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Patrick’s smile faltered when he saw I had been crying. “Isabelle, what’s wrong?”
I rushed to his side. I didn’t wish to speak to him. I wanted to hear the things in his kiss I hadn’t listened to many years ago. I gripped his button-up and pulled him to me, standing on my tiptoes, our lips on the cusp of being reacquainted. “Just kiss me.”
He didn’t need me to tell him twice. His lips captured mine, only to still upon my own. “Is this real?” he spoke against my lips, twenty years of emotion behind his words.
“I’m here.” I ran my hands up his chest and wound my arms around his neck.
He pressed his lips harder against mine while picking me up. My legs immediately wrapped around him like old times, except this was better. I knew now what I had, and I was determined to explore all the possibilities.
He groaned when he deepened the kiss. His tongue tasting every part of my mouth.
His kiss still spoke beautiful things to me. This time, I listened harder to what it had to say, wishing I had been brave enough to figure out what it all meant twenty years ago.
“Isabelle,” he sacredly said my name as he took a breath. It sent shivers of warmth and belonging through my body. Only he had ever made me feel so at one with someone. I knew that now.
I leaned my head back, begging him to ravish my neck with his kisses. He took the invitation and pressed his warm lips against my skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.
I wove my hands into his hair, reveling in the feel of his gorgeous locks.
He backed me up against the counter until I was sitting on it, and he stood between my legs. There he found my lips again, hungrily—and almost achingly—kissing me until I was only breathing and tastinghim. I could live off French-roasted coffee and vanilla for the rest of my life. It dawned on me that I truly could if that’s what I wanted. Emotion and passion took over—my hands found his shirt and began unbuttoning it.
Patrick stilled and took my hands, stopping me. His enlivened eyes caught my own. “It’s not that I don’t want you, but what brought this on? I thought you wanted to talk before you kissed my face off.” He grinned.
I came to my senses. He was right to stop me. We needed to slow down and say the big things—and the little things. Not only that, but anyone could have come walking in here, including his children. I needed to keep that in mind. Like, always.
I took a moment to catch my breath before asking, “Did you know that Nina told Jared about us?”
His jaw clenched while his face turned fifty shades of red. “Who told you?”
“Jared just called me.”
“That bastard.”
That was a good word for him. “Patrick, how long have you known?”
His grip on my hands tightened, pressing them against his chest. “For a couple of years. When Nina found out you were getting divorced, she wanted to make a preemptive strike and pour salt in a wound she knew had never healed.”
Who told her we were getting divorced? Had Jared? The bigger question was, “Why would she do that?”
He looked up to the wood-beamed ceiling. “Why did she do anything?” He heavily sighed. “She was vindictive and manipulative. What she wanted, she got.”
“She wanted you,” I surmised. How had I not seen that? I remember her saying things like,I’m so jealous you got to kiss him. But it was in that playful way girlfriends talk about boys. She wasn’t lying. Perhaps that was the only truthful thing she’d ever said to me.
He lowered his head, nodding.
“I thought she was happy for us.” I felt so blindsided.
Patrick mirthlessly laughed. “She was wicked good at her games. I should have guessed earlier on that she had called Jared. But like I said, she was a master. When she told me you were engaged, she played the part of listening ear and good friend perfectly. She led me down the exact road she wanted to end up on, telling me how happy you were and that it would be wrong for me to interfere. Something didn’t seem right, but somehow it all made sense, so I played the fool.”
“Did you love her?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, but I needed the whole story.
He pulled my hands up and kissed them, his lips lingering, soaking us in. “Isabelle, please don’t make me answer that.”
“You don’t have to, but I think you need to. I once read that truth is like fire. It burns away what is killing us inside. You and your kids ... something is killing you inside. You’re not happy.”
“You make me happy.”
“In the moment, yes. In the same way you make me happy every moment we’re together; you know, except this past weekend when I thought you hated me.” I smirked.
