Page 19 of Finally, His

With warm hands and an even warmer smile, she urged Colette to empty her bladder, sip some water, and use a moist towelette over her neck, wrists, and anywhere else she still felt sticky. She even offered her different clothes, but Colette wouldn’t change.

She wasn’t ready to let go of the memories the dress held, just a few minutes ago haphazardly abandoned on a concrete floor—the first night Griffin allowed her to touch him.

At her apartment door, he placed a kiss on her forehead. He then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound journal.

“Write down what you want.” He held it out to her. “When I return from London on Friday, we’ll discuss it.”

Her fingers curled around the smooth leather spine and nodded as she held it close to her breast.

When she closed her apartment door, she slunk to the floor, the beautiful journal under her fingers. She brought it up to her nose and inhaled. It smelled like lavender and him.

How would she go a week without seeing him?

Her phone buzzed in her hand. She hadn’t even recalled holding it.

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How about her heart?

Seven days. They passed as slowly as the gray, fat clouds overhead—heavy and with no sense of the urgency of her situation.

The first day away from him—Saturday—her high from the trip to Accendos lifted. His kiss at her door the night before still burned on her forehead, but her belly was hollow, and her mind just wouldn’t clear. He called her in the late morning, but his voice sounded so distant on the phone, saying he was catching his plane. That his communication would be spotty, but she should contact him anytime, day or night.

His offer heartened her, but then Sunday, her mind fog cleared. The clarity only sharpened the words she couldn’t stop thinking.

You are just at the beginning of your journey.

Whenever someone does this to you.

She called Charlotte, who reassured her the mind spins were normal and urged her to text Griffin. She did, and he answered with short, curt answers.Yes. No. You’re going to be okay.It was a pale substitute for hearing his voice, but apparently, his conference kept him going all day and night.

If that was what was going on at all. A strange paranoia settled over her. Charlotte said that was normal, too, though, “…no two situations are the same. You just feel what you feel.”

She didn’t want to appear needy, unable to handle what they’d done. So she didn’t call him. She just dealt with it.

But then, a few days later, she got a longer text.Beautiful, how are you? Feeling all right? Call me if you need me.She did.

“I miss you,” she blurted out as soon as he answered.

“I miss you, too, beautiful. Being thinking of me?”

He had to ask? “Always.”

“Same.” An odd lilt had colored his voice as if he didn’t believe it himself. “How are you, Colette?”

She loved hearing her name on his lips. “I’m okay. How’s the conference?”

“Boring. What did you do today?” Fabric rustled like he was shifting.

“Translated a blog post on the five rarest bee species. Exciting stuff.”

He laughed, a sound she hadn’t heard often. Deep, rumbling that made her think of his broad chest and strength.

“I like hearing you laugh,” she said.

“Hmmm. Not many people make me do it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I—”

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