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Again, I think about how selfish I've become.
But Brett and I have only been dating for a month. It's still that honeymoon phase, that sweetly glowing time where we stay wrapped in each other's arms, enamored with each other before reality crashes back down. And no matter how selfish it is, I don't want that crash of reality. I want him to stay my perfect fantasy for as long as I can keep him that way. Forever, if possible.
Something stirs within me, a deep and foreign ache.
"Denise?" he presses, and I realize I still haven't said anything.
I swallow and put on a smile. "Like I said, it's fine, Brett. I've actually got Sheila on the case now. And you know how she is. She won't stop until this whole thing is fixed."
"I could help too," he insists, letting his hand fall from my chin and bringing it along my side once more, skimming his fingers down the length of my body. A shiver runs through me.
"You could. But fixing my life isn't your job when you're in town," I say. "And you're in town so infrequently."
He quirks an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "And what job is that, Ms. Lawson?"
Wrapping him in my arms, I pull myself close to him. He's strong and sturdy against my body, my rock against the harshness of this world. Enveloped in his arms, I feel small and delicate and taken care of.
"You know what that is," I whisper against his chest, the curling hairs tickling my nose and cheek.
Brett plants a kiss on the top of my head, and I melt completely against him, forgetting where I am, forgetting my mother, my siblings, my work, my name. All that I need is him.
That deep ache grows in my chest, blooming through me like a drop of ink in water. Filling me up. And as I recognize what it is, I give a little gasp.
His arms loosen their grip around me. "You okay?" he asks, as if afraid he's held me too tightly.
But I am okay. I'm more than that.
I am… in love.
As I put a name to the feeling inside me, it grows larger, and I let it, floating in its wonderful warmth. IloveBrett.
And for the first time since my divorce, the word doesn't sting.
CHAPTER19
Brett
Afew more weeks pass.
During this time, I keep up my visits with Denise. But every time I see her, she looks exhausted.
And just like the old Denise, she isn't letting me help.
I try not to get frustrated with her. But it's difficult to see her like this. To know I'm right here for her, sometimes right up against her for hours on end, and she won't let me in. Sure, she opens her door for me every time I visit and immediately pounces.
But when we have sex, she doesn't scream for me like she used to. She's lost her passion. Sex isn't about pleasure anymore. It's no longer a reward. For her, it's become a lifeline.
We have another dinner at Sheila's, and they are quiet over their wine. Not teasing and shoving like they were before. Sheila eyes me periodically from across the table, and once, I catch her nodding in my direction while giving Denise a look. It is as if Sheila knows what's going on and wants Denise to tell me, too. When I see this, I take Denise's hand and squeeze it. Reminding her that with me, she's safe.
And that night, as I drive her back to her bungalow, she finally tells me what she's been keeping inside. She stares out the window as she says it, her eyes glittering with unshed tears as the streetlights pass us through the dark Texas night.
She's losing the bakery.
It hits me like a punch to the gut.
I ask her about the letter from her landlord and the appeals process. She says Sheila helped her put a case together, but the landlord didn't even show up when she got to the meeting. Instead, he sent a lawyer who was far more prepared than she could ever be.
The lawyer brought up the state of the bakery. The poor sales figures. The few times she was late with the rent. They strung her up for all to see. The only thing she had to defend herself with was her business with Tinsley Simon. And with how cagey Tinsley had been since the whole mommy blogger incident, that wasn't much of a defense anymore.
