Page 87 of A Moment for Us
“I can’t. I can’t because you’re so goddamn beautiful, and I can’t . . .”
She’s here, and she’s looking at me like I’m the sun. I am not good enough to be with her, but I’m not strong enough to leave.
“Then kiss me.”
I move to her, taking her face in my hands and pressing my lips against hers. It feels like ages since I breathed, and now I know why. It’s her.
She’s been a weakness, but she’s also my strength. I don’t know what to do, how to fight it anymore.
Her love makes me think there’s hope, and that’s something I haven’t experienced in years. Everything seems possible when I look at her.
Maybe we can be happy.
Maybe I’ve been battling the wrong war.
Maybe Delia is right, and had I not loved and lost Morgan, I might not be here right now, in this moment. I wouldn’t be looking at the woman who I’ve always loved but was too afraid to give my heart to.
It’s why I took the New Orleans inn. This woman. This wonderful woman has terrified me since the first time I saw her. She was fifteen, smiling with Alex as they watched some stupid movie. I was transfixed, sure that there was no way this girl was real.
She was so beautiful, and when she smiled, my breath was gone.
I was already in college, and she was too young for me, so I stayed away from her until the night of her graduation. We were at the diner and both exited the bathrooms at the same time. I don’t know what happened. It was instantaneous. Neither of us spoke before we came together in a crash, and I kissed her.
Maybe we could have it all now.
“What are you thinking?” she asks softly as her hand runs through my hair.
“Maybe,” I answer. “I just keep thinking that word. Maybe.”
I don’t tell her more. Mostly because it’s terrifying. The idea of allowing myself a chance at something more.
Her smile is soft as her fingers move down, brushing the scruff on my face. “Maybe is hope. Maybe is possible. Maybe is a start.”
The words flow around us like a shell to protect the hope that is born from that statement.
I lean down and press my lips to hers. It goes on until I don’t know where one stops and the next begins. We kiss for the past, the present, and the future. I lose myself in her touch, and small broken parts of my heart are put back together. I will never lose the scars, but in her touch, I can heal a little.
She pushes me onto my back and then shifts to straddle me. Her shirt is lifted over her head and then her bra follows.
I lift up, cupping each breast, which are just a little bigger than the last time I saw them. “You’re gorgeous,” I say as I move my hand down to her belly. The ache in my chest grows as I touch where our children are. “Delia.” There are tears in her eyes, and I pull her into my arms. “Why are you crying, love?”
“I want this. I have wanted this, and . . .”
“You’re afraid.” I finish her thought.
She nods. “I want you. I have always wanted you, and now you’re here. I want you to always be here.”
I wipe the tears from under her eyes. She doesn’t see that leaving her is the last thing I want to do. It’s why I pushed my way into her home, saying it was just for her safety. It’s why I couldn’t even bring myself to call a realtor or find a new place to live. She’s what I want. She’s the part of my heart that has been missing and searching for this.
Her.
“What if you get sick of me?” I ask her, resting my cheek in her palm.
“Never.”
The promise slays me in so many ways. “You say that now, love.”
Delia lifts her other hand, taking my face in her grasp. “I love you, Josh, and I think you love me too.”
