I hold her as she weeps, offering what comfort I can. I’m careful not to push, though, aware of how fragile she is.
Yet new and not-so-new desires grow, to see what might come of this: of her seeking ease and sleep in my bed, my arms. Of sharing secrets and scars, though I’ll have to reveal some of mine to keep us in balance.
More, she’s given me a key to courting her—if she’ll let me.
Now, I know how much she longs for deep kisses and the kind of physical touch toys can’t provide.
Chapter 11
Seeing Things in a New Light
JOHANNA
Nothing like a good bout of tears and a nighttime confession to leave one unsure how to face the world—much less Corin.
Thankfully, he makes it easy. I wake, snug under his covers, in his bed, in his room, but he’s not there. Fresh-brewed coffee scents the air, suggesting he’s already downstairs, getting breakfast ready.
Leaving the bed tidy, I get to my room without seeing him or Anamaria, then dress in full armor for my first full day back in the office—in other words, business attire. Well, semi-casual business attire, since our company works out of a rehabbed warehouse complex, with offices alongside labs. Still, dark blue pumps, a matching pantsuit with pale pink trim, and tinkly pink bellflower jewelry give me an appearance of calm, order, and control, even if roiling nerves underneath utterly bely the outfit.
Corin’s alone in the kitchen when I arrive, though theclopof heels against the stairs indicates Anamaria will join us soon.
He doesn’t say anything about last night, just nods at the half-full coffee pot and steps back to let me get breakfast.
There’s an odd gleam in his eyes, but he keeps to the usual pleasantries about my plans for the day and how many meetings and whether we can share the usual car service back to the house after, and on and on.
He watches me, too, every single time I look his way—which is often enough that someone could blindfold me and I’d still be able to describe him head to toe. Starting with the cowlick on the left side of his head that makes my fingers itch to run through those graying black locks and settle it, then down to the way his light-yellow long-sleeve polo shirt stretches over broad shoulders and the slight pouch of his belly, the fit of his tan slacks, his bare feet sticking out below because he left his socks and shoes by the door.
As always, the sweet-and-savory mix of his scent infuses every corner of the house.
All is as it was before, nothing has changed except Max not being here, and yet everything is changing. My body feels strange, heat rushing to my cheeks and fingers twitching.
Corin focuses on business on the drive to work, too. Just as well; since with the two of us distracted for the last months, business decisions have piled up. Our staff can do a lot. We hire good people, give them a shared ownership stake, and pay them well, including solid benefits—all as part of a sound strategy to keep them, rather than the saintliness the girls attribute it to—but some things still require signatures from the CEO and COO.
The only hint that he remembers my nightmare confession comes after we walk through the long hallway to the executive suite. He insists on taking my coat and scarf to hang in the closet.
“It’ll be colder tonight than last night,” he whispers as he slides the coat from my shoulders. “Stay with me again?”
Then, he turns away to start the business of the day without allowing me time to think, much less answer.
If he intended to distract me from being here all day without Max for the first time, he succeeds. It helps that Max and I shared the car service to and from work with Corin, and Max popped into my office unpredictably, but never more than a couple times a week. We spent more time together at the house. Two months in, I’ve stopped counting the hours and days since his death and begun to adjust to the signs of his absence.
No more sleeping through the occasional alarm, only to wake at his grumbling that it happened all the time when it didn’t. No aimless humming and thuds up and down the stairs as Max walked—climbed—while working out his latest brilliant idea. No walking into the bathroom and stumbling on a pile of damp cloth because the same man who was meticulous about doing his laundry and hanging his clothes never remembered to hang up towels.
Instead, I spend the day losing my train of thought and jerking at the regular but unpredictable tumult of Corin’s voice. Our offices share a wall, and though I can’t distinguish words, there’s no missing when he’s on the phone or in a meeting. The expensive air purification system provides a low hum of white noise, but it’s not enough.
The rumble through the wall distracts me, even when I’m not alone and should be listening to other, closer voices.
Three times during the meeting with Helen, our Head of Client and Compliance Research, I hear Corin saying something through the wall and lose my train of thought. She attributes it to losing Max, of course. An omega, Helen’s fairly open about struggling with different aspects of her designation than Max did. Generally anything but touchy-feely, she shocks me by giving me a hug at the end.
She’s consoling me, where I should be doing the same for her. She shared much with Max besides their common designation, and she’s one of the main reasons the company fared as well as it has these last months. I can easily see her stepping into my role or Corin’s role one not-too-distant day.
Despite that realization and her pleasure when I share it, what I absorb from our meeting is the unsettling awareness that I’m actively listening for Corin’s rumble.
After Helen leaves, I sink back into my chair. There’s silence on the other side of the wall, but it’s only a brief respite.
Corin walks through the open door, kicking it closed behind him. Two sack lunches dangle from his hands. “Veggies and hummus or chicken salad?”
I’d barely realized it was lunchtime. Lately, I don’t tend to notice hunger until food is in front of me, but the words trigger my stomach to grumble. “Veggies.”
