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Hugs all around and Mom and Dad go in the opposite direction of me, their hands seeking each other reflexively, fingers threading. When two people have been together for decades, is that how it works? Their bodies just know what to do, the muscle memory so wired for connection?
I sigh, my throat tightening as I watch them fade into the darkness.
I want that.
The parking lot at Bailargo is down to two cars, mine and Philippe’s. I know it’s his because he comes out of the building, locks the front door with a keypad code, and turns around, hands on hips, staring at me.
“You!”
“Just Mallory!” I call back, a bit cheeky.
“You like the DANCE?” he asks, walking toward me, his car three spots away from mine.
“I do.” A little embarrassed, but mostly just tired, I give him an apologetic look. “Sorry for disappearing like that. Long, weird night.”
“You didn’t disappear, Just Mallory. You were like a rocket.” He makes a hand gesture for emphasis, one hand clapping against the other and skyrocketing to the moon.
“Thanks for the visual.”
“Listen,” he says. “David is a jerk. Call corporate tomorrow and complain about him, okay?”
“Sure.”
“You and your man were good dancers.”
“My what?”
“Your man. His eyes. His love for you shows in his eyes.”
“He’s not my man,” I insist as Philippe unlocks his car, climbs in, lowers the window, and turns on the engine. Pulling forward, he’s facing me in his driver’s seat. I bend down to peer in the open window. As I exhale, I smell coffee and wine, sugar and unfulfilled expectations on my breath. I’m safe to drive home because I sprayed my wine all over Will.
I’m dangerous to drive home because I’ll wallow in self-pity.
Philippe laughs at me. “He is absolutely your man.”
“No, he’s not.” Stepping back, I take him in, the desolate lot, the glare of streetlights on faded asphalt. It’s too bright, too dark, too empty, too full.
Too everything.
Eyebrows up, he points at me and simply says, “Not yet.”
Chapter Fourteen
“It looks like my parents’ house might be going under contract today,” Will announces as I stand in the coffee room on Monday morning, making an Americano. Free coffee at work? Are you kidding?
I’m totally taking advantage. It’s this or go to Perky’s coffee shop, and I’m avoiding her right now.
I spent all morning trying to figure out what to say to him after my mom and dad and the Bailargo mess, but he just made is super easy.
“SQUEEEEE!!!” I scream.
He winces. “You need to warn people about that air raid drill that lives in your throat, Mallory.”
“Sorry. It’s just–that’s AMAZING!” I grab him and hug him as I jump up and down. His laugh feels like his chest is jumping, too. As his belt buckle grazes the space beneath my navel I pause, remembering the last time we were so close.
Funny. His hands are resting in the exact positions for tango. The dance where you make love standing up, fully clothed. He keeps his hands there, the smile between us turning intense.
“Whatever you did, it was magic,” he tells me.
