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