All the reasonable answers line up neatly in my head.
All the excuses I’ve repeatedly told myself.
But none of them come out.
“Because you scare me,” I admit.
My confession causes her to inhale a sharp breath. I’m not sure if it’s the substance of the words or the fact that I didn’t give her the same excuse I’ve given myself all week.
“You have since the beginning,” I continue when she remains mute. “There’s something about you. When you’re around…” I shake my head, unsure how to describe it. “I feel…at peace. For the first time in a long time. You make me feel things I shouldn’t. Not after?—”
“Who says?”
I blink. “What do you mean?”
“Who says you’re not supposed to feel what you do? Is there a rule somewhere?”
“I lost my wife.”
“I’m aware.” Her voice softens, yet her eyes don’t waver. “But where’s the rule that says you have to mourn her forever? The rule that says you have to stop living because she isn’t? The rule that says you have to stop feeling?”
I open my mouth, but no words come.
For the past year, I’ve been living according to invisible rules. Expectations. Behaving like I believed a grieving husband should. Sacrificing the things a single father should.
But the truth is, I’m so goddamn tired.
Tired of feeling like I’m betraying Cora’s legacy if I don’t mourn her every second of every day.
Tired of being made to feel like I’m less than if I move on.
Tired of feeling like I don’t deserve to be happy.
“Aren’t you tired of not feeling?” Rowan continues, stepping toward me. “Of barely living? Don’t you?—”
Before she can utter another syllable, I crash my mouth against hers, as if some other force is at play. Or maybe this is simply me finally making a decision instead of blindly going through life. I don’t care why or how. All I do care about is that the second our lips meet, something inside me snaps into place.
She gasps softly, and I deepen the kiss, my hands framing her face like I’m afraid she’ll disappear.
God, I missed this. Missed her. Missed the taste of her. The warmth. The way everything else — the guilt, the expectations, the fear — falls away when she’s in my arms.
When I’m kissing her, there’s no past. No future. There’s just this. Just us.
She pulls away first, breathing hard as we stare at each other for several protracted beats.
“Are you…okay?” I ask when she doesn’t immediately do or say anything.
“I guess I’m…waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to tell me this is a bad idea and we shouldn’t do this.”
I let out a shaky breath. “Itisa bad idea. And we definitely shouldn’t do this.”
“But?” She arches a brow, sensing there’s more.
I slide an arm around her waist, pulling her flush against me, feeling the steady beat of her heart against my chest.
