you, it’s hard to imagine that you’re single.” I push myself all the way inside her and hold there. Her muscles clench around me and I suck in a shaky breath.
MARI
We had sex again, and maybe another time after that. I can’t remember clearly. We must have both fallen asleep again. All I recall is curling up in his arms, and it being still bright daylight.
Now it’s dark outside. We hadn’t drawn the curtains, and the darkness pours in. I turn the lamp on but Ward is nowhere to be seen. Disorientated, I reach for my cell phone but it’s completely dead.
Most of all, I’m hungry.
And I wonder where Ward has gone.
I get out of bed, feeling a little sore. I consider going downstairs wrapped in nothing but my bedsheet but I’m worried it might be premature. I don’t know who we are yet, Ward and I. He said all the right things, but that was when he was in my bed. Out of the bed, in the cold, back to normality, he might say something else and I might not be ready to hear it.
A slight hesitancy creeps into my belly, because with him I never know what to expect. I get dressed quickly, throwing my sweatshirt and joggers on and traipse downstairs looking for him.
He’s not in the kitchen or the TV room, which means he’s likely to be in his study, writing.
Should I disturb him?
He already thinks I’m in his way.
I have to respect his writing time.
Torn, I head back into the kitchen and rifle through the fridge, looking for something quick and easy to make. I didn’t even make his lunch today. Or dinner.
I decide to make the simplest dish on the planet. Pasta with sauce out of a jar.
“You’re up.”
I snap around to see Ward in the doorway, arms folded watching me. My attention goes back to his t-shirt. Um-hmmm. He’s turning into a fine figure before my eyes. We exchange an inquisitive stare across the kitchen island. I’d love to know what he’s thinking. Whether he considers me a mistake, or a fling, or something more.
I should protect myself. Not dream of making plans. It was just sex. The image in my head of us both thrashing around between the sheets doesn’t quite meld with this one of apparent domestic bliss in the kitchen.
“I am. When did you get up?” I check the pasta. It’s al dente, just how I like it.
“A couple of hours ago.”
I stir the pasta sauce. He comes over, bringing his intoxicating scent with him. I swear my ovaries just jumped for joy. From this moment on I know that his aftershave will always be a direct call to my core.
I stir the sauce. “You should have woken me up.” I wait for his reply but he’s busty getting the plates and cutlery out.
I plate up the food and we sit side by side. “You should have woken me up,” I say again.
“I didn’t want to wake you.” There’s a softness in his eyes and on his face that wasn’t there before, he’s gentler, but for some reason I feel as if I’m on a second date with someone. Even though we’ve already crossed the sex line, I feel awkward and shy around him.
“You’re quiet,” he says.
I pause for a while as I consider this. “I don’t know how to be around you.” I want to be honest. A frown line appears on his forehead. “What do you mean?”
“I mean just that. I feel awkward. I don’t know how to be. I don’t know if tomorrow you’ll push back and say this never should have happened.”
He sets down his fork. “I didn’t intend for this to happen, not now, at a time like this and—”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen either,” I say.
“But it did happen, and I’m glad it did. I want you, Mari. I might not have admitted it before, but seeing you with someone else made me see it more clearly.” He takes my hand, and his gesture, his willingness to be more tactile than me, makes me feel warm all over.
“And if you have regrets tomorrow? If you decide we have to stop this?”
He shakes his head. “This was a two-way thing. You’re irresistible. I’m … not.” The way he says it confirms to me that he has issues with his past health and weight, not dissimilar from my own issues about needing revenge or wanting to feel that I am attractive after being cheated