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“You’re shaking,” he observes, his voice a deep timbre that somehow stirs even more butterflies in my stomach.
“I’m a little cold.”
He quirks an eyebrow, not quite buying it, but he doesn’t challenge me.
“This is crazy, isn’t it?” I finally voice out, breaking the thick silence that’s been hanging between us. “Us, meeting like this.”
He nods, pulling his focus away from the road to look at me, his eyes piercing in the dim light. Then they’re gone, back on the road. “Jake’s been my friend for twenty years,” he murmurs, a note of disbelief threading through his words. “Twenty years, and I haven’t met you again until tonight.”
He wouldn’t have seen me again. How would he? I’ve been far too comfortable in the shadows.
He shifts in his seat, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white.
He knows.
Choosing to quell the awkwardness, I tell him, “I spent some time at the shelter.”
There it is. It’s out there.
No flinch. No shock.
The breath he exhales only confirms he was already privy to that information. “Fuck. I’m sorry, Beth.”
“Don’t be. It’s life.” And I don’t need his pity. “Did you know?”
“About you?” I nod. “No. Not until tonight.”
Since he’s Jake’s friend, I need to ask. “Did you know my husband?”
“I only knewofhim.” That speaks volumes. “And I definitely didn’t know you were his wife.” I’m not sure if there’s sadness or anger in his words, but there’s a hint of something deeper lurking beneath the surface. “I left the city a couple of years ago. Went back to my hometown.”
“Do you still have the studio?” I only ask so I don’t sound like a complete stalker.
“Yeah. How about you? You been back in the city all these years?”
I shake my head, trying to keep the memories from breaking free. “I stayed in London. We moved back when my oldest daughter was four.”
“Daughter?” He flashes me a heart stopping smile before wiping it away with his thumb.
“Two of them.” I glance at his left hand. No wedding ring. “How about you? Any kids?”
“Haven’t been lucky enough.”
As he navigates through the city, I can’t help but steal glances at him, the way his jaw is set, his shoulders relaxed against the seat. It brings a keen sense of awareness—of his proximity, his presence.
As we approach my neighborhood, I sit straight. “Take the next right. It’s the third house on the left.”
When he parks out front, he gets out first, rounding the car just as I open the door. He extends his hand, and I take it, easing out of the car. A hot blush creeps up my neck. This chivalry is not something I’ve come across too often lately.
He doesn’t have to walk me to the door, but he’s already doing it, and I don’t have the words to stop him.
I’m convinced when I wake in the morning this will all be a very strange dream.
His eyes flicker to the ‘For Sale’ sign posted in the lawn.
“Your house is for sale.”
Well, he’s good with the obvious.
