Page 142 of Penalty to the Heart

No.

That’s what I want to say.

But I don’t.

Instead, all I do is nod.

Nod and pray that time won’t fuck my life more than it already has.

Chapter 26

Roxanne

I’m standing in my kitchen, wine glass in hand, when there is a knock on my front door.

Instead of rushing towards it, I just stare at the wooden varnish, knowing damn well who is standing on the other side of it. There is only one person who refuses to use the bell, preferring a playful knock to announce his arrival.

Ten days.

That’s all Caleb could withstand.

Logic and self-preservation shout in my head not to open the door—that I’m not ready to face what is on the other side—but apparently, I’ve become deaf to their reasoning since I find myself hurriedly walking towards it, like a moth attracted by a flame.

After a quick glance at the mirror in the entry hall, I take a deep breath and unlock the door. When I open it, I’m not one bit surprised to be met with a mischievous grin on Caleb’s face.

“I’m not here,” he says, his green eyes full of flirtatious mirth.

“That’s good,” I reply, “because if you were, then I would have to remind you that showing up at my house uninvited is unacceptable.”

“Then it’s a good thing that I’m not here.” He smirks with a wink before bypassing me altogether and walking into my sacred space.

I take another fortifying breath and close the door behind him, despising my weakness for him. I should have told him to go away, but no. Now, he’s standing right at the center of my living room, looking at me like a predator looking at its prey.

“What do you want, Caleb?” I ask, picking up the glass of wine to have something to do with my hands.

“I thought it was about time that we talked.” He smiles widely, plopping himself on the couch and spreading his arms on either side.

“Talk?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’ at the end with a boyish charm. “Just talk.”

“I would assume you’d be tired of hearing me talk in our sessions.”

“And you’d assume wrong,” he retorts with a serious tone. “I could listen to you talking for hours and never be tired of the sound of your voice.”

My throat goes dry at the intensity in his eyes, forcing me to drink the rest of my wine in one big gulp.

“Can I have some of that?” he asks, pointing at my empty glass.

“Sure. Give me a minute,” I reply, hurrying to the kitchen to fetch a clean glass. After I’ve poured some white wine into both glasses, I return to the living room, surprised to see that Caleb is once again on his feet, looking at the photographs on the mantle above my fireplace. I perch both glasses on the coffee table as he continues to inspect the old photos, which I haven’t had the heart to put away.

“Is this him? Your ex?” he asks after picking up a frame with a picture of Gregg and me together, skiing in Vermont.

“Ex would infer that we broke up or got divorced,” I reply evenly before taking the frame out of his hand and carefully placing it back on the mantle. “But if you’re asking if this is my late husband, then yes. That’s him.”

His brows furrow as he stares once again at the picture.

“You look happy,” he says, running a gentle finger through the picture.

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