Page 44 of Love Always

Shaking my head, I point to my left leg.

“People amaze me,” is all she says, and then slugs down half the wine.

“No. You just keep putting one foot in front of the other,” says Mateus, coming around the corner, tucking in his shirt.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s a joke.” His smile is genuine, but the “Can I have some?” is clearly rhetorical. He grabs a tumbler like mine and pours some of the Shiraz. He glances at his watch. “It’s eleven thirty and,” he’s reading through several texts, “it looks like I won’t be going to the Portland office tomorrow. I’ve been roped in to the,” he glances at Devon, “that missing person's case.”

I have to admit Finn is very good about some invisible rule that his employees never discuss their clients or the security business in front of us. I don’t know if Finn shares his business affairs with Claire but if he does, she doesn’t say anything either. That’s good for them, but I do feel like it makes a bigger wedge between her and the rest of us.

Now, I’m in that special club. I know he’s talking about Chris Proctor.

“You can stay here, if you need to, rather than driving back to Portland,” I say and then realize I hadn’t checked with Devon first. I don’t know why I should or shouldn’t—this kind of situation has not come up in the year and a half we’ve lived together. I don’t bring men home and she apparently doesn’t ever sleep with anyone. She never even talks about men or even women. It has occurred to me more than once since her return that maybe she’s celibate.

Mateus smiles and puts a hand on my shoulder and touches my cheek. I stop myself from resisting. I’m not used to public displays of affection. They make me uncomfortable, mostly because, 1) I always feel like I’m lying to the public—I’m not really in love and am usually just tolerating affection or, 2) it seems like the guy is signaling, flashing his prowess. In this case neither is true. Mateus does this effortlessly in front of Devon.

My heart gives a little.

“You need to sleep. I’m going to go back to the room I had at Claire’s, your old room, above the clinic. Finn told me to stay there. Team Colton is supposed to be up and ready to go by six, so I better get going.”

Suddenly feeling shy, I don’t know what to say or do. Do I kiss him goodbye? Do I give him a hug? I just had some of the most amazing sex of my life. What do you say after that?

I start to push up from my chair.

Firm hands gently press down on both shoulders. “Don’t get up. You’re the last person that needs to get up right now. I got my stuff. Do you work tomorrow?”

“Oddly, yes. I open. I hope Lindy knows I’m still coming in.”

Devon raises an eyebrow, so she’s not grumpy I didn’t check with her.

“What time does Weaver’s open?”

“Early. Six o’clock.”

“Damn early,” he says.

“It’s for the fishermen and contractors. Whoever’s up. I break at seven-thirty to get Cory off on the bus.”

“If I can, I’ll drop in after our meeting and see how you’re doing. Maybe I’ll grab a cup of coffee.”

Bending down from behind, he kisses me gently on my left temple. I catch a whiff of his soapy smell and close my eyes. His eyelashes flutter against my skin for a moment.

Other than this kiss he hasn’t touched me since we made love. There’s no final goodbye hug, no closing embrace, just an index finger on my cheek, and then he’s out the door. The reality of this makes me close my eyes again and fight back tears: it’s because this exit is not goodbye, it’s just the beginning of a continuum of love.

As soon as the door closes, Devon jumps to her feet. I open my eyes.

“Oh my God, Laurel. He is gorgeous. I mean I knew he was attractive, but Jeezum Crow. Seeing him with you—god almighty. I need a cold shower.”

“Shhh! He can probably hear you.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” but she’s quiet and doesn’t say anything for another minute. In fact, she doesn’t move. She just sits in her chair sipping wine and looking riveted.

“Okay, he’s clearly gone by now. How did this happen? I mean, is this the first time?”

“I don’t know when we reverted to high school gossiping, but we’re not doing that right now,” I say.

“Laurel. He’s like the real deal. He’s a grown up.”