Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,57

development business. It’s an easy conversation. It sounds relaxed and pleasant. And it gives Ashley the opportunity to give me the box with the cinnamon roll she brought me and then whisper as we go into the kitchen to put it up, “I’m so sorry, Gillian. I had no idea. I thought you might still be kind of sad, so—”

“I know. I know. It’s totally fine. It was really nice of you. I promise it’s fine.”

“So what happened?” Her eyes are wide.

“He just showed up last night. He wants a real relationship.”

“Seriously?”

I nod. “Seriously. He’s serious. So we’re going to try.”

She scans my face quickly. For a moment it looks like she wants to say something, and I feel a tightening of defensiveness in my stomach.

But all she does is smile and murmur, “Then I’m happy for you.”

Relieved, I walk back toward Richard. He pulls me to his side when I approach, and he keeps his arm around me.

We chat for a few minutes. Richard shifts from Sean’s job to Ashley’s (she’s a lawyer specializing in real estate, which is how she first met Sean). Finally Sean manages to get a few questions in and asks about what Richard does.

He’s vague, the way he always is. Business consultant. And he smoothly puts off Sean’s inquiries for more information.

Then Ashley and Sean leave, and the encounter is over without any problems.

Richard kisses me lightly as I close and lock the door. “Do you feel weird about this? About me?”

“No. I’m good.” I search his face. “Do you?”

He smiles. “I’m good too.”

“Then maybe we can be good together.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

WE SPEND THE REST OF the weekend together, only leaving the apartment to get some groceries so we’ll have something to eat. He stays until Sunday evening, but then he has to leave. He needs to catch a plane to Atlanta so he can be at a new job first thing Monday morning.

I hate for him to leave, but it doesn’t feel as bad as every other time I’ve left him. Because this time I know it won’t be the last. I’ll see him again. This coming weekend. He says his job will definitely be over by then, so we can spend next weekend together.

More than that would be unreasonable. We live in different cities. We both have demanding jobs. We’re not at the point where we can make major life changes because of our relationship. We need to give this time first. See if we can even make it work.

So I hug him hard just before he leaves, recognizing how much I’ll miss him, how much I want him to be with me, but also having no regrets or false expectations about who and what we are.

We’re saying goodbye, but this is good. I’m happier than I ever realized I was capable of being.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he murmurs against my ear.

“And text when your plane lands.”

He pulls away, his brows pulling together a little. Like he’s surprised. Like it never occurred to him that I’d want to verify his safety, hear about the progress of his travels.

Like no one ever checked on him that way before.

“I’d like you to text,” I add, reaching up to cup his face. “I want to know you’re safely on the ground again.”

His face softens. He lets out a long exhale. He pulls me into another quick, hard hug before he says, “I will. Goodbye, baby.”

“Bye. See you next weekend.”

I stand in my doorway and watch as he walks down the hall and disappears into the stairwell. I’ve never done this. Said goodbye to a boyfriend.

I’ve never even had a boyfriend.

Is Richard even my boyfriend? It sounds weird—not quite right—but what the hell else can I call him?

Saying he’s “my man” might be true, but it sounds even weirder to me.

But he is my man.

I have one now.

For the first time in my life, I have a man I can say is really mine.

Eight

THE NEXT THREE WEEKS are some of the best of my life.

I’ve had good weeks before. Really good weeks. But these genuinely rival them. I’ve always heard people talk about a certain kind of high you get when you start dating someone new who has a lot of potential. I had a taste of that high that one evening with Matt, but it ended almost as soon as it began back then.

This high... this one doesn’t go away. Not while I’m working (and I do have quite a bit