Page 65 of Filthy Little Midlife Fling

So, a couple of hours later, the doorbell rings again. Remy comes inside and wraps his arms around me. He kisses me softly, tenderly, like he’s missed me in the short time we’ve been apart. I can’t blame him; I have too.

“Been wanting to do that all day,” he says, confirming my thoughts.

“Me too,” I admit. And if I hadn’t been too scared to accept his call earlier, I could have enjoyed his kisses instead of facing my ex-husband and his pregnant wife.

“You going to tell me what put those shadows in your eyes, or do I have to kiss those secrets out of you?” His thumb strokes my jaw.

“Option two doesn’t seem so bad.”

Remy chuckles, obliging, and kisses me long and deep. Then he pulls away and wraps his arms around me, squeezing tight. “Bad day?”

“How can you tell?”

“I know you, Audrey.” He says the words quietly, with deep conviction. They ring through me like a bell, and I realize he’s right. We’ve known each other less than a month, but this man understands me in a way that I hadn’t thought possible. He respects me. He didn’t come back here tonight because he wanted sex; he came back because he could tell something was bothering me, even though I tried my best to hide it. He’s here to offer support, without asking for anything in return.

It’s hard to resist that kind of temptation. I haven’t felt the comfort of companionship since before my divorce was finalized. I’m not sure that I ever felt supported by Terry—not like this.

So, I tell him about my appointment with Caroline. I tell him about Terry’s arrival, and how I found out that they were expecting. We sit on the living room couch and finish the bottle of wine, and Remy keeps his arm across my shoulders as I tell him everything I felt while I stood in their kitchen and grieved the life I never got to live.

“I don’t even want him,” I say. “I’m glad we got divorced. We were wrong for each other. But dealing with infertility was such a huge blow, and I guess I never really got over it.”

“It’s not really the type of thing you get over, I think,” Remy says, his fingers making small circles on my arm, just below the sleeve of my T-shirt.

“No,” I agree.

Remy tugs me closer, and I fall against his chest with my head resting against the side of his neck. We stay like that for a long time, mostly silent. Then I tilt my head and kiss him because I have no words to express how much his presence means to me.

Unbidden, the thought of Terry at my car door pops into my head. My teeth grind.

“What is it?” Remy asks, gaze flicking between my eyes.

I sigh. I might as well say. I’ve already bared my soul to him. “Terry made a pass at me.”

Remy’s body goes rock hard. His jaw clenches, eyes turning intent. With what looks like a great effort of will, he loosens the hand that had gripped my shoulder a little too hard. “Did he,” he grits out.

I nod. “I threatened to smash his fingers in my car door.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and he presses a kiss to my temple. Both of his arms wrap around me, and we stay like that for a long while.

“I should get back,” he finally says. “Don’t like leaving Danny on his own in the house.”

Disappointment pierces my breast, but I nod. “Okay.”

“Let me take you out to dinner again,” Remy says, voice low. “I want to spoil you.”

I want that too. But I’m scared. Today rocked me, from the putrid rot I witnessed in Terry to the soothing balm of Remy’s presence. Can I afford to let another man in?

I throw up the only defense I have. “Do fling participants spoil each other usually?”

Remy’s arm is still around me. He sets his wine glass down on the end table beside him and brings his other hand to cup my cheek. “Is that still what this is to you, Audrey? Just a fling?”

My heart is a beating drum. No, this isn’t a fling to me anymore. Maybe it never was. But what if I open myself up to him and he hurts me, like Terry did? What if I start dreaming of a future with him, and those dreams shatter at my feet?

This man seems too perfect. I can’t let myself get swept up in the fairytale, because I know that fairytales are just fantasies. I know he has hidden flaws. Warts. Imperfections. Seeing Terry today should have strengthened my resolve instead of weakening it. I should know that it’s better for me to protect myself.

But the thought of pushing Remy away is as alien as the thought of accepting Terry’s advances. How can I close myself off when he’s shown me how good life can be?

My throat is tight, but I force myself to speak. “I don’t think it was ever a fling between us, Remy.”

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