I touch a hand to his bicep. “You all do. You could have a yes day, too.”
A small smile tugs at his mouth as he pulls me back into his arms. “I wish I could.”
He lowers his lips to mine and kisses me again. There’s no urgency in it. Just the same connection I’ve grown to crave over the past several weeks.
“Maybe I can have a yes night with you later,” hemurmurs against my lips as he tugs me closer, slowly circling his hips so I can feel his erection.
“What would that entail?”
“I’m not quite sure. But I have all day to come up with my list.” He waggles his brows, giving me a mischievous smile.
“When you put it that way,” I begin, hoisting myself onto my toes, “how can I possibly say no?”
He covers my mouth with his one last time, our tongues briefly touching. Then he steps back, already squaring his shoulders, preparing to face the storm.
As I watch him climb the stairs, warmth blooms in my chest, and I wonder how much longer I can keep pretending this is just temporary.
Keep pretending my heart doesn’t ache at the idea of not seeing these people every day.
Keep pretending I’m not in love with my boss.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
HAYDEN
The church parkinglot is already half full when I pull in.
Black sedans. Polished SUVs. People dressed in subdued colors moving slowly across the pavement.
The brick building looms in front of me, its white steeple cutting into a picturesque blue sky.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I retrieve it, finding a message from Rowan.
It’s a photo. Presley is mid-laugh, a smear of chocolate ice cream on her upper lip. Jemmy’s entire fist is buried in a bowl of whipped cream. Rowan’s arm stretches into frame, holding her own ridiculous sundae stacked with gummy bears and sprinkles.
Rowan:
Ice cream for breakfast = Yes Day win!
I trace my eyes over the photo, my heart squeezing at how happy Presley is.
This morning she wouldn’t even look at me. Wouldn’t put her shoes on. Slammed her door hard enough to rattle the house.
And now she looks…light.
Alive.
I glance back at the church, and my jaw tightens.
For the past year, I’ve told myself that showing up to these memorials is how I honor Cora.
How I prove she still matters.
But sitting here, staring at a picture of my daughter covered in ice cream at nine in the morning, I realize something I’ve ignored.
I’ve been honoring the dead at the expense of the living.
By clinging to what I lost, I’ve been missing what’s right in front of me.
