“But it’s been minutes since my text.”
“I—we…” I glance toward the cats that are both fighting for a spot on her lap, lucky fuckers. “Have been staying at the guest house on the other side of the pond.” I beckon with my head in the general direction of the backyard.
“Since when?”
Okay, I didn’t expect our conversation would take this direction, but whatever. She’s in front of me and we’re talking. “Since you arrived.”
Her eyes widen. She stands up, both cats grunting in protest. “This whole time?”
I nod.
“Why?” Her eyes dart between the door and me. Perhaps she’s deciding whether to let me in?
“I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“I wasn’t alone.”
The least productive conversation in history, but here I am, grateful for her attention. “MaybeIdidn’t want to be alone.”
“But I didn’t even know you were here.”
I shrug. “You didn’t want to know.”
She sags against the other side of the doorway. “Now I know.” A whisper of a smile touches her face.
I swallow, and consider falling to my knees andbegging for forgiveness. But she doesn’t need my platitudes. Those are just part of the game… I don’t want to play games anymore. With anyone, but especially not with her.
I clear my throat. “I have cat food, litter, and their boxes in the car. Let me carry them inside.”
She nods, and I unload the truck, carrying everything to the kitchen. It’s like walking through a minefield. One wrong move and everything explodes.
“Thank you.” She fills the bowls with food and water and sets them all down on the floor.
Both cats dance between her legs and ignore the food, just seeking their owner’s warmth and snuggles.
Yeah, I’m an intruder here. A jealous one at that.
I’m jealous of her cats.
“You don’t need to thank me.” My voice cracks. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything…”
Fuck, what am I doing? What am I saying? She doesn’t want me around. I hurt her enough.
“I’m so fucking sorry about everything, Coraline.” I look at the door, but my legs don’t move.
“You didn’t tire of apologizing.” She picks up Clooney and scratches his neck, a hint of her usual sass coloring the statement.
“Someone important once told me it’s not a sign of weakness.” I step closer. “Besides, I owe you a lifetime of apologies.”
We stare at each other, and the air fills with something new. Or rather familiar.
She swallows. She licks her lips.
The tension between us shifts slightly.
It’s not angry desperation anymore. It’s not just unsaid words, late apologies, and pain.
It’s something tentative, physical. It’s like our bodies act on recognition, while our hearts hesitate.
