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He wanted to turn and fold her into his arms. Instead, he patted her shoulder. “Sure, that sounds good.” He made a hasty retreat out of the kitchen, worrying that he was acting too strange.
Celia didn’t call out after him. She’d already lifted his knife and continued where he’d left off. Trenton watched her through the open counter. Too big of a part of him wanted to make dinner beside her.
He went to his bedroom instead, sitting on the side that had been Emily’s. He stared down at the nightstand. Then he slid the drawer open to take out the hospital band that she had worn at the end. His fingers brushed along her name, and he let the full memory of her death take him. His hand clenched around it as a tear slipped down his cheek.
A soft knock sounded on the bedroom door. “It’s ready.”
Trenton cleared his throat. “I’ll be right there.”
Her footsteps retreated.
He wiped at his eyes and put the memento back in the drawer. He stood, moving to his dresser again. The sight of their picture didn’t bring him pain or guilt. He felt acceptance instead.
Celia had set the salads on the countertop, glasses of water beside them. She turned on her stool to smile at him, though her smile looked tentative.
He’d never eaten at the counter before. Something inside of him relaxed at the idea of it. Despite almost a week passing, they hadn’t shared a sit-down meal. He sat on the stool next to her, his arm brushing against hers, but it felt companionable, not sexy.
She lifted her glass, tilting it in a small toast. “I hope you like it. I’d meant to make it for lunch.” She glanced behind them to where the curtains had dimmed to orange from the setting sun. “But I guess dinner works, too.”
“Is this why you went to the supermarket?” He kept his tone even, bringing up her earlier encounter on purpose. It was important for her to be able to talk about it.
She tensed, but lifted a forkful of lightly dressed salad to her lips. “Yes,” was all she said before she took the bite.
Trenton let the silence stretch as he ate his own salad. It was simple but delicious, with just enough dressing.
Celia huffed out a breath. “I can’t believe he called me a stalker. I’d forgotten he lived so close.”
“He was worth forgetting,” Trenton said, glancing at his knuckles.
Her eyes had moved to them as well. “You really shocked me, you know, punching him like that. Malcolm would have done it, but you always seem so…”
He turned to her. “What?”
“Gentle, I guess.” A blush crept up her neck. “Though I guess that’s not all there is to you.”
He hadn’t been gentle when he’d pounded into her in the shower, Trenton thought, feeling himself flush as well.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
Celia stilled beside him, and her eyes searched his face.
“You’d had an… unpleasant experience, and I took advantage of that.” He winced to think of it. He’d been there to comfort women before, many women, and it had never turned into what he’d done with her. “I’m really sorry, Celia.”
“You’re sorry you had sex with me,” she said, her tone flat.
“No!” He winced. “Never that. I’m just sorry about the timing.”
“Because you took advantage?” It came out as a question, though more like she was asking herself.
It sounded a bit ridiculous to Trenton’s ears, too, after what they had shared. “I also don’t want to lead you on.” He took a breath. “I’m not going to be able to fall in love with you.” He faced her again, not letting himself turn away. “I’m still in love with my wife. I think I always will be.”
Instead of sadness, her eyes softened as she reached out a hand, laying it over his on the counter. “She was very lucky to have you.”
A constriction moved into his throat, cutting off more words.
“It sounds like you’re trying to tell me you don’t want a relationship with me.” A half smile crossed her face. “That it was only sex.”
He was certain he wouldn’t have used the word ‘only’ but nodded anyway.
