Chapter 39
Lucy
The next time I run into Dirk in the hallway, he’s all dressed up, on his way out.
He stands there, my great big man, tall in his tailored suit, his legs and arms a tiny bit long for anything off the shelf. He searches my face, those dark eyes everywhere, alert to any trick.
I won’t move. I won’t let him pass, not without touching me.
Oh, he might turn around and go hide in his big, perfect apartment, or he can advance, and leave that cold, lonely old jail and agree to live another life, with me.
There’s that faint fragrance of mothballs on his suit again.
It’s such a lonely smell. I want to reach up and touch his shoulder, run my hands along to meet behind his neck, and gently pull him close again, this warrior of a man with lines on his handsome face.
It’s as ruined as mine. We’re a perfect pair. I don’t budge.
No one can accuse me of throwing myself at Dirk O’Connell.
Well, there was that time at the ball, but that was a matter of self-preservation, with Bart and the Minx right there in the middle of the dance floor, flaunting their love for all to see.
And Dirk stepped up. Even after that hideous interview, he helped me keep my dignity. He was generous then.
I suspect Dee disapproves of me, but she has no right to run Dirk’s life, especially not his love life.
Nor does Jill. I’m cross with Jill. We could be friends.
I gave her one of my lamps. She’s ignoring me.
If only she’d warm up, I’d offer to organise a fundraising fashion parade for her.
I’ve run them before, in my old garden. There’s no one more qualified.
I could give her a break, learn to use the till.
I’m good with people. Or I could give her a good cut on sales of my lamps.
We could sit them along the tops of the shelves, with one standing lamp in her change rooms. Soft lighting is flattering. She’d have more sales.
Besides, whatever Dee and Jill and Jamison might think, Dirk and I are sovereign beings. We are the captains of our own destinies. We can make our own mistakes. Seize the day, I say. Seize each other.
After our last conversation, it’s Dirk who needs to make the next move, here and now, a genuine one. I know I’m a flirt, but I’m alive, and I know how fleeting life can be.
I’ve fallen for Dirk, but when, if ever, will he reach for me?
As himself. Not as the famous soccer goalie, or the physician; not as Millie’s dutiful, devoted widower, not as Jill’s generous brother, nor as the aging father of two independent children, each as complicated and beloved as my Phoebe. As himself.
He goes to walk past me, to my left or right, but I will stand here and be seen.
I am no ordinary passerby or temporary neighbor, not some stranger to smile politely at and then ignore.
I am Lucy, a woman who knows how to live and how to love, and I am ready to love Dirk with all my heart and mind and body.
I lift my chin. I might be shorter than him, but I’m just as real.
I’m done with chasing Dirk. But I am not invisible. Now it’s up to him.