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It’s foolish because she’s forbidden, and it can never go anywhere, but it doesn’t stop my chest from tightening at the thought that I’m walking her home to her husband.
“We all have days like that,” I say, trying to ignore the burning want to know what’s making her so upset. We’ve become friends of a sort in the short time we’ve known each other—a friend that’s wiggled her way under my skin more than a mere friend should do. I don’t want to push her or pry too much. I want her to see me as a safe space, somebody she feels comfortable with. If she decides to talk to me, it’s because she wants to, not because she feels pressured into it.
“You don’t look like the type of person that has many days like that,” she says, her eyes coasting across people walking the street.
“Not so much now, but there was a time.”
I feel her curious eyes burning against my cheek, but we round the corner, her apartment block coming into view.
“Story for another day,” I say, smiling slightly.
My gaze finds her when we stop in front of her building. The fifteen minutes it takes to get to her apartment is not nearly long enough, and I don’t want to let her go. Not yet. The way she’s lingering, her hands shoved in the pockets of her jeans, she doesn’t seem to be in a rush, either. I fist my hands at my sides, the urge to grab her, take her home, and never let her go bubbling in my veins like lava. I take a deep breath, viscously shoving down the impulse. I’ve done a few fucked up things in life, but never kidnapping.
“This is me,” she says, her smile sad while staring at her apartment building.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest we go somewhere, have a drink or something, but then she sighs again, and I rein in the impulse.
I desperately cast around for something to say, anything to prolong the few precious minutes I have with her.
“Andrew was asking about Olivia today.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, it seems he was quite taken with her when he went to grab a coffee.”
Finally, a semblance of Bailey’s breathtaking smile makes its appearance, and I want to pump my fist in victory.
“What was he asking?”
“If I knew anything about her relationship status.”
I smile at the memory. I gave him so much shit for it.
“I don’t think she’s seeing someone, but I’m not too sure,” she says, a little frown wrinkling her forehead. “Olivia’s not too…forthcoming about her private life.”
“That’s not going to stop Andrew if he sets his mind to it.”
*****
When I look at wood, what I see is potential. I can lose myself in my workshop for hours, focusing on whatever I’m creating and forgetting about the outside world. I’m not the type of person who analyzes things and picks them apart. You could go crazy doing that, so I prefer to live my life accepting things for what they are. Thewhysand thewhat-ifsdon’t matter. It’s thewhat-isthat counts. But lately, my mind’s been spinning, so when I got home, I headed straight to my workshop, hoping that working on my special project for a couple of hours would quieten my mind.
It didn’t work. So I did the next best thing. I grabbed my guitar and a beer and settled on my porch.
Resigned that my thoughts are determined to haunt me tonight, I let my mind wander while strumming my guitar.
I wanted Josie, and I did have her. But then I lost her.
It was impossible not to love Josie. Her courage and optimism in the face of the cards she was dealt was something that drew me in when I was at the lowest point of my life. And it was how she lived her life, so full of life and joy for every day she was granted, that kept me with her. I knew what I signed up for. I knew there was an expiry date, but I did it anyway, and it’s something I will never regret. She taught me so much. About life and how precious it was. About the man I wanted to be and the man I could be.
I have many regrets when it comes to Josie, but loving her is not one of them.
I want Bailey, but I can’t have her.
Seeing her every day, knowing that she’s not for me, is a special kind of hell. The instant attraction I felt when bumping into her hasn’t dimmed with time at all. It has only grown despite the frequent talks I give myself. Being surrounded by her scent is torture. Every time her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, I ache for a taste. I know if I had to kiss her, it would be explosive. It’s a knowing deep in my gut that I don’t even bother to refute. It’s crushing that I’ll never get to experience that.
Ten years ago, I would have taken what I wanted, not giving a shit about any consequences. I would have seen that she was vulnerable, and I would have found a way to take advantage of that.
But I’m not that man anymore. My stealing days are long past.
