“What about travel?” Patrick asked as we shared a chocolate torte for dessert. “Where would you go if you could go anywhere tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” I thought about it. “Honestly? Nowhere. I’d stay home with my kids and actually be present instead of worrying about the company or the board or whether I’m doing everything wrong.”
“That’s not very frivolous,” Patrick said.
“No, I suppose it’s not.” I took a bite of the torte—rich and decadent. “What about you?”
“I’d take the children somewhere they’ve never been. Maybe Yosemite—let them see the giant sequoias, climb on rocks, get properly dirty without Mrs. Kowalski hovering with schedules and hand wipes.” He smiled. “Or maybe just to the beach. Build sandcastles, chase waves, eat ice cream until they’re sick. Something completely unstructured.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” He paused. “But that’s not frivolous either, is it?”
“We’re terrible at this,” I said, but I was smiling.
“Completely hopeless.” He smiled back, and I felt something shift between us—dangerous territory I wasn’t sure I was ready for.
The waiter brought the check, and Patrick paid before I could even offer to split it. “My invitation, my treat,” he said when I protested.
Outside, the night air was cool and fresh. Patrick offered me his arm, and I took it.
The drive back to my house went quickly, and much too soon, he was pulling into my driveway. Through the living room window, I could see the blue glow of the television. Michael was still up, probably waiting to make sure I got home safely.
“Thank you for tonight,” I said, not moving to get out of the car. “I haven’t enjoyed myself this much in... a long time.”
“Neither have I.” Patrick turned to face me, his face half-shadowed in the streetlight. “Theresa, I’d like to do this again. Soon, if you’re willing.”
My pulse jumped. “I’d like that.”
“Good.” He reached over and took my hand, his thumb brushing across my knuckles. “I should walk you to your door.”
“You should,” I agreed.
But neither of us moved.
We sat there for a moment, hands joined. Then Patrick leaned closer, giving me every opportunity to pull away.
I didn’t want to pull away.
The kiss was cautious. Testing. His hand came up to my face, and I realized I’d stopped breathing. It was soft, brief—over almost before it began.
When we pulled apart, my hands were shaking. Patrick rested his forehead against mine.
“That was—” he started.
“Yeah,” I finished, because I had no words for what it was.
We sat like that for a long moment, foreheads touching. Finally, Patrick pulled back.
“I should walk you to your door,” he said again. “Before we do something foolish.”
This time, we moved.
The walk from the car to my front door felt like miles. Patrick kept his hand on the small of my back. My keys shook as I tried to find the right one for the lock.
“Theresa.” Patrick’s voice made me look up. “Thank you for taking a chance on this. On me.”
“Thank you for asking,” I managed.
