“No, it’s human.”
“Then take me inside.”
We walked into the hotel lobby hand in hand. The night clerk barely looked up as I requested a room, though I imagined judgment in his professional disinterest. Theresa stood slightly apart, studying a painting on the far wall, maintaining plausible deniability.
The elevator ride was silent, charged. I could hear her breathing slightly faster than normal. When we reached our floor, I almost asked again if she was sure, but the way she looked at me—determined, nervous, wanting—stopped the words.
The room was elegant, understated. City lights sparkled through floor-to-ceiling windows. But I wasn’t looking at the view outside.
Theresa stood just inside the door, suddenly uncertain. “I haven’t... I haven’t been with anyone else since I was nineteen years old.”
“We don’t have to do anything,” I said, meaning it. “We can just talk. We can leave right now if you want.”
She shook her head, crossing to me with sudden determination. “I don’t want to leave.”
When she kissed me, it wasn’t like that tentative moment in her driveway. This was intent, purpose, need. Her hands tangled in my hair, pulling me down to her, and I forgot about being careful or appropriate or any of the reasons this might be too soon.
Chapter
Sixteen
THERESA
His hands wereon my waist, pulling me against him, and for a moment—just a moment—I let myself disappear into the kiss. Patrick’s mouth was warm and insistent, tasting faintly of the wine we’d shared at dinner.
Then Marco’s face flashed behind my closed eyes.
I pulled back, breathless. “Wait.”
Patrick stilled immediately. Even in the dim light from the city beyond the windows, I could see the concern in his eyes. “What is it?”
“I just—” My voice cracked. How could I explain that for a split second, I’d forgotten? Forgotten that I was a widow, forgotten that the last man to touch me like this was gone, forgotten everything except the heat of Patrick’s mouth on mine. “I need a minute.”
He stepped back without hesitation, giving me space. No pressure, no questions, just patient understanding that made my chest ache.
I walked to the window, pressing my palm against the cool glass. Below, San Francisco sparkled like scattered diamonds, oblivious to my internal war. The rational part of my brain catalogued all the reasons this was too soon, too fast, too everything. Four months. Some people would say I should still wear black, still be prostrate with grief, certainly not in a hotel room with another man.
But those people hadn’t sat through the endless nights when the bed felt like an ocean I was drowning in. They hadn’t watched their children slowly adapt to a world without their father while feeling like they themselves were frozen in amber. They hadn’t felt their own body become a stranger, something that existed only to move through days, to sign documents, to hold children, but never tofeel.
“Theresa.” Patrick’s voice was soft behind me. Not moving closer, just... there. “Tell me what do you want?”
What did I want?Such a simple question that had become impossibly complex since February. I wanted Marco back—but that was a child’s wish, as useful as wanting to fly. I wanted to stop feeling guilty for every moment that didn’t hurt. I wanted my children to have joy again. I wanted the company to thrive. I wanted so many things that canceled each other out, that twisted into knots I couldn’t untangle.
But right now, with this man looking at me like I was something precious and breakable but not broken?
“I want to feel alive,” I whispered. “For one night, I want to remember what it’s like to be in my body instead of just dragging it around.”
Patrick crossed to me then, slowly, giving me time to change my mind. When he reached me, he cradled my face in his hands with such gentleness that tears pricked my eyes.
“Youarealive,” he said. “You’re so vibrantly, brilliantly alive that you take my breath away.”
“I haven’t felt that way in months.”
“Then let me remind you.”
This time when he kissed me, I didn’t think about Marco. I didn’t think about anything except the warmth of Patrick’s hands as they skimmed down my arms, the way his breath hitched when I pressed closer, the solid reality of him against me. His kiss was careful, like he was learning me as he went.
Patrick’s hands slid up my back, finding the zipper of my dress. He lowered it slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. The dress loosened, and cool air kissed my spine.
