Page 16 of His Naive Wife

“I’m just the driver, Sir. She asked to come home.”

Dad wraps his arms around me again and squeezes tight.

“I can’t breathe, Dad!”

“I’m sorry, it’s just been so long.”

We enter the house, and Dad leads me to the kitchen, where we always have our best conversations. I sit on the stool and lean my elbows onto the kitchen counter while Dad makes us ice cream floats.

“So tell me what happened,” he says.

I updated him on the past few weeks and what just happened with Dylan.

“Oh, I can’t wait to talk to Alex about that. I want to hear what it felt like to punch that asshole.” Dad balls up his fist and punches the air. “Pow! I bet it felt great.”

I giggle, replaying it in my head again.

“Dad? How do you know when you’re in love?”

He takes a long sip from his straw as he thinks about my question.

“I don’t think love is a matter of knowing or not knowing. It just is. It’s not dictated by a timeline. It can happen at any time. Some people don’t believe in love at first sight. They think love has to take time to become love. I don’t think that’s true, though. I believe there are both kinds of love. I think the lucky ones are like your mother and me, who are lucky enough to find their soulmate. When you meet that person, everything feels as though it’s all fallen into place. Like you were made for each other. As if every step in life has been taking you to the moment you meet. That’s a special kind of love.

“I think a lot of people settle because they want to be in love, so they convince themselves they are,” he says. “They think of love as some badge of honor, or maybe an excuse to get married, or even live with someone when all they really want is not to be alone. That’s when love doesn’t work because that’s not true love at all.

“I know you’re kicking yourself because you thought you loved Dylan, and now you’re realizing you never did, but a lot of people go through that. You’re young. Maybe I should have just let you get hurt when you realized who Dylan really is, but you’re my daughter. I wouldn’t knowingly let you run headfirst into a wall; I couldn’t sit back and watch you run into a wall with him, either.

“Love is what you want it to be. It’s very personal,” he says. “I know this all sounds confusing, and I’m sorry about that. I guess what I’m trying to say is that no one can really tell you what love is, but when you feel it, you’ll know.”

“Then how do you know if someone loves you?” I ask.

“That one is much easier to answer. If someone loves you, they don’t need to say it; you’ll see it, feel it, and know it. Their actions will always speak that love loudly. You’ll never question the love of someone who truly loves you; you’ll just know.”

Waiting for Alex to come back from his business trip felt like forever. I needed to see him, talk to him, and apologize for being a jerk. I did that the first chance I got.

Having his arms around me, comforting me, and finally spending time with him felt perfect. Being with him felt like I was home. The time flew by too quickly, though, and he wanted to get to bed—his bed—even though I really wanted him to share mine.

“Why can’t you sleep here tonight?” I ask. I thought of those movies where the girl grabs the man by the tie and pulls him down to kiss her. I reach for his tie, but I lose my nerve, so I only loosen it. “You need to relax more. Not everything needs to be about business. Come on, stay with me tonight. We can make up for lost time and keep talking.”

“I need to shower and get the travel funk off of me. We can talk more in the morning. Good night, Emilee.”

“Alright,” I sigh, giving up. “Good night, Alex.”

Any other man would have taken me up on my offer. That says so much about him.

I sit back on my bed and stare blankly at the television for a minute. Then I realize while he said he didn’t want to stay in my bed, he said nothing about his.

After putting on my fuzzy slippers, I went down the hall past the foyer and stood outside his bedroom. I put my ear up to his door but couldn’t hear anything. I raise my hand to knock on his door, but stop myself and take a few steps back.

“Come on, Emilee,” I whisper. “You can do this. Just knock. It’s no big deal. After all, he is your husband.”

I put my hand up and quickly knock before I convince myself not to.

And then I wait.

And wait a little longer.

But nothing. So I check the doorknob, and it turns. I let myself in.

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