by Dale Mayer
Then his gaze caught hers. Locked and held hers captive. He strode toward her.
Frowning at him, she debated fleeing.
She hated public arguments. He’d better not start anything right now.
Her mouth opened to say something first, only he reached her, scooped her up, and sealed the words bubbling out of her mouth with a hot, rousing kiss.
She sagged against him, and her anger melted away as she dimly heard the cheers rolling through the restaurant all around them. He released her and with his breath warm against her ears, he whispered. “I don’t know what the problem is, but this distance between us is over. I’d never…do anything to hurt you.”
Calmly, he sat her back down on her chair. Then he snagged an empty chair from another table and created a space for himself right beside her.
*
When she melted in his arms, he’d known he made the right decision. It had been a spontaneous decision. He hated to think he was as primitive as his ancestors, but it had felt like staking a claim. Her response had made the agreement public.
God, he’d loved how quickly her shock had turned to enthusiasm and straight into complete surrender. It was that honesty he needed in his life. To know he could trust that response. People often lied with their words, but their bodies showed the truth.
And he loved her truth.
He’d stunned her and likely the whole workshop group, but everyone loved a happy ending, and damn, he was determined that would be their story. Sure, they had issues. The workshop and the cop for two of them, but after tomorrow, both would be over. Both impediments to their future gone. He just had to hang in there until…
He was sure they could do that.
He looked down at her and realized she appeared very distracted, out of it. Leaning back, staring down at their entwined fingers, his protective instincts rose to the surface. Dropping a gentle kiss on her forehead, when the waitress came around the table to his side, he quickly ordered for them both. He knew she had to be hungry. Whatever had been churning inside had to be eating at her. Time for her to fill up and give all the stress something else to work on.
She was an amazing person and she’d been doing so well.
He wanted to do anything he could to help her.
A thought struck him. He’d been so focused on helping Paris, he’d forgotten about his own needs. Then he stopped. No.
Originally he had been looking at his next professional step. While he hadn’t thought to be lucky enough to find a partner anytime soon, when he’d turned around – there she was.
Now all he had to do was keep her there.
Paris was his. No ifs, ands, or buts. She just had to wake up and see the same thing he saw – they were meant for each other.
Seriously satisfied, he tucked her more comfortably against him and turned his attention to the others.
Chapter 29
Her head still singing, her heart still stuttering in her shock, her body hummed with joy and expectation over what was hopefully going to happen next…. Paris just sat, tucked up against Weaver’s side, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, as the bubbly conversation flowed around them.
The duality of the situation presented itself as she wanted to stay there like a limp attachment and never let go, yet she also wanted to smack him. Then ask him what the hell he’d been doing talking to that cop.
And she realized that’s where she’d gone wrong; judging him and walking away, not letting him back into her space until he’d taken his spot back. She’d never asked him about what she’d seen.
Never given him a chance to explain. So scared and panicked, she’d just sort of locked down inside until he’d taken matters into his own hands. It never occurred to her that any man would care for her enough to do that.
Thank heavens. She nestled into him, relishing his familiar smell and warmth.
The lunch arrived with a more than normal set of confusion with the double tables now combined and people no longer in their original seats. As a plate was set down in front of her, she started in surprise. She actually didn’t remember ordering.
“Hope this is okay,” Weaver said. “I ordered for both of us.”
How very controlling of him. No. She stopped and took a deep breath. How very caring. She was obviously still out of everything mentally, and he’d done what he could to smooth over any awkward moments. That was something she loved about him.
And then it hit her. Oh Lord. What if he’d been telling the cop to leave her alone?
Pulling back, she stared at him in stricken silence. Had she made such a big mistake against someone who’d only shown her kindness?
His gaze darkened as he caught her glance. Opening her mouth to say something, she suddenly became aware of their huge audience. She closed her mouth and pleaded for forgiveness with her eyes.
He opened his arm and tugged her back up close. Against her hair, he whispered, “Whatever it is that’s wrong, we’ll fix it. It’s okay.”
A shudder rippled down her back, an uncontrollable reaction to knowing she hadn’t blown something so special.
“Did you hear me?”
She nodded, but the movement was stifled by the fact she was wedged up against his chest.
“Good. Then let’s eat and keep the attention we’re attracting to a minimum.”
Right. She was making a spectacle of herself. She took a deep breath and straightened, then turned to face the others watching her curiously. She glanced down at her heaping plate then over at everyone else’s normal side plate and said, “Let me guess, Weaver ordered for me.”
Laughter broke out across the table.
“Hey, I know this girl,” Weaver said. “And boy, can she eat.”
Feeling blessed and once again back to normal, Paris picked up the first bite of the California roll and popped it into her mouth. Her world was good.
*
Well, thank heavens for that. He’d been trying to figure out how to get back into her good graces, and it looked like he’d managed it.
For the moment.
For Paris, he’d do a lot to keep the peace. Relationships were filled with ups and downs, but they needed a foundation to be able to weather the changing tide. A couple of days in a workshop and one night of hot sex was not a foundation. It was, however, a starting point, and he’d take it. Last night had been an eye-opener for him. About himself and about her. The freedom she’d shown, the lack of restraint – she’d been wild – for her own joy and for his.
He’d never made love before.
That’s what was different. At least he thought so. It would take some more thinking about. He’d had sex before. Had been in several relationships, but he wasn’t sure that depth of emotion had ever been there. He’d been good friends with his wife, but the relationship had been comfortable, not passionate. The memories of last night swirled through him, making it hard to keep his mind on the lunch before him. Keeping her left hand in his right hand while they ate left him only his left hand to eat with. Something he wasn’t being very good at. But he’d rather look awkward and ridiculous than lose that physical contact.
“Here, try this.” As he turned to face her, he saw a sample of something coming toward him. She laughed, her beautiful eyes twinkling as she popped the morsel into his mouth.
“It looked like you were starving.”
His lips quirked and he squeezed her hand. “In that case, feel free to feed me.”
“Ha, that would mean sharing, and you know how great I am at that.”
He snorted. “You’re just plowing through your lunch and hoping to be done fast so you can polish off my plate,” he joked, loving the camaraderie. He caught several looks from the other attendees and a few were curious, but more were envious. And he realized how special this week had been. It wasn’t over, but it was damn close. Things were winding down. Tonight was the one-on-one for him with Jenna and likely for Paris as she hadn’t had one yet. Then tomorrow were projects followed by other speak
ers and wind-up sessions. Jenna always concluded on a Friday so the participants had the weekend to recuperate at home before they had to rejoin the real world. Smart strategy.
After today, he was feeling on the worn-out side himself. The emotional roller coaster had been brutal and he wasn’t off yet. Might not get onto a stable platform for a long time.
And he wouldn’t want it any other way. Not if Paris was that platform. He needed her. Her joy. Her insecurity. Her hope.
As he got to know her more, he realized in many ways she had done a better job of recuperating than he had.
She could show him a thing or two.
And after last night, he was dying to show her a few more things. He grinned and gave up on utensils with his left hand. He used his fingers and started to make a decent inroad into the various rice rolls on his plate.
Chapter 30
Paris finished her plate, happy and content. She watched, a smirk on her face, as Weaver gave up on decorum and let hunger rule. No one said anything as he used his fingers. It was working for him, so she didn’t have a problem keeping his hand clasped in hers.
In fact, she wasn’t sure she could let him go. It was that nice. That important to keep that connection there. She needed it, and she needed him. They fit together in a way she had never anticipated being possible.
In her heart she knew he was right, they could work this out.
As he finished lunch, she got a text from Jenna confirming the time for her evening session. She responded, giving her an affirmative. It was going to be at seven-thirty tonight. A bit late, but doable. Jenna’s schedule was brutal, she knew. And she was lucky to have made as much progress as she had before her session with Jenna. It wouldn’t have made sense to have her session early in the week. She’d still be floundering.
Though she still was in many ways, she had come further than she’d expected thanks to Weaver. It was shocking how his gentle persistence had won her over.
When was his session with Jenna? Maybe it would be around the same time so they could be together afterwards.
The group finished their meals, paid their bills in a mess of laughter and confusion, and stood up. She let go of his hand and murmured something about going to the ladies’ room.
In the small room she stared at her face, seeing the fatigue from the night with little sleep and the hated confused emotions that had been rolling through her all morning. Using the facilities, she washed up, taking a moment to slap cold water on her cheeks and burning eyes. She still had the afternoon to get through.
Somehow, knowing she had Weaver at her side again, she knew she’d make it.
A text came in as she was walking back to the front door. Sean.
She smiled and read the simple question asking how she was doing.
He was a special brother. She responded, telling him she was much better and now looking forward to getting through the rest of the workshop.
His instant response took some of the joy out of the communication.
Did you talk to Delaney?
It was her first reaction not to answer, but she knew he would not leave it alone. She gave him a short answer. No. Then in a separate text she added, I can’t.
Though he might be disappointed, he wouldn’t judge her. She hated disappointing him though. As far as she’d come in life, he’d been there rooting for her the whole time. Knowing more than anyone what she had been through, he wanted her to see this guy. Deal with it and move on. Just the thought was setting the bile in her gut seething. Talk about a big issue.
Her footsteps slowed as she walked through the restaurant. After all she had learned this week, she wanted to be big enough to handle this. She needed to be. Maybe she could set a date down the road, like in six months’ time. Time to prepare for the meeting. Time to adjust.
Time to panic and find ways of getting out of it.
She sighed. Confused and depressed suddenly by her own lack of resolve, she opened the front door and walked into the sunshine. Outside, she joined the group and found Weaver waiting for her.
He searched her face. “Tired?”
She nodded and turned to fall into step behind the other attendees heading back to the hotel. “A little.”
“Looks more like life is hitting you a little sideways.”
“True enough.” But she wasn’t ready to share her problem and the gut-wrenching decision she needed to make. So much in her life had been hard. How hard could this one be? Or maybe a better question was if she were to look back on her life in a year, would she be happy? She’d been strong enough to make this step and ashamed she’d been so weak. Once again incapable of doing what she needed to do. A failure.
Just that word made her cringe.
Instead of sharing, she said, “What’s it going to take to have you move past needing Justice for your father?”
He stared at her, as if he hadn’t been expecting the change in topic. There was silence for a long time. She winced. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“You’re entitled. We’re doing a lot of pushing boundaries just because we’re here but also because we’re involved,” he said calmly. “But you made me realize something I hadn’t considered before.” Their eyes locked and their hands clasped together. “It’s not that I’m not willing to share, I’m just not sure where all this revelation leaves me in this situation.”
“Oh, well maybe that’s a good thing then.” She smiled. “It would be nice to see you grow through this workshop too.”
“I’m growing more than I thought possible,” he admitted with a smile. “Maybe that’s why I’m stuck for an answer. It seems to me my instinctive response has changed and I need to think about it.”
“Good enough,” she said lightly. “When you figure it out, will you let me know?”
*
He squeezed her hand. “Sure. It’s an important issue for you, isn’t it?”
She gave him a serious nod. “It is.”
Interesting. Curious, but also a little confused, he stayed quiet trying to work through it. He knew Justice was a big one for her. It was for him too. But maybe not as big as it had been in the past.
And why was that?
He’d held that up as a flag in front of him for a long time. It had been very important. As if he could solve that and that would give him peace over the issue. Make peace with his past. Make peace with his childhood. Have someone to blame. The killer. If he’d not taken his father away, then Weaver’s childhood wouldn’t have been so horrible. So if he had someone to blame, then he wouldn’t have to take on any of the responsibility himself. Then why should he? He’d been a child and he’d done what he could to survive.
And he’d done that part quite well. Sure, there’d been a lot of hiccups. But in many ways, it had been smooth sailing forward. So why was he hanging on to that issue as if to say it still made a difference? Yes, he’d like to see his father’s killer caught and pay the price. Was it likely to happen? Maybe and maybe not. Did he want to hang onto all that emotion and energy that was pulling him down?
But it wasn’t pulling him down. He didn’t feel like there was any weight there. No emotional tug as he considered the missing man in his life. Not anymore.
Why?
As he walked, it became clear that he’d already let it go. Somewhere in the last few years, he’d come to realize that his father had died young and it was a horrible shame for all involved. Including his mother. She’d been unable to move on, and he’d taken her methodology as his own and held up his father’s death as a major roadblock in his life. Except, in the intervening years, he’d formed his own methods of dealing with his life. Ones that suited him.
Not hers that kept her locked up in a crumpled-up space of time and emotion.
But ones that freed him from those bonds.
A child learned from his or her parents. That was the way of the world. He knew that. He’d been taught that, he’d seen it over and over again and knew it well. But at one point
in time, a child also had to determine when and how he wanted to relate to the world around him as an individual. Either he further developed the tools his parents gave him or he learned his own coping skills.
If the latter, at one point the original coping skills became redundant and fell away from disuse.
Just like his had.
After a while, he’d learned to look at life differently. All the patients he’d seen and interacted with through grad school and had been blessed to have been a part of their process had taught him something even if it had taken him until now to understand. Maybe nothing major in the sense of an aha moment, but they’d slowly built up to show him what he wanted for himself and what he didn’t want for himself.
His own wife had done the same thing. But he hadn’t seen it. It had been her intense purpose to get married as she’d needed that security. That foundation. She hadn’t been able to go forward with their relationship until that happened. Being ambivalent about the legal side of marriage, he’d agreed.
When after six months, she’d turned and said, “Thank you, I can move past this stage now,” he’d been literally stunned.
And angry. Very angry. He’d been happy married to her. Thought she’d been happy. And she had, until she realized that it wasn’t marriage she was looking for as much as having been married. So she had caught up to where everyone else in her world was at for her age level. She’d been so afraid that marriage would slip past her, be an old maid so to speak, and she’d been sure that being married would make her happy.
Only to realize she not only didn’t want to be married but didn’t really want to be with him at all.
After he’d gotten over the hurt and anger, he realized she’d also been a good lesson for him. She’d done what she needed to do and moved on. Regardless of whom she hurt.
For him, he had not moved on because he hadn’t wanted to hurt or be hurt. His wife had tramped around in his life for a good year and by the time it was over, he could see she was doing much better having understood where her own issues had been at.
