Page 93 of A Me and You Thing
“Don’t stay with me because you feel obligated. Be totally honest with me about what you really want.”
His lips float above mine. “Quinn, how can you even ask me that? I have ached for you every agonizing second that you were gone. Not a minute went by that I didn’t think about you and yearn for you. I love you.You.”
I turn my head away. “Maybe not every second.”
His fingers touch my chin and gently tilt my head back up to him. “That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been going through the motions of life, doing whatever it takes to feel normal again, to feelanythingagain. I grasped onto what Bree was offering because it was a lifeline, a way back into the land of the living. All I wanted was to know what it felt like to feel good again, to feel happy, to laugh, to feel like I had something to live for. Because, in the end, all I wanted was to die and be with you.”
There’s an underlying ferocity to his words that take me back. I believe everything he’s saying, and I know he means it. But I still wonder if his heart is with Bree, and if he’s mourning the loss of her from his life. She was so right when she said those feelings don’t change overnight.
All thought leaves my mind as he presses his lips to mine with the same intensity as his words. I melt into him, overcome by his declaration. It’s what I needed to hear. We share the softest, sweetest, longest kiss. We’re in our daughters’ bedroom and Bree is down the hall. The door is closed, but we both know it won’t go further than a kiss. And this frees us to drink from each other, to become one, to absorb each other, to sink into each other in the most personal way. He doesn’t allow guilt to force him into ending the kiss. He’s done what he needs to do as far as ending his engagement, and I think this frees his conscious. Even though the situation feels unresolved, it’s obvious his moral code feels vindicated. He’s showing no signs of stopping. I don’t want it to end either. So I go with the flow and enjoy his sweet mouth on mine. Our tongues tangle and dance and the longer the kiss goes on, the more our love is renewed. Refreshed. Revitalized.
How did I live without him for two years? How did I forget him? I love him in the same way he loves me—more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my life. I bury my hands in his hair and pull him closer. Seconds pass, minutes pass, and still we’re submerged with each other, breathing each other in, completely engrossed. I believe he’s using this kiss to make his intentions clear. I hear his message. At the same time, ugly doubts wonder if he’s desperate to recapture what we once had. Is he battling a fierce debate in his soul?
When we reluctantly part, he snuggles behind me once again.
“I can’t leave you tonight. If that’s wrong, I don’t care. I missed you, Quinn. More than you’ll ever know. You’re my fave, sweetheart. You’re still my fave.”
I love those words.Love them.
But there’s one thing I hate more than anything. And that’s a love triangle. Whether it’s a movie, a TV show, or a book.
Am I in one? Surely not. Circumstances beyond our control put us in this situation. Sawyer is decisive about declaring what he wants. He’s ending his engagement to be with me, his first wife. There’s nothing triangular happening. Ours is a two-way relationship, a straight line, point A to point B. I’m point A, he’s point B. Me and Sawyer.
Right?
Or is he secretly longing for point C?
THE NEXT MORNING I’m fuzzy with vague memories of Sawyer carrying me to our bed. He held me all night, and we slept entwined with each other. There was a sweetness to the night that I can’t explain. Passion didn’t explode between us, but the most tender emotions enveloped us. I loved it.
He exits our master bathroom, dressed casually in jeans and a button-up that’s been left untucked, flip-flops on his feet, his hair still wet from the shower. My beach bum.
“Morning.” He sits next to me on our bed, smelling of aftershave. I’ve missed his scent. He always smells so good. “You okay?”
“Last night was rough.” I still feel shell-shocked.
“I know. I’m sorry, Quinn. This is a stress-free zone from here on out. No more secrets, no more surprises. Just me and you.”
I think about the words we exchanged in our daughters’ bedroom, and I realize there’s something that needs to be said. “About last night, I don’t want you to apologize or feel guilty about Bree. I don’t want you to agonize over it. You thought I was dead. I’m not mad at you for moving on with your life. I want you to be happy—I’m glad you found happiness.” Not going to lie, it still hurts like crazy. But I refuse to make him feel bad over it. That’s not fair.
His blue eyes are bright in the sunny room. “There’s my Quinn. I’ve missed your sweetness,” he says, running his fingertips over my arm. “My life changed the moment you showed up on my doorstep. That’s the day happiness foundmeand now I can move on with my life.” His voice is husky, thick with emotion.
Romantic Sawyer. I love that guy. “You’re up early.”
“I woke up with you in my arms and I needed a distraction. So I spent a couple hours in my office doing paperwork, making you a real person again.” His expression is soft, full of love.
“I’m feeling more and more real by the minute.” We share a soft smile.
“Guess what? I’ve taken the next two weeks off work, and I’m going to spend every single moment with you.” His index finger touches my nose.
“Sounds amazing.” I wish I didn’t have the visual of Bree and Sawyer in the midst of their heartrending break-up in my mind. It’s a thorn in my side, making me feel insecure. Broken. Pathetic. Sawyer’s telling me one thing, my mind is telling me another. I need to listen to Sawyer, concentrate on what he’s saying, regardless of the drama in the house.
“Ready for breakfast in bed? No more worries, no more tension. It’s easy living for you right now, Quinn.” He’s trying to be upbeat, but it comes off as forced. His eyes are still deeply troubled, the same way they were last night as he spoke to Bree.
“Actually, I’d love to come down for breakfast and see the girls. I’ll take it easy after that, I promise. I can’t lie in bed all day anymore, though.”
His fingers tap against his knee. Even though he doesn’t say it, I know he’s nervous about dealing with Bree. I don’t blame him. Their break-up was brutal to observe.
“All right. I’ll make my specialty.” He grabs my waist with a love pinch. “We’re gonna put some meat on those bones.” His hand lingers, wandering across my stomach.
