“What are we doing?”
“The photos. The erotic captions?”
I can’t lie. It makes me happy to hear we’re doing something together. “They’re two separate things. And I’ve learned a valuable lesson this past year. I’m a better man when I’m not trying to be someone other than myself.” I dip my head to catch her gaze, waiting until she looks at me. “It’s a lesson I wish I’d learned earlier,” I tell her. “Don’t hide who you are. It’ll come out somehow, some day, and you’ll have struggled with it for nothing. Take chances and risks. Make mistakes. Especially now.”
“Why would anyone want to make mistakes?” she asks tightly.
“They’re necessary. It’s how we grow.” Having an affair might’ve been a mistake, but it got me to realize that marrying Kendra out of obligation was the wrong decision. It forced me out on my own. It led me to this bench, and for that, I’m not sorry. At least not at this moment. I like being here with Halston. “If I can help save you from the regrets I have, I want to,” I admit. “I know I should leave you alone. But I’ve never been good at listening to my head over my heart. It’s just who I am.”
“Are you saying you won’t leave me alone?”
I take a breath. “I can’t do it again, the affair. I won’t. I never saw Sadie as a fling. I thought she was—the one. I want more in my life than sex.” I don’t look at Halston when I speak. It’s not exactly easy to say. I have feelings for her, but I won’t push her. I pushed Sadie and dug my own grave in the process.
“You think being with Rich is a mistake?” she asks. “That’s my boyfriend’s name—Rich.”
I take a sip of the coffee. Damn, it’s good. So are croissants filled with chocolate and topped with pistachio. How could chocolate and toasted bread not be good? How could Halston and I not be good? She was literally dropped at my feet. She might be what I’ve struggled for, the person love and romance and fate came together to give me.
But she’s not mine.
I have to believe she never will be, otherwise I’ll make all the same mistakes I did with Sadie.
“I wouldn’t know,” I tell her. “And if I did, it wouldn’t be my place to say. How’d you meet him?”
“My dad kind of set us up, I guess.”
“That stuff you wrote in the journal . . .” I don’t want to know the answer, but maybe if I hear it, it’ll make it easier for me to keep my hands to myself. “Was it about him?”
“What? God, no.” After a second, she laughs. Hard. I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a genuine reaction. “He’s not like that. Rich’s very even-tempered. Logical. He’s attractive, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not that attractedtohim. That’s why he’s good for me.”
My mind reels. It’s not about sex. All those things she wrote, the heartache she poured into the pages—it’s not for him. I’m not sure I’m relieved, though. If I don’t need to worry about Rich, then who else is waiting in the wings? “What do you mean he’s good for you?”
“I used to be very emotional. Reckless. But I don’t get like that with Rich.”
“Okay, but your writing is so passionate, it practically burns up the page.” I steel myself for her answer. “Who was it about?”
She gets quiet, picking at the lid of her coffee. Her nose and cheeks are red from the cold.
Somebody hurt her? She must have a Sadie too, and it isn’t Rich. I should’ve guessed. The question is, how deep does the damage run? Has she healed, or does she need more time?
Eventually, I put my hand over hers to stop the scratch of her nail against the plastic. “Tell me. Who was he?”
“Nobody.” She looks utterly miserable as she says it. “And I’m not being coy. It’s really about nobody. I’ve never experienced anything like what I’ve written.”
My chest tightens. It’s an answer I didn’t even think to expect. One I find hard to believe, but one I actually like. “Never? Nobody?”
“I guess that makes me weird.” She flinches. “Right?”
Halston wants to be consumed. It’s there in her words. I could be that for her—I already feel it, and we’ve barely touched. “Weird? No. Surprising? Yes. I’d have thought you’d have many broken hearts in your wake.”
She smiles a little. “Nope. It’s just never happened for me, that intensity. I guess that’s why I have to write it. I’m not sure I’ll ever get it.”
I realize I’m still touching her, and I put my hand back in my lap. I chased that passion and took risks—my marriage and Sadie’s, my dignity, and, my biggest regret of all, my daughter. Because of my affair and subsequent divorce, I’ve gone from seeing Marissa every day to twice a month. That’s twenty-four times a year and more than I deserve, according to Kendra.
“It’s supposed to help your craft, right?” She half-laughs. “Heartache . . . longing.”
Supposedly. Not always. My work has apparently suffered since my spirit was crushed. “Seems to work in your favor.”
“I want to do it again.”
