by Tessa Bailey
“Yes,” she breathed, her pulse thumping.
The therapist made a knowing sound. “You need words.”
She thought of Dominic telling her he appreciated her. Out loud. And pressure on her chest she wasn’t aware of eased a little bit. “Yes. I think I do.”
Armie nodded vigorously. “I’m going to take a shot in the dark that neither of you is familiar with love languages.” Silence. “As I suspected.” He encompassed them both with a warm look. “Each one of us has a preferred way of expressing love. And having love expressed to us. Dominic expresses love through deeds. But you need to receive love through words.”
“So . . . that’s it?” Dominic asked. “Ten minutes and we already have a solution?”
“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” Armie laughed, eyes twinkling. “No. You have an answer. The solution requires a lot more work. And practice.” The older man was surprisingly spry as he jumped to his feet. Rosie and Dominic followed him toward his desk. “During one of these sessions, we’re going to talk about what Dominic needs to feel loved and appreciated—”
“For chrissakes.”
“For now, though, we’re going to focus on Rosie, since she’s the one who was troubled enough to leave the marriage.” He paused. “I’m going to give you a homework assignment. A few of them, really. Since you’ve already separated, we’re working on an accelerated healing track.”
“He just made up that term,” Dominic muttered in her ear.
“I heard that.” Armie laughed heartily while leaning back against his desk, but he eventually grew thoughtful. “In my thirty years as a marriage counselor, I’m not sure I’ve ever witnessed such a raw sexual charge between husband and wife. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.” He whistled under his breath. “It’s quite breathtaking.”
Rosie was suddenly much more aware of Dominic’s nearness. The scent of sawdust and male and menthol. How large he was in comparison to her and how one step backward would press their bodies together.
“Unfortunately, I think sex is getting in the way of really seeing each other.” He stared down his nose at them. “Being partners out of the sack.”
“We aren’t . . .” Rosie licked her dry lips. “Doing that now.”
Behind her, Dominic muttered something about putting their business on the street.
“Great,” Armie said.
“Says who?” Dominic asked.
“Says me. One of your homework assignments is to keep not having sex.” He split a speculative glance between them. “I will allow kissing.”
Anticipation almost swallowed her whole. Kissing. God, she hadn’t been kissed in so long, without sex happening at the same time. Oh, there was an occasional hard press of mouths or brief, cursory pecks, but one of her favorite pastimes with Dominic had been making out. Getting hot and bothered, just for the sake of needing. They were professionals at it. Had gotten that way by waiting until she turned seventeen to have sex. They’d dry humped through their first three years of high school and had so many orgasms with their clothes on, she’d truly lost count. And she’d never felt more connected to Dominic than when their mouths were communicating like that. Eye contact wasn’t something that made her uncomfortable back then; it was expected. Craved, along with the words he used to whisper in her ear.
I love you.
I need you, honey girl.
We’re in this forever.
“Kissing is often more intimate than sex and it breeds further intimacy, such as talking or looking into each other’s eyes. Tapping into one another’s energy,” Armie was saying. “Now. For the next assignment. Dominic, you’re going to write Rosie a letter.”
“Come again?”
“Call me crazy, but I don’t think words come that easily to you. Just like Rosie with the eye contact, we’re going to ease into it. Let’s try verbalizing on paper first.”
Dominic shifted behind her. “What am I supposed to say?”
Armie smiled broadly. “That’s up to you to decide.”
Chapter Eight
Dominic had never written a letter in his life. Mainly because of technology. Text messaging had been around since he was old enough to spell, so there’d never been much of a need to put pen to paper, apart from the odd note. When he and Rosie were younger, they passed a couple of them between classes, but they were short and sweet. You look cute in that skirt. I missed you this weekend. Come to the movies with me on Saturday. Et cetera.
He couldn’t help but remember that she’d looked kind of . . . excited about the prospect of receiving a letter from him, and, God, he’d missed that expression on her face. It brought back memories of the morning they’d run hand in hand through the rain into the courthouse, determined to tie the knot before he was deployed. Raindrops had still been lingering on her eyelashes when they’d presented their marriage license moments later, holding each other and rocking as they waited for their turn to say “I do.”
Well, if she was excited about the letter, she was about to be sorely disappointed with the results.
Dominic tossed the pen onto the lowered gate of his truck, scrubbing a palm over his shaved head. About fifteen minutes ago, Stephen had called a lunch break and everyone spread out on the job site, sitting in groups with their foil-wrapped sandwiches while Dominic retreated to his truck to get started on the letter. After therapy yesterday, he’d gone home and attempted to get his thoughts on paper, but nothing came—and he needed to get it done today. The urgency gnawing at his gut wouldn’t allow for any further delay.
She couldn’t even look him in the eye.
Every time he thought about that moment she’d ripped her gaze away like she was in pain, he felt sick. Hadn’t even packed a lunch this morning because his appetite had dwindled to nothing. Sex was off the table. He couldn’t make her feel better with his body. She needed this letter. She needed words. And he had no idea where or how to find them.
A rock bumped against Dominic’s shoe, and he turned to find Stephen and Travis approaching with a third man, someone he was seeing for the first time. The guy was young—probably younger than all of them—but he made up for those missing years in height and walked with a shit ton of confidence that only someone in a cowboy hat could pull off.
“Dominic,” Stephen said, “this is Wes Daniels. He’s going to be working with us for a while. New in town.”
Dominic reached over and shook his hand. “Where from?”
“San Antonio,” Wes returned, giving him a firm shake and a flash of white teeth. “Good to meet you.”
“Same.” Dominic frowned at the empty piece of paper he’d weighted down with a rock. “Don’t hear a lot of those accents on Long Island.”
“Then I take pity on Long Island. This here is poetry coming out of my mouth.”
Travis coughed into his fist. “Wes is a little cocky.”
Dominic raised a brow. “Pot, meet kettle.”
“He’s got family in town, but he’s not sure how long he’ll be in Port Jefferson.” Stephen gave him a nod and knowledge seemed to pass between them. “Let’s make him feel welcome.”
Wes jerked his chin at Dominic’s non-letter. “You working on something?”
“Nope.”
“Looks like you’re working on something,” Travis observed, stroking his chin. “Skipped lunch to do it. Must be kind of important.”
Dominic stared unflinchingly at Travis. “If you already know something, pretty boy, I suggest you spit it out. I’m not in the mood.”
Wes let out a low whistle.
“I know everything. All the business,” Travis said, slapping a hand to the center of his chest. “It’s amazing.”
“You know what might be fun?” Stephen smirked at Travis. “Telling Georgie that you’re not keeping this shit to yourself.”
“You’re just mad because your wife doesn’t have the gossip.”
“My wife has baked goods. I’ve made the correct choice.”
“You two remind me
of my aunts. Brenda and Julie,” Wes said, adjusting his hat. “They would bicker on their way into hell over who gets to go first.”
“You’ve just been compared to someone’s aunties,” Dominic drawled. “Can you two shut up now?” He picked up the discarded pen and tapped it on the rear gate. Maybe therapy wasn’t total bullshit, because he had a minor urge to talk. To other people. About information he normally would keep guarded unless under threat of death. “Me and Rosie . . . we’re in therapy,” he muttered. “My homework is to write her a letter.”
Wes crossed himself. “This is why you’ll never get me down the aisle.”
A crunch of gravel turned all of their heads. A silver Mercedes parked amid a lingering swirl of dust, and Bethany stepped out of the driver’s side. Dominic was well used to seeing Stephen’s sister on job sites. She usually showed up in the middle stages of a flip to get an idea of the layout, so she could begin deciding which furniture to use for the stage. He liked her. She was tough as hell and good at her job, but all he wanted to do now was ask about his wife. His throat actually burned with the repressed need. In an attempt to prevent the pressing questions, Dominic looked away from the approaching decorator—and found Wes with his jaw on the floor.
“Who is she?”
“Oh no. No.” Stephen shook his head. “Everyone needs to keep their interest in my sisters to themselves, starting now. Especially if you’re on my payroll. Leave me an ounce of pride.”
Dominic didn’t miss Travis sending Wes a warning slash across the neck. “You don’t want to go there, man.”
“I think I do,” Wes disagreed, tucking a tongue into his cheek. “I definitely want to go there.”
Stephen buried his face in his hands and groaned.
Bethany joined the group, and Wes smiled. “I’m Wes, ma’am. Nice to meet—”
“Roll your tongue back up into your mouth before one of us steps on it, pudding.” Bethany threw an incredulous look around the circle. “Who is this guy?”
“I was telling you when you cut me off.” Wes looked her up and down. “Pudding.”
Dominic, Travis, and Stephen all took a collective step backward.
“Forget I said anything.” Stephen waved a hand at Wes. “I want to see how this plays out.”
Bethany and Wes were still attempting to stare each other down.
“I thought we only hired college kids in the summertime,” Bethany said brightly, smoothing the sleeve of her black coat.
Wes crossed his arms, as if he had all the time in the world. “That must be hard, considering you probably create winter wherever you go.”
She gasped. “Are you calling me an ice princess?”
“If the tiara fits.”
“I’ll take a tiara over your Clint Eastwood hand-me-downs.”
Wes tilted his head to the side. “Remind me who that is? He might be better known among your generation.”
“My—” Bethany cut herself off, closing her eyes and visibly composing herself. “I didn’t come here to play verbal tennis. I’m here to work. Stephen, do you have a spare hard hat?”
Dominic reached for the one in his truck bed, handing it to her. “Avoid the back bedroom. There are some loose floorboards.”
“Chivalry is not dead after all,” she said, popping on the yellow hat and tapping the top to press it down. All while smiling sweetly at Wes. “I wasn’t sure.”
Wes smiled back, but it fell away as soon as Bethany turned toward Dominic.
“Whatcha got there? Some kind of letter?”
His lips gave a wry twist. “Sounds like you know something about this.”
“I might,” she said breezily, patting his arm. “Need some help?”
“Depends.” Dominic swallowed, studying the blank page and willing words to appear. “Are you pulling for us?”
“I’m pulling for my friend’s happiness.”
He lifted his eyes to find Bethany wearing a serious expression.
“And I know you want to make her happy. I know it.”
Dominic could only nod. “I’ll take the help.”
Travis propped a hip against his taillight. “Roses are red. Violets are blue—”
“Shut it,” Dominic said, jabbing the pen into Travis’s side.
“Boys. If you please.” Bethany held up a hand and waited for silence. “You know what always gets me? When a man proves he’s paying attention.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “You taking notes back there, pudding? I’m assuming your knowledge of women is a zero. We can tick it up to one.”
“I already know what a woman like you wants. A sturdy broom to ride around on.”
“I hate him, Stephen,” Bethany whispered tightly.
“That’s enough, you two,” Stephen huffed, waving at the blank page. “Continue. I’m interested to hear this.”
“Right.” Bethany patted Dominic on the forearm. “A man who pays attention. I’m not just talking about knowing her favorite movie or how she takes her coffee. I’m talking about details. Little things that would slip under the radar—unless you’re the one who loves her. You would notice them.” She smiled. “Yes, the devil is definitely in the details. Did that help?”
“Not even a little bit,” Dominic answered.
“Well, I tried!” She whipped her coat back and swept toward the house. “Texas called, Wes. It wants its rodeo clown back.”
“Oz called. They’re missing a witch.”
Travis laughed. “Told you not to go there.”
“Are you crazy?” Wes said, taking off his hat and fanning himself with it. “I want to go there even more now.”
The voices around Dominic faded out until he couldn’t hear anyone’s but Rosie’s, traveling to him from the past. In the darkness of the Montauk hotel where they stayed on their honeymoon. Over the phone when he called her from Afghanistan, his heart tearing in half while listening to her try not to cry, telling him to be safe. In the mist of a breathless meeting in their shower, her back squeaking up and down on the tile. Details. Details. He had those.
Swallowing hard, Dominic picked up the pen and started to write.
Chapter Nine
Rosie’s heels clicked in the silence of the mall parking lot. The night breeze swirled around her calves and caressed her neck. She breathed it in deeply, grateful for fresh, clean air after eight hours of sucking in various perfumes. There was no respite from the cloying odor except for the break room, and that smelled like reheated chicken and stale donuts. This afternoon, she’d gotten stuck behind a stalled school bus and arrived three minutes late, so she’d been forced to demonstrate a scent called Green Monster.
Two bottles had been sold.
Both to female customers who wanted to play a joke on their boyfriend.
Rosie didn’t even bother waiting until she’d reached her car to take off the heels. She gripped them by the stems and cooled her feet on the chilled asphalt, one step at a time. She’d have to remember to wash them off before getting into Bethany’s dream bed.
Weirdly, she wasn’t quite as excited to sink into the exquisite mattress tonight. It might be perfect and ergonomically designed, but . . . a lot was missing. Things she’d grown used to and possibly, maybe, taken for granted. Such as Dominic’s breath in her hair, steady and deep and reliable. The way he’d brush their knuckles together when the night was too dark to see each other’s face. And just that simple touch would lull her back to sleep. Even the dip of the mattress when he turned over, the one that used to wake her up and annoy her . . . She found herself waking up in Bethany’s bed, troubled by the absence of it.
This was normal. Any kind of change was hard. It wasn’t that she missed him. She needed to remember that. What would she miss? His brooding silence? Their total lack of a social life? Seriously, he hadn’t taken her out in . . . years. They had friends, but those relationships never got nurtured because they always stayed home. Dominic didn’t expressly ask her to stay home, but growing up they’d done everything tog
ether. Now they were adults and going out separately never seemed like an option. Almost like there was an unspoken rule between them and it was cemented by Dominic’s possessiveness.
If she hadn’t gone to Zumba class one night over the summer, she wouldn’t have been there for the formation of the Just Us League. It might never have been formed at all.
Rosie stepped on a pebble and winced.
“You okay, Rosie?” called the security guard from the mall door. He’d been supervising Rosie’s walk to her car since she’d gotten the job years ago. Such a sweetheart. His watching over her was slightly odd, considering he didn’t do it for anyone else, but he was such a harmless grandfatherly type, she never questioned it.
Hopping on one foot, she waved back. “I’m fine, Joe!”
Lost in her thoughts—and the twinge of pain in her heel—it took Rosie a moment to see the envelope on her windshield, tucked beneath one of the wipers.
Her name was written across the front in a familiar hand.
Dominic’s.
Rosie’s stomach winged up to her throat like a startled bird as she plucked the envelope out of its place. With it in hand, she looked around the empty parking lot, as if her husband might be leaning against a lamppost, but there was no one there, save the McDonald’s wrappers and shopping bags blowing in the wind.
She took out her car keys and unlocked the door, waving one final time to Joe before climbing into the driver’s seat and locking the Honda. After a moment of deliberation, she set the letter down on the passenger seat and started the car. She’d read it when she got home and changed into her pajamas. But she made it two feet before she slammed on the brakes and threw the car back into park. With a deep breath, she retrieved the letter and switched on the overhead light, sliding the folded piece of paper out of its home.
Rosie,
You have a freckle behind your ear, in a place that’s impossible for you to see. I’m not sure if anyone has ever told you about it, but sometimes I pretend it’s my secret. The first time I kissed it, we were at homecoming. Beginning of senior year. I pulled your back against my front and the lights went up. The dance was over and it felt like we’d just gotten there. We looked around and everyone was gone. When you turned your head, that’s when I saw the freckle, right in the crease where your ear meets your head. I leaned in, kissed it, and you told me you loved me for the first time. Whispered it while they stacked the chairs around us. Do you remember that? I was convinced that freckle was magic. The secret way I made you fall in love with me. When you left, my first thought was, I should have kissed that freckle more. I bet you didn’t know you married a ridiculous man. Will you please just consider the possibility that I love you more than you realize or than I’m capable of expressing with words?
