chapter eighteen #3
She twirls her hair again. “Well… you just seem not old-fashioned too.”
I chuckle. “Come on, Riles. You’re a publisher. You can do better with words than that.”
Huffing, she relents. “Fine. If you must know, you seem old-fashioned because you respect the simple things in life. And you’re kind, caring, mostly well-mannered—”
“Mostly?” I interrupt, pretending to be offended.
“Yes, mostly. You’re… chivalrous, I guess, but you’re also unabashed, impudent, and… liberal.”
Regretting telling her to use her “publisher” vocabulary, I have no idea what she means, so I just go with it. “And that’s a bad thing?”
“No, I never said that. There’s nothing bad about you.”
I grin like the Cheshire cat. “Nothing? Is that because you care about me more than you should?”
She squirms in her seat.
“What did you mean by that, exactly?” I ask, throwing her question back at her.
She straightens her shoulders. “What did you mean by it? You said it too.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“I asked you first.”
“Really, Riley? How old are you?”
“I told you already. Thirty-six.”
She rolls her eyes and cub growls.
“I like when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Growl like an adorable baby lion.”
Our waiter delivers our drinks, but I don’t let him distract her, my stare intently fixed on her exasperated eyes. “Just tell me what you meant, Riles.”
“I meant exactly what I said,” she murmurs before taking a sip of her milkshake-looking drink. “I care about you more than I should.”
“Then let me kiss you again.”
Sighing, she places her drink on the table. “It’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“I told you already. You’re getting a divorce.”
I lean forward and pick up my whiskey. “I am, but what’s that got to do with it?”
“Divorce is emotionally taxing. I don’t want to add to that.”
Her concern over my mental wellbeing is sweet—I can’t deny that—but it shouldn’t deter her from “caring” more than she should.
“You’re right,” I say, reclining into my chair.
“It is emotionally taxing. The past two years have been some of the hardest of my life.” I swirl my drink, watching the ice cubes circulate within the glass.
“But for the first time since everything went to shit, I know I can move on from Krystal. To be honest, I already have. I wasn’t ready to accept that before, but I am now. ”
“Why?”
“Because of you.”
“Me?” She cocks her head. “But how can you honestly think that? We don’t know each other.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“Riley, it has barely been a week.”
“A lot can happen in a week.”
“I know, but—”
“Fine. You think you don’t know me? Ask me anything. What do you want to know?”
“I-I….” She blinks as if it’s a stupid solution.
It’s not.
“Ask me whatever,” I prompt. “That’s how it works.”
“I know how it works,” she deadpans.
“Then fire away. I’m an open book.” I wink. “And you like books.”
Smiling somewhat sarcastically at me, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay. Why are you getting a divorce?”
My gut twists, but if I’m to have a chance with Riles, I need to share the details of my life that I don’t want to share. The pain, the anger, the shame. I need to be weak to be strong. “Because my wife cheated on me with her work colleague.”
Her jaw drops before she quickly collects her drink again. “That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I say, burying my resentment. “It’s water off a duck’s back.”
“I hardly think so.”
I take a swig of my drink, enjoying the burn as the whiskey slides down my throat. “What I mean is it’s for the best. Krystal and I were over before she hooked up with Finn. I just didn’t see that at the time.”
“Still, that’s far from water off a duck’s back.”
I shrug. “You’re right. But I have to forgive and forget to move forward. And I can’t do that if I’m constantly bitter about it all.”
Nodding, Riles delicately sucks her straw into her mouth, her cheeks sinking into her face as her eyes look from left to right, right to left.
Her awkwardness is amusing, and while I like it, I also want her to feel comfortable.
“What else do you want to know?” I ask.
She swallows, licks her lips, then subtly wipes her mouth. “Do you still love her?”
“No.”
“No? But you were together for so long.”
“I loved my childhood sweetheart, but she no longer exists. That woman died when our daughter died.”
Riles chokes, and for a second, I fear she’s consumed her straw. “You okay?”
“Your daughter—” She coughs and thumps her chest with her fist. “—passed away?”
“Yes. Imogen.”
Her eyes flick to my arm, to where my sweet girl will forever be inked on my skin.
I glance down at my tattoo as well. “She died before she was born.”
Reaching over the table, Riles takes my hand in hers, squeezes it gently, and whispers, “When?”
“Four years ago.” I stare at her hand, my mind wandering to the dark recesses that store my pain for my daughter, a void I slip into at any time, any place.
“Jesus, Riley, I’m… I’m so sorry. For you and for Krystal.” She sets her glass down, stands, then carefully lowers her ass onto my lap, her arms encasing me in a sweet hug. “Do you want to talk about her?”
Surprised by her bold move, but also appreciating her comfort, I hug her to me and murmur, “Not now. But I will, eventually.”
“Okay.” She kisses my head much like I did hers when she told me about her mother. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here for you. To listen. To shout at. Whatever you need.” She pulls back, rubs my shoulder, and then retakes her seat.
The sentiment squeezes my heart, and a damn tear escapes my eye. I swipe it away, mumbling, “Thanks.”
Although painful, I want to break the ice around my heart and tell her more. I want to tell her I did everything I could for my ex-wife and that my everything wasn’t enough. That I can fix a broken table but not my marriage. But those details can wait. Saying Imogen’s name out loud was hard enough.
“What’s your favorite color?” she asks.
I shake my head, caught off guard. “My favorite color?”
“Yeah.” Her cheeks lift into a timid smile. “You said I could ask you anything.”
Knowing she’s deliberately steering the conversation for my benefit, I smile too, my eyes catching on her dress, shimmering in the dim light. “Purple.” I tilt my glass at her. “That purple.”
Her lip quirks. “Liar.”
“I’m not. It’s the prettiest color I’ve ever seen.”
“Uh-huh.”
I clear my throat. “How about you? What’s your favorite color? No. Wait. Let me guess. Green?”
“What makes you say that?”
“Your bag, suitcase, and most of your underwear are green.”
Her back straightens. “You went through my underwear?”
“No.” I raise my hands, chuckling. “I opened drawers to find an empty one.”
She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Fine. Yes, my favorite color is green.”
“I especially liked the pale lacy ones.”
“Riley!”
We spend the next couple of hours talking about anything and everything—movies, music, food, and growing up.
We have similar tastes in most things and are polar opposites with others, but what stands out most is our shared grief.
We can communicate it, communicate around it, and not once is that communication coerced, forced, or awkward.
Talking with Riles is effortless, therapeutic, and enjoyable.
After what feels like a lifetime but also no time at all, Captain Katarina makes an announcement that the Aurora Borealis may soon be visible, so we leave the bar and head out on deck to a quiet spot at the stern of the ship, the wind sharp and bitterly cold, like tiny shards of ice piercing my skin.
Shivering, Riles rubs her bare arms as she leans over the railing a fraction to see the ship’s wake. “So this is what Rose saw on the Titanic before she climbed over.”
I remove my jacket and drape it over her shoulders. “Want me to hang you over the edge for a more realistic experience?”
“Thank you.” She slips her arms into the sleeves. “And no thank you. I’ll stay right where I am. Rose was a crazy bitch.”
“I could draw you naked if you’d prefer?”
She turns to face me and wraps my jacket across her chest. “Are you any good?”
“Let’s go back to the room, and we can find out.”
I’m no fucking Picasso, but I’d pretend to be if it resulted in her naked and lying on our sofa.
“Riley, it isn’t a good id—”
Stepping closer, I tilt her chin upward with my finger. “Look up.”
She complies, then gasps at the green veils of light rippling through the starlit sky. “Wow! It’s…. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s beautiful.”
Her eyes dip to mine again and then lower to my lips, my body tingling at the unspoken invitation.
It’s now or never. A moment you seize or stupidly let pass by.
I’m not a stupid man, so I slide my hand to the back of her neck and press my mouth to hers, her breath warm and sweet as she exhales and relaxes into me, her hands gliding up my back before gripping my shirt.
Warmth rockets from my toes to my head, and I groan, kissing her like I did the first time, softly to begin with, my tongue gently lapping at hers, my arms holding her to me.
Riles moans and pulls back, and just when I think she’s going to object, she sucks in a ragged breath and tugs my head back to hers, our kiss now frenzied, our mouths nipping and hungry.
“Fuuuck,” I growl, trailing my lips down her neck and back up again, the taste of vanilla, peanut butter, and Riles making me wild.
My greedy hands creep underneath my jacket, sliding across the satin on her back before dipping to her ass, her cheeks firm but supple.
I clench my fingers, and she inhales sharply, gripping me tighter as she lifts her leg and presses it against my hip, my hand moving to her thigh and holding it in place.
“Mommy, Mommy! Look at the pretty lights,” a little girl says in the distance.
Panting, Riles breaks away from me faster than a speeding bullet and palms my chest, her breasts rising and falling, her eyes scanning the deck for where the interruption came from.
Pissed but also fucking thrilled, I hug her to me and kiss the top of her head.
I knew it!
Her lips against mine once again shifted the earth on its axis.