Chapter 16 Something Sweet
Chapter sixteen
Something Sweet
I chew my food quietly, thinking to myself.
I can not— would not—scare this woman who’d been through something as traumatic as she'd been.
My eyes go down to her breasts, admiring her curves.
She's beautiful. Curvy, plump and soft. My entire being hardens and fills with lust. It's so inappropriate, but I can't help it.
She's going to eat everything on her plate. Period. I’ll be damned if she loses her curves.
I blink. Where did that thought come from?
Sarah gives me a little look as she puts a forkful of food in her mouth. The tines disappearing behind her dark-pink lips make me tighten as I attempt to lock my body down.
Do not have inappropriate sexual thoughts about a woman who just suffered a fucking miscarriage, you idiot! I chastise myself, keeping my expression still calm and neutral on hers.
I'm proud of myself actually; I don't even think you can tell by looking at me that I'm quite possibly having an existential crisis. Just when I realize my behavior might be coming across weird, I open my mouth to say something, but she beats me to it.
“This is the second apartment I’m looking at. The first one wasn’t good enough because it only had one bedroom and was on the third floor of the building. I wanted this one, a two bedroom—for obvious reasons. But I think it might be a bit…much for me now,” she says sadly, yet conversationally.
Just like a therapist.
I cannot wrap my mind around the way she talks.
Her rhythm of speech is perfect and caresses my brain just right.
She reminds me of a quiet lullaby in the nighttime when you can't sleep and need something soothing to calm the spirit.
How that man fumbled this gem so badly, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to figure out.
“What do you mean by that?” I ask, leaning back and stretching out my legs.
I watch as her eyes flit to mine momentarily before lowering to her plate. She takes a hefty minute to consider my question.
“Welll…" My ears prick at the trilled out word as it almost sounds like she's singing. "It’s a luxury apartment, and I just…I don’t know. I guess I'm not used to it.”
I watch riveted as Sarah puts another bite in her mouth. Her eyes narrow, and she scrunches her nose as if the thought of living in something luxurious is distasteful to her. I don't like that. She's more than worthy of a wealthy life.
I clear my throat, taking a sip of my drink before responding. “Everyone’s gotta start somewhere. I can’t wait to see it. Maybe I’ll rent it before you have a chance to and give you this place,” I joke before sobering, biting the inside of my cheek at how serious I actually feel at the thought.
I’d only bought this house because Hannah wanted it. I never really considered it my home.
“What was that look there?” she asks, taking me by surprise.
My eyes rise to hers. For a minute I’d forgotten she was a therapist. Observant, astute, just like I am.
I put another bite in my mouth, stalling. After a split second, I decide to share. “This house isn’t really my style. My ex-wife wanted it. We divorced years ago, and I just never bothered selling it. Too much hassle when you’re busy,” I say truthfully, instinctively knowing not to lie to her.
“Hm." She chews for a second. "When did you get divorced?”
“Nine, almost ten years ago,” I answer. "Worst mistake of my life."
Sarah’s eyebrows rise as she scoffs, and I watch, fascinated, as an intriguing spark enters her eyes that chases the sadness away for a moment.
Something that wavers in the holding space between challenging and defiance.
My skin burns suddenly, adding to my dilemma.
I watch as she takes a slender hand and tucks a thick lock of dark hair behind her ear.
Noting with pleasure that her almond nails give her fingers a beautiful shape.
“So….in nine years you haven’t figured out time to sell a house? Why do you live in something you don’t like? Pay absorbent amounts of money for something you don’t even want? That’s interesting,” Sarah says, holding another bite to her mouth.
Tilting my head, I'm intrigued she didn't run with the "worst mistake of my life comment.
" I want to tell her that money is of no consequence to me, but it's not the right time.
And it'd be rather uncouth to flaunt my wealth when she's in this predicament, and I don't want to even come close to hurting her feelings.
I watch as her fingers leave her hair to play with her nose ring briefly. “Now look at who’s pathologizing who,” I retort, referencing her comment at my office yesterday.
She narrows her eyes at me. I'd also forgotten in the midst of all this mess going on that we've also had a professional rivalry because I put that to the side. But for Sarah it seems like old habits die hard.
“It’s not pathologizing when you’re stating a fact,” she says, her lip curls rather sexily as she reaches forward for her water, bypassing the orange juice I freshly squeezed for her.
It's my turn to crinkle my nose. “You don’t like orange juice either?” Not able to control myself, I put all the judgement I can into that one sentence.
“Too much sugar,” she states simply.
No. That's not good enough for me. Sorry.
I pin her with a stare. “When you’re in my house you’ll eat all the things, and you won’t complain about anything being too much in any aspect at all, got it?” I say sternly, moving her orange juice closer to her before sitting back and picking up my own.
I watch as her face goes from a light mocha color to a deep dusky rose as she picks up on my double entendre.
Jesus, I’ve never seen skin like hers before, I lament, itching to touch her again. I need to call Johnathan, because what the fuck kind of person lusts after someone who just had a miscarriage? I wonder, thinking Johnathan would know.
The man’s brother is quite fucked-up in the head, and I'm starting to think I might be, too. I haven’t felt like I've had a sane thought since Sarah looked at me from her seat in my lobby the first time we met.
Is this what a woman does to you? Makes your brain mush?
I tilt my head, regarding her. Sarah gives me a small, nervous smile and puts another bite into her mouth. I watch as her free hand strokes the wooden table absentmindedly, and I'm noticing that stroking movements are a soothing reflex of hers.
Jesus fucking Chri—
I clench my jaw as my erection now tightens to the point of pain.
Likewise, Sarah is obviously in pain herself—for a different reason.
The thought instantly calms me. The harsh bite of desire lessens as I realize she's not betraying just how much pain she's in.
And though she's not complaining, I know she's in pain.
Because I saw up close and personal last night that her back is in awful shape. It sobers me instantly.
“I have some pain meds for you, for your back. Do you need me to rub some ointment on it?” I ask, wanting to take care of her.
Finding myself needing to do for this woman what I never could for Hannah.
I flinch at the sudden, intrusive thought.
Because though I'm aware I've been severely emotionally abused, I'm still not proud of how coldly I treated her, especially towards the end of our marriage. I was just too shut down.
“Oh, uhm…” Sarah looks away, finishing her last bite of food, looking briefly lost in thought.
“No thank you to the ointment, but I’ll take some pain medicine.
Other than that, I think I’m fine. I need to do what I can to get on with my life…
.I can’t let this suck me down. I have clients who need me healthy and mentally stable, you know?
" I do know, baby. A lot more than you'd think. "My livelihood depends on it.”
Her eyes are sad, and I can't stand this for her. She should be able to be allowed time to heal from this. Not have to keep pushing.
My mind whirls, wondering what I can do to help ease her burden.
But I stay silent, only offering her a nod, not wanting to push her.
She’s been through so much since yesterday, really since her boyfriend started beating her, and the last thing I want her to feel right now is pressured into anything.
I finish the last of my orange juice, pulling her empty plate out of her hand before she can stand up.
“I got it, sweetheart," I say. Seeing her flush at my term of endearment for her gives me so much pleasure. "Tell me where this apartment is while I clean. It’s almost two o'clock, so we should probably get a move on. While I clean up, let’s talk more about our client. One of your case notes intrigued me with a specific behavior.”
I figure I'll provide a distraction for her.
Sarah stands up slowly to follow me to the island. “Okay, but I can help you wash the dishes, or at least clean off the counters?” she asks softly, wringing her fingers.
She doesn't need to be awkward with me.
I smile as I half turn to glance at her. “No, you’ve been through enough. Just sit there.” I jerk my head to one of the six stools at the island. “Sit there, rest, and let me do it,” I say, turning to place the dishes in the sink to rinse under hot water.
Let me do it.
I work to try to remember when I stopped saying those words to my ex-wife. I don't know. But what I do know is, when I think about Hannah lately, it doesn't sting so bad. Her bitterness begins to fall away from my psyche, whisper-soft.
Being replaced by something much more sweet.