Page 6 of Mismatched

CHAPTER THREE

I’m fully awake before my clock goes off. I’ve been watching it for an hour, going over at least three separate to-do lists for my first day back. But it feels like I need permission before untangling myself from Anton’s embrace. When the alarm finally sounds, I quickly silence it, trying to take a moment to savor his warmth and comfort. This is actually the most we’ve touched since we left for Texas, and as his arms tighten around my waist, it occurs to me how much I’ve missed it. Except—something’s different. I’m not sure what until I realize he isn’t really touching so much as clutching me like a security blanket.

I turn to study his face. His eyes are open, focused out the window, but somehow much further away. I rest my head against his chest, breathing in his clean, earthy scent.

“Hey. How are you doing?” I ask gently.

At the sound of my voice, he tracks back. Into the room. Back to our bed. Or at least the vicinity. “I’m fine.”

He’s been telling both Seth and me he’s fine for the past week. And I don’t really think he’s lying. I just don’t think he truly knows. “Are you sure you want to go back to the office today?” I say quietly. “Carl said to take all the time you need.”

Anton’s body tenses, and he immediately shakes his head. “No. It’ll be good to get back into routines. I was already feeling swamped before we left for Dallas.”

He throws back the covers, and the next thing I know I’m in the center of the bed, alone. He slips into boxer briefs and is pulling on a shirt before I can think how to respond. For a moment, I wonder if I should try to regain his attention. Call him back to bed. Try just a little harder.

But the thing is, I’m also swamped. Henry and I put our Pooch II meeting off for a week, but he’s anxious to go over the business plan and first-month reports. Our managers have done a decent job holding down the fort with me gone, but I need to make time to check in with each of them and get back up to speed. So as Anton’s scent fades from the sheets next to me, I’m relieved he doesn’t notice me checking my phone.

Or the face I make when I open my email and find out our newly hired groomer just bailed on us. My fingers fly all the way to the shower, copying and replying. Adding to our meeting agenda and scrambling for a plan to deal with her scheduled appointments.

I exit the bathroom ten minutes later, phone still in hand and a towel twisted in my hair. Anton stands in front of the closet mirror straightening his tie. He catches my eye in the reflection, gaze dipping to the damp towel gathered at my breasts with a faint smile—and maybe a flash of regret.

And just like that, I hate myself for not trying. He’s struggling. Obviously needs my support, needs me to reach for him. But I didn’t. I let myself fall into old patterns. Got sucked into work, and left him to fend for himself.

“See you for therapy at five thirty?” I ask quietly, hoping I can atone for my shortcomings there.

He pauses. “Right . . . it’s Monday.”

“We missed last week,” I point out, not wanting to remind him why.

His gaze is far away, not looking at me anymore. “Maybe... could we rain check again?”

I raise my head in surprise.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I think... I don’t know. I’m just not... feeling it yet.”

A lump forms in my throat. I probably understand not feeling it better than anyone. It’s something I’m still working on—something we’ve been working on. But this seems like a strange time to put a hold on something that’s been helping us both.

“Uh, sure. I’ll let her know.”

“Thanks.”

For just a moment, I consider dropping the towel to the floor. Seeing if I can still make something happen. Remind him, no matter how he’s feeling, that we are still good; we’re getting better. But when I look back at his face, his eyes are somewhere else again. Unfocused. Far away. And I don’t know, seduction seems like the last thing to try. He looks like he just needs a hug.

So I do—wrap him in my arms. Getting his suit damp with my towel, though he doesn’t seem to care. “Take it easy today,” I say, stroking my hand up and down his back.

He mimics my movements in return, but it’s stiff, congenial. The way you might hug a relative you don’t know well. And just then, his face looks so lost. Shattered. Like he truly needs something... But I have this weird feeling it isn’t me.

He straightens and sighs. “I’ve got to go or I’ll hit traffic.”

Caprice

Are you guys back in town? How did the service go?

Got in last night, hitting the ground running today.

I don’t know. It was a funeral. Just glad it’s over.

Caprice

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