. But this, the way Harrison held her now, this meant something.
If this wasn’t love, she couldn’t imagine what was.
His hands explored her front, cupping and stroking as he adoringly washed her. She hid nothing from him. Not her scars or her pudgy parts. There was something about him that simply unhinged her sense of inadequacy around him. She wanted him to see her flaws, because deep down she knew they wouldn’t bother him.
He loved her. She believed, on some level, he loved her. But she also knew he’d never admit his feelings, and no matter how much he cared, those secret sentiments would not be enough to make him stay.
After drying each other off, he led her to the bed and bundled her in blankets. The sun was coming up. It was officially his last day. Somehow, she knew they wouldn’t share another dawn.
