Page 40 of The Write Choice

“Do you want the kids to start school on Monday?”

She huffs, starting to look a little more stable. “Fuck, yes. They need to get out of this house.”

I chuckle, and she smiles. This is good. Smiling is good.

“Are you okay with them starting the semester here, in Leade Park?”

Another nod. Her eyes search mine, bouncing back and forth between them. Her eyebrows pinch together, and she almost looks pained. That must not have been something she wanted to admit.

“Do you want to paint more? Or maybe go back to work?”

“Yes, to the painting,” she breathes. She sounds almost dreamy, but then her voice becomes unsteady again. “Unsure about working.”

“I can’t blame you for that,” I mutter. “Work sucks.”

I’m about to lay out everything that’s been going on at the office, but I stop short when she giggles. It’s so charming. She’s gorgeous. I almost can’t stand it.

“Do you want me to touch you?” I ask gently, though my voice is rough with emotion.

“Yeah,” she breathes.

I study her for a minute, but she looks sure, so I gently brush the piece of hair over her cheek and behind her ear. I drag my fingers lightly down over her neck and collarbone, following her arm to her side and resting my hand in the curve above her hip.

Her eyes flutter closed, and a low rumble escapes from the back of her throat.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” I whisper.

Her eyes stay closed, and her lips part gently. I brush my nose against hers, and she tilts her head, angling her mouth to meet mine. I shift my body closer to hers as our lips and tongues meet. She tastes so sweet, like strawberry lip balm and toothpaste and all my hopes and dreams rolled into one.

The kiss is slow and tender. I press my palm into her side, pulling her closer to me. She slides a thigh between mine and must feel how hard I am, because she pulls away and gasps. Her eyes fly open.

“I’m sorry, Cat. I want you. Badly. But if you’re not there yet—”

“I’m not,” she cuts me off. “It’s not that I don’t want you, too. I do. I just…” She trails off, then her breathing starts to quicken like it always does just before she starts crying. I pull her into me as I flip on my back. I curl my arm around her shoulders and tuck her into my side, holding her close to me.

I kiss the top of her head, then I feel a tear land on my chest. She gently traces a finger over my tattoo. My heart aches just under where her finger loops in circles.

“I know it’s my fault.” Her voice is barely audible. She tenses beneath my touch.

“What’s your fault?” I stroke her hair.

She sniffles, and another few teardrops hit my chest. “All of it. Don’t get me wrong, you shouldn’t have made this decision without me. But I think I know why you did, and it’s because of me. Because I can’t keep my shit together.”

This is as close as she’s ever gotten to talking to me about that night after the fundraiser, and I want to tread lightly. “Baby, you have your shit together more than anyone I know aside from my parents, and no one wants to be as boring as them,” I assure her.

She sniffles again and wipes her eyes with the heel of her hand. “You know what I mean.”

I do know what she means. I squeeze her even tighter. “It was my fault, though.” My voice is almost a whisper.

“How so?” She nuzzles her head deeper into my chest, and I hope she can’t hear my heart racing.

“If I had been around more like you asked, you probably wouldn’t have drank that night.”

She doesn’t hesitate. “What? No.” She turns her head so her chin is on my chest to look at me in the silvery light coming through the slits of the curtains. Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “You don’t get to take responsibility for my actions.”

“Okay, then you don’t get to take responsibility for mine.” I look pointedly at her. “I chose to take this job. I chose to move us out here without telling you right away. I love you beyond reason, Katie, but there was more at play than one mistake you made one night.”

“It feels like what I did was bigger than just a mistake.”