Page 901 of One More Kiss

“No. She just…wasn’t good at being a mom.”

Someone else chimed in about how they understood, and I let the conversation steer away from me and onto the next. I was thankful for their interruption because I wanted to crawl under a rock. Anxiety was starting to claw its way in, and I wanted to leave. As my uneasiness began to peak, it slowly started to calm as I did some breathing exercises. I glanced in Daniel’s direction; he was still looking at me, his lips twitched in one corner of his mouth. It was as if he were trying not to smile.

When the hour was finally over, I hastily made my way out the door. I wasn’t sure how I felt about group therapy after this session. I had no desire to open up to anyone—let alone strangers—and let them see the ugliest parts of myself. I didn’t owe any of it to anyone, but I knew Vee would tell me I owed it to myself.

I sat at the curb where Vee usually parked and pulled out my phone. I had a missed call from her and a text.

Vee: Car trouble, sorry. I’m going to be late.

The thought of having to sit here in the open had my heart rate picking up. I didn’t want to look like the girl who wasn’t important enough to pick up. I glanced around, noticed a small grassy area next to the building, and figured no one would see me there.

Me: Okay.

I sighed and headed to my hiding spot. Despite being overcast and a little chilly, it was a beautiful day. I had always preferred colder days to warmer ones. The sun had a way of being overbearing, in your face, and stuffy. The cool, crisp air was easier to breathe and less invasive; plus, who didn’t love a bulky hoodie and leggings?

I sat crossed-legged and rummaged through my bag before coming across a chocolate bar, as Vee would call it, but it was not even close. She had picked them up at a local health food store; it was supposed to help with my mood. I mentally rolled my eyes. She meant well, but like everyone lucky enough not to experience mental health issues, she had no clue. I laughed as I read the label on this one. “Happy” was all it said.

I took a bite. It was supposed to taste like dark chocolate with a hint of orange. I had to admit it wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t good. It tasted like it was from a health food store. It certainly didn’t induce joy, but it wasn’t making me mad, so I guess that was a start; but truthfully, my nerves had prevented me from eating anything before group, so I was kind of starving.

“Tate?”

I stopped mid-bite and looked up to find Daniel smirking down at me. My stomach bottomed out as I closed my mouth around the bar.

“Did you need a ride?”

I covered my mouth. “No. My friend is giving me one.”

He looked around, and a tiny smile tugged at his ridiculously gorgeous lips. “Today?”

I knew he was trying to be funny. I wasn’t an idiot, but I was about to short circuit. “She’s on her way.”

He nodded once. “I hate this.”

I stared at him, having no clue what he was talking about.

“Therapy group, I mean. I signed up for it myself, but now that I’m doing it, I’d rather jump off a cliff.”

I let out a small laugh. “I get that.”

It was quiet again. I looked down, then around, then back up. “You want some chocolate?”

“What kind is it?”

I held it up for him to see for himself. “Happy chocolate? Hmm. I prefer my chocolate sad.”

I laughed again, but it came out like more of a high-pitched squeal. He peered down at me with a look of amusement with an arched brow. Then he took a bite of the bar. He didn’t break off a piece; he just used his mouth like we weren’t complete strangers.

He handed it back, and then he sat down next to me.

Good God.

“So, this friend…does she know what time group gets out?”

He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. The position change had his lean muscles straining slightly and veins popping, showing off the fact that he was indeed an athlete.

“I think her car broke down.”

I wasn’t sure what possessed me to admit that. It was like his proximity was getting to me. He was so close that I could almost taste the chocolate on his breath.

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