“Then yes, we’re really having this conversation.”
We’d reached the Embarcadero. Instead of heading toward the freeway, I pulled into a parking spot. “Walk with me?”
The waterfront was beautiful at night, lights from the Bay Bridge reflected in the dark water. We strolled, her hand tucked into the crook of my arm. The fog was rolling in, giving everything a soft, dreamlike quality.
“I snore,” she blurted.
“I beg your pardon?”
“If we’re being real, no games, you should know. I snore. Not delicately either. Marco used to say it was like sleeping next to a freight train.”
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Well, I leave cabinet doors open. Every single one. Shannon used to follow me around the kitchen, closing them behind me.”
“I can’t sleep without socks on. Even in summer.”
“I reorganize the refrigerator when I’m stressed. Everything grouped by category and expiration date.”
“I ugly cry at commercials. The ones with the dogs especially.”
She stopped walking, turning to face me. “We’re really doing this? Getting to know each other? Building something?”
“I’d like to. If you’re ready.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “It’s barely been four months. People would say it’s too soon.”
“People aren’t living your life.”
“My children?—”
“We’ll go slowly with them. Let them get to know each other as friends first.”
“Your children?—”
“Will need time too. But Theresa...” I touched her face gently, the way I had that night at the conference. “I’ve spent over a year just existing. Going through the motions for my children, for the company, for everyone but myself. Meeting you made me remember what it feels like to want something for myself again.”
She leaned into my touch. “I know exactly what you mean.”
We stood there for a moment, the fog wrapping around us, separating us from the rest of the world. Then she pulled back slightly, looking over my shoulder.
“That’s the Ritz-Carlton.”
I turned. The hotel rose behind us, elegant and imposing. Theresa paused, her gaze lingering on the entrance. For a split second, my mind raced. What was she hinting at?
“We could go in.”
My pulse jumped. “Theresa?—”
“Not to the restaurant or bar. They have... rooms.”
The implication hung between us, heavy with possibility.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, but I could see the nervousness in her eyes, the war between desire and propriety.
“We don’t have to,” I said. “We can wait. There’s no rush.”
“Patrick.” She stepped closer, her hand flat against my chest. “Tonight, just tonight, I want to do something for myself. Is that terrible?”
