I shake my head because that is ridiculous. She might be able to read me like a book, but the woman’s not a bloody psychic.
I reach for my phone, fingers trembling as they hover over her name.
For Christ’s sake, I need to cop on and pull myself together.
She answers, her melodic voice warm and familiar. “Martin, mon cher! How are you?”
Her French Canadian accent normally wraps around me like a comforting blanket, but today, it makes my chest ache as jagged shards of guilt stab at me like knives.
“I’m good, Celeste. Happy birthday!”
“Oh, merci, mon ami.” She chuckles. “Can you even believe I’m sixty-nine years old today? Mon Dieu, I certainly don’t feel it.”
“Ah, but you’ll be forever young, Celeste.” I smile, trying to act normally.
Celeste and I leaned on each other hard through the darkest days of Richard’s illness and after his death. I don’t think I would have survived everything without her.
“So, tell me about California! How is the new job?”
“It’s good. We’re making progress on the shelter, and I like San Diego so far.”
“And your boss? Jesse, right? What’s he like?”
My stomach twists. “He’s… dedicated. Hardworking.”
I cringe inwardly at my vague responses. This isn’t how Celeste and I usually talk. We’ve always been open with each other, and holding back on her now feels wrong.
As we continue chatting, my mind drifts to Jesse. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. How he talks with his hands when he’s excited about something.
“Martin?” Her questioning tone jolts me back to the present.
“Sorry, I… What were you saying?”
There’s a pause, and I can almost see her brow creased with concern. “Is everything alright? You seem distracted.”
“I’m fine,” I say, too quickly. “Just… thinking about Richard. You know how it is today.”
“Of course,” she says softly. “I miss him too. It’s difficult to believe he’s been gone so many years.”
The conversation feels familiar, an annual ritual as we share some of our favorite memories. Normally, this tradition of ours makes me feel good. It brings back some of the best memories of my life, reminding me of how much we loved each other and how lucky I was to find him.
But after we chat a bit longer and end the call, the weight pressing down on my chest grows heavier. I feel raw and exposed. And terrified.
Logically, I know it’s absurd to think that having feelings for Jesse is a betrayal of Richard’s memory. It’s not like I’ve been celibate since losing him—far from it. But in all these years I’ve never once been tempted to open my heart to anyone else.
Until now. And it's bloody terrifying.
Chapter 4
Martin
Later that evening, Jesse arrives home from his office and we order dinner before heading out for our beach walk. It’s become something of an evening ritual for us, one I’ve started to look forward to every day. Tonight, though, I’m quiet, lost in my thoughts as we descend the steep, wooden staircase leading down to the beach. We kick off our shoes, and I curl my toes into the sand, my feet instinctively seeking out the last of the sun's warmth that hides underneath that top layer. The crashing waves usually bring me peace, but tonight they seem distant and uninviting. The sky is painted vibrant hues of pink, orange, and purple, but my mind is too jumbled to fully appreciate it.
Jesse looks at me as we make our way slowly along the waterline, his brow furrowed. “Is everything okay? You’re awfully quiet tonight.”
I hesitate, my throat tight. Part of me wants to brush it off, but Jesse’s concerned gaze holds me.
“It’s… it’s Richard’s birthday today,” I finally admit, staring out at the ocean but not really seeing it.
