Page 8 of Cold Hearted Baren

Is this what fulfillment feels like? I wonder, as I wait for David to return.

David comes back to the living room a few minutes later after he’s finished with his call.

“Everything okay?” I ask, as he rounds the corner and joins me on the couch. “I’m afraid I have to go back into the office,” he replies, not looking nearly as distraught as I feel. I just wanted to spend more time with him.

“I’m sorry I have to leave, darling. I know we haven’t been able to spend much time together, and after what just happened, I want nothing more than to spend more time exploring you. But, things at MicroBot are…complicated right now, and I need to go take care of something,” he says, with sympathy in his tone.

With a parting kiss on my forehead, David leaves to go back to the office. I have no idea when I’ll see him again and I can’t help but wonder if the love I am beginning to feel for him is entirely one-sided. He seemed regretful that he had to leave, but maybe I am making something out of nothing. I just want to spend more time with him.

Chapter Six

David

"What kind of flowers are you looking for?” The golden-haired shop attendant asks with a pleasant smile. Her sun-streaked golden curls remind me of Tara– or maybe that's just because she's all I've been able to think of in the past few days.

“I want something appropriate for visiting my late friend,” I reply, looking around at the gorgeous yet systematic arrangement of flowers.

“Do you have anything specific in mind, sir?” She asks quietly, her smile emphatic as she searches my face.

"No," I replied, clearing my throat lightly. "I just need something… warm. He was a warm person."

She nods, her smile unwavering. “I've got you, sir,” she says, then gestures to the tall-legged stools by the shop windows. “Please, wait over there while I curate your order, sir.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, then make my way to the stools by the window. I settle onto the nearest one, watching as she gracefully moves around the shop, expertly selecting the flowers for my arrangement.

As I wait, I let myself ruminate over the events of the day. I can't believe I almost forgot the anniversary of Harry's death was today. The past few days have been hectic. Dealing with Selina Adams, and her hack job article, has taken up every second of my time. I've barely had the time to catch my breath. Harry's anniversary had completely slipped my mind. Thank goodness I realized in time; that would have been unforgivable.

My mind wanders to Tara and I feel my gut wrench with a familiar feeling of guilt and shame. I haven’t spoken to her since I had to rush out after we kissed. I’ve avoided her, under the guise of being busy with work. Truth is, I've been avoiding her because I don't know how to face her after what happened between us. I am desperate to be with her, but I’m not sure if she wants to be with a man nearly twice her age, who was also best friends with her father. But I’m not sure how much longer I can stay away from her.

Hell, I shouldn't have enjoyed kissing her so damn much… Because now it seems like I can't get my head out of the clouds. My head is filled with thoughts of her even when I try to push them away. The nights are the worst; at least I can bury myself in work during the day, but at night the memories of the kiss come flooding back, haunting me like ghosts in the darkness. I toss and turn, unable to escape the vivid images of Tara's lips against mine, her soft sighs of pleasure echoing in my mind. It's torture, knowing that I've let myself fall for someone who I can never be with.

"Here you go sir," the shop assistant says, her voice breaking me out of my reverie. I look up to see her holding out a bouquet of somber yet elegant flowers to me.

“Thank you,” I say, taking the bouquet from her. “What are these called?”

“The bouquet consists of lilies, combined with some delicate baby's breath and ferns,” she replies with a polite smile. “This arrangement perfectly conveys warmth, remembrance, and sincerity.”

“Thank you,” I say again, genuinely grateful for her assistance.

I proceed to pay, making sure to leave a huge tip for the kind shop assistant.

It’s late evening by the time I get to the cemetery, so I’m not expecting anyone to be here, but as soon as I arrive, I spot Tara. She's kneeling beside Harry's grave, her head bowed in silent contemplation. The fading light casts a golden glow on her features, illuminating the delicate curve of her profile. She looks so vulnerable, yet resolute in her grief.

In the past four years, I've never run into Tara at Harry's grave although I'm sure we’ve both visited on this day every year.

Approaching quietly, I stand a few feet behind her, unsure of whether to interrupt her moment of solitude. I can feel the weight of her sorrow because I carry something similar.

“Tara,” I call softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

She turns her head slowly, her beautiful green eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she looks up at me. The sight of her pain pierces through me, stirring emotions I had long suppressed.

“Hi,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.

“These are. for Harry," I say dumbly, then I kneel beside her and place the bouquet on his grave, next to the one Tara brought—lilies, too.

“I'm sure he'd like that,” she mutters, looking at me with a sad smile.

“He'd whack me on the head with it otherwise,” I say, and she chuckles. Her eyes lock on mine and in that moment, a silent understanding passes between us, a shared grief that transcends words. Then she looks away, her gaze fixed solemnly on the tombstone inscription.

---