Page 111 of The Life We Wanted
I’mnot sure I ever could.
39
tabby
Halloween was lonely, with Greyson away in Florida.It wasn’t a major holiday, but it was my first alone. It reminded me of otherdays of importance looming ahead that. Days where I’d also likely find myselfalone. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s … I knew I shouldn’t begrudgeGreyson for possibly choosing Sebastian over me. He’d had fifteen years of holidayswith me, but these would be his first with his father. He had memories to makeand new traditions to create. But still, my heart hurt with every too-earlyChristmas song played.
Itried keeping myself busy with the steady stream of trick-or-treaters visitingthe agency. Princesses and unicorns, superheroes and zombies, all begging forcandy with shy smiles. Jess had taken off for the day, to spend it with herkids, leaving Alex and me to drop miniature candy bars into pumpkin buckets andcanvas totes.
“Trick-or-treat!”A gaggle of elementary school children announced in unison, stepping into theoffice with their pillowcases extended.
“Well,let’s see here,” Alex scrutinized in a teasing voice and grabbed for theplastic cauldron of candy. “We have a witch, a Cinderella, averycoolWolverine, and … hmm, what’s your costume?”
Ipoked my head out from my office to look at the little girl, dressed in a plaidflannel shirt, dirty jeans, and tool belt. She beamed up at the tall Draculaand announced proudly, “I’m a carpenter, just like my daddy.”
“Itold her girls can’t be carpenters,” Wolverine grumbled disapprovingly.
Steppingout of my office, I challenged the little superhero with a cock of my brow andsaid, “Girls can be whatever they want.” I turned my attention to her,crouching down to meet my eyes with hers before saying, “I love your costume.”
“Ilike yours, too,” the little girl whispered shyly, triumph glimmering in herhazel eyes.
Glancingdown at my Foo Fighters t-shirt, fitted black jeans, and red Converse, I smiledand said, “Oh, thank you so much, honey.”
“Whatare you even supposed to be?” Cinderella asked, wrinkling her nose.
Ichuckled lightly, wishing I had remembered to throw on my cape and witch’s hatbefore greeting them, and replied, “I’m a real estate agent.”
Thecarpenter’s lips curled into an approving grin. “Real estate agents are cool.”
Rememberingthe pencil skirts and uncomfortable heels cluttering my closet at home, Iforced the ruefulness from my smile as I nodded. “Yeah, we are.”
Thekids left, and I headed back into my office. Work was quiet, a usual downsideto living in such a small town. The amount of people moving in or out of HogHill was minimal, especially during the holidays, and I found myself now with anempty workload. I wondered if I should take my lunch break, maybe call up Mrs.Worthington and see how she was doing in her new living arrangement.
Heavinga sigh, I grabbed my phone and quickly tapped out a message to Greyson.
Me:Hey kiddo. How’s it going?
Secondspassed before it chimed with his reply, and I smiled as I read:
Greyson:So cool. Devin’s AWESOME.
Me:Yeah, he’s a really nice guy.
Greyson: They just did soundcheck and I got to play “Everlong” withthem.
Istared at the message longer than I’d like to admit, mostly at the title of thesong I had begun to think of as Sebastian’s and mine—ours. I hadn’tlistened to it since I’d walked away from him months before in that parkinggarage. Not after what I had said—what I haddone. How could I?
BeforeI could reply, the door to the office opened. I listened as Alex asked in aterrible Transylvanian accent, “What can I do for you today, sir?”
“I’mhere to see Tabitha. Is she here?”
Therich sound of velvet floated into my office, and I couldn’t help the chillsthat traveled the length of my spine. His voice was nearly foreign, but I couldstill recognize that decadent depth anywhere.
RomanDolecki.
“Sheis,” Alex admitted, and at the sound of his chair scraping against the woodenfloor, he added, “Let me see if she’s busy.”
Atthat, he hurried into my office, quietly closing the door behind him. His grey-shadowedeyes stared with urgency as he muttered through gritted teeth, “That fine slabof rich man meat is standing out there. What should I do with him?”
