Page 10 of Embracing the Change

Very him.

Very delicious.

When he lifted away, I murmured, “Jamie.”

“Nora.”

“Lovely to see you.”

“And you.”

“All’s well?” I asked.

I knew I shouldn’t have when the clouds overtook his eyes, but he smiled through them and lied, “Just fine.”

“Good to hear,” I lied in return. Then, to take us out of that unpleasantness, I went on to tease, “I must say, the flowers, I could tell, were magnificent. That is, from what I saw of them before my husband threw them against a wall in a jealous rage. You, or your assistant, mistakenly neglected to put Belinda’s name on the card, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t make mistakes, Nora,” he returned decisively. “Therefore, perhaps now, since he knows how it feels, he’ll stop chasing skirt in front of his beautiful and kindhearted wife.”

I couldn’t contain my gasp.

And my gasp couldn’t contain the warmth his words spread through the entirety of my body.

“I see you’re expecting,” he continued. “I wish you all the best.”

You. With emphasis.

Not you both.

“Jamie,” I whispered.

“I’m right here,” he replied.

Yes, he very much was.

It took effort, but I finally found myself and grabbed hold.

As such, I informed him, “I’m not kindhearted. Ask anybody.”

Jamie shook his head. “I think you’ve learned by now we all wear masks, Nora. I don’t know what’s behind yours, and unfortunately for the both of us, as things are, I’ll never be in the place to find out.”

After delivering those morsels, morsels that were at the same time poison and ambrosia, he took my hand from the table. He then proceeded to bend over it, lifting it to his lips, where he brushed them against my knuckles. He replaced my hand to the table, completing a debonair act of yesteryear that was highly effective, and “as things were” between us, entirely bittersweet.

He was still bent to me, his eyes holding mine captive, when he murmured, “I hope you’re happy.”

“I am,” I replied quietly, and then to remind the both of us where we stood, I went on, “And Roland is over the moon.”

“He should be,” Jamie shot back, and the depth of meaning behind his statement was not lost on me.

Two could play that game.

“I hope you’re happy,” I repeated his words.

“My son is perfect.”

After saying that, his lips tipped up, and there was a trace of forlorn in his small smile.

I returned it in kind.

---