“Are you serious? You can’t tell me that and expect me to be okay with it.”
“Can we just not talk about it anymore?” Then, quietly, “Please?”
I can tell he’s fired up, but he forces himself to nod, his jaw tight and his eyes dark. We continue walking at a strained speed in total silence. Three blocks seem to last forever until we’re back in front of his hotel.
Out of nowhere, I have the urge to ask him something.
“You’ve told me more than once that you read my books. Did you like them?” I don’t know why it’s important for me to know, but it is.
“I did like your books,” Ryan says after a pause. “They’re not my style but they were great.”
I accept his answer with a small smile. Seconds tick by until I say, “Well, apart from a few minor bumps, I think this was a fairly civil evening.”
“Right. Hardly any bloodshed.”
I’m not quite sure how to take that comment. I don’t have time to dwell on it before he steps forward and gives me a brief hug. I’m soon stepping back, a little startled as I stand across from him.
A second later, I go from startled to panicked when he reaches forward and takes hold of my hand, slowly entwining his fingers through mine.
This isn’t right. People who can only tolerate each other aren’t supposed to hold hands. This is all wrong. Completely wrong. Then why aren’t I pulling away?
“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice shaky.
“I don’t know how to act around you,” he says, looking down at our hands before moving his gaze back up to mine. “After we broke up, I used to imagine that I’d get you to fall back in love with me so I could leave you. I used to think about that a lot.”
My breath turns shallow. I try to pull my hand away but he won’t let go.
“You’re acting like I ended things for no reason.”
“I know why you ended things,” he says. “Forget what I said. I’m not setting you up for some evil plot. I’m just trying to figure this out. I thought I hated you.”
“I thought I hated you, too.”
Ryan loosens his hold on my hand while also pulling me closer. “You know what I like the most about reading your books? I like how when I read them, I hear your voice in my head. I like knowing that I can hear you when no one else can.”
I don’t move as his eyes shift from uncertain to clear. He leans in, going so slowly and giving me plenty of time to stop him. I don’t. Our foreheads touch and his breath is warm against my face. I feel it everywhere.
I inch upwards, brushing my nose against his as my free hand trails up the middle of his shirt. A button rubs against the flat of my hand, feeling cold and out of place against my skin. Our lips touch but only barely, that half second before a kiss when you decide to fall over the edge or step back to safety. I’m ready to fall, fall, fall when Ryan drops my hand and moves away.
“I’m sorry,” he sputters. His breathing is accelerated but he’s quick to control it. “We shouldn’t have done that.”
I nod, opting to not voice a response.
“I should go. I’m sorry.” He doesn’t hesitate before turning around and walking away, not bothering to wait for the doorman as he swings the door open himself. He disappears into the lobby, and my hand, the one he just held, falls lifelessly to my side.
I’m in a haze as I walk home. I can’t believe how weak I was. After I swore to treat this like a work interaction, I almost let him kiss me. I almost kissed him. I’m beyond disappointed in myself as I try to figure out where I went wrong. I’m still a disgruntled mess when I get to my apartment. I lock the door behind me and unbutton my jeans, breathing comfortably for the first time in hours.
My laptop is sitting on my desk, parallel to the door. I can feel a flurry of words racing through my head, looking for a way out. I cross the room in several determined strides and flip it open. The screen illuminates the space around me as I pull my chair back and sit down. My latest document appears and I begin typing at a furious pace.
“And where is young George dashing off to so eagerly?”
Charlotte suppressed a gasp as Robert stepped beside her on the stone patio. He had been a guest at Greenspeak Park for a week now at the invitation of her father, Lord Destonbury. She should be used to his presence at this point, but something about Robert always kept her feeling out of step.
Turning away to watch her brother scurry into the gardens, Charlotte smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles from her lilac morning dress. “George is hunting for a yellow primrose. Or pirates. Whichever he comes across first.” Robert chuckled gently beside her as she went on, “I like to come up with little tasks to distract him.”
“What does a nine-year-old boy need distracting from?”
“From thinking of our mother, mainly.” Charlotte instantly regretted her words. She never shared her grief. Not with anyone.
“I’m sorry,” Robert soon said, a serious tone lining his velvety, deep voice. “George is very lucky to have you. I lost my mother at a young age as well and I would have loved to have had an older sister or brother to look up to.”
Charlotte found herself puzzled by Robert. Since the day they met, she made it clear that she would never agree to a match between them. And still, here he was, opening up to her about his family as if they were the oldest of friends.
“George told me you took him out riding yesterday,”
