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“But I don’t want to break it.”
He stared at her for what seemed like eternity. Only the sound of a newborn crying somewhere in the house broke his intense, unyielding gaze.
“You should go see what she needs. I’ll let myself out.”
“So, that’s it? We’re done?”
She nodded. “For now.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, if you’re still into older women ten years from now, come find me.” An answer contrived to push him away, where she needed him to be.
Except, it didn’t. The anger or irritation she’d expected to see in his eyes—hoped to see, because it would make this easier—didn’t materialize. Instead, he closed the space between them with one long-legged stride and cupped her face in his warm palms.
“I’m not ‘into older women,’ Leigh, I’m into you. You feel the same way about me. Don’t lie and tell me otherwise.”
God, the intimacy in his touch. The brutal, heartfelt honesty in his gaze. His words, filled with the promise of one three-word statement that would jackhammer through her set-in-stone plan, perhaps once and for all. Damn him.
“I won’t lie,” she whispered.
“Then stay with me. Whether it’s here and now, today, tomorrow, next week or next month. Tell me you’re going to stay.”
She’d never been a crier, yet two fat, warm tears rolled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I have to go.” More tears escaped when he kissed her, softly and tenderly. As if he knew it would be their last kiss.
He stepped back then. Said nothing as she turned and walked away.
The silence was better than saying goodbye. Goodbye had a finality she didn’t want to consider yet. For now, she’d hang on to that tiny hope that he might come find her in ten years. The universe had sent Sam into her life twice already. Maybe it would again.
Chapter 11
LEIGH
The aromaof sugar enveloped Leigh as she returned from her trip to Bean There. Standing behind her bakery’s display case, she inhaled deeply. She’d always loved being immersed in the scent created by following her dream, just like she’d always loved the rewarding first sip of a midafternoon vanilla latté. Lately, neither had been hitting the sweet spot.
Sighing, she carried the nearly full takeout cup to the kitchen and poured it down the sink. No point in absorbing all those empty calories if they weren’t bringing her joy. She rinsed and disposed of the paper cup and made her way to the office, where she plopped into her swiveling chair. If her whiteboard had hands, it would be applauding her diligent adherence to the schedule. In fact, she was ahead of schedule. Had been the entire week.
She ought to be on her feet, dancing a victory dance, as she’d always done when her productivity peaked. She glanced down at her nonskid sneakers. Nope, they definitely didn’t feel like dancing.
Logically, she knew this lack of zeal was a normal phase. People pursuing their passion hit plateaus the same as everybody else. It had just never happened to her before.
Maybe she needed a new motivational tool. She looked at the empty space above the whiteboard. What could she put there? What would inspire her feet to get up and dance again? An uplifting picture? A positive, spunky phrase? Oh, maybe an achievement counter. Something she could update daily.
This ho-hum workplace has had ‘0’ lost-time minutes in the ‘10’ days since you broke up with Sam.
Ugh. Not the kind of counter she needed, even if it was true.
She turned her attention from the empty space and pulled up email on her computer. Orders continued to roll in daily. She must be doing a good job filling them, because her customers consistently oohed and aahed over the finished products. Emails with praise and appreciation arrived after every event where people had feasted on her creations. Yet, none of the accolades sparked the usual buzz. Nothing did.
Heck, even her vibrator hadn’t been buzzing. Saying goodbye to Sam had done a number on her libido as well as her heart. Another phase to get through. She’d be fine.
Her body might be in a slump, but her phone did a little dance, vibrating on her desk as caller ID lit the screen.Focus Fitness.
The cell was in her hand and pressed against her cheek before her brain could veto the impulsive move. “Hi.”
“Hi, Leigh?” A male voice, but not the one she’d expected. Or hoped for. “It’s Brian from Focus Fitness.”
Of course. “Oh, Brian. Hi. Sorry, I’ve been meaning to call you. I totally understand that you’re canceling my club pass. I wasn’t planning to come back.”
