by T. K. Rapp
“When I interviewed with you, did I mention that I was married?”
“You did.”
“Good, because, I have a bit of a problem…I left my husband several months back and I haven’t filed papers yet.”
“I see. Is that because there’s a chance of reconciliation?”
“No.” I shook my head and scoffed. “That’s not going to happen.”
“So what’s stopping you?”
“I don’t have an answer for that. Not anymore. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Would you be able to help me draw up the papers? I’m not sure when I’ll serve him, but I’d like to have them ready for when the time comes.”
“Don’t say another word.” He smiled. “I’ll take care of everything.”
“Thank you, Charles. I do appreciate it.”
“I’m happy to help,” he said. He was quiet for a moment and I thought that it was my cue to leave, but then he started speaking again. “My wife and I have been married for thirty years.”
“That’s amazing.”
“In this day and age, it really is.” He looked at the photo on his desk of their family and smiled. “I’m sorry that yours didn’t work out.”
“I am too.”
“But you’re still young and perhaps something better, something lasting, is around the corner.”
I appreciated the sentiment, especially from someone who was in the business of helping sever marriage ties.
“I’m not sure I believe in marriage anymore.” The reality of my words hit me square in the chest. I was, after all, the dreamer. Where did my hope go?
“Give yourself some time. You’re still young. Don’t throw in the towel just yet, Viola.”
“I’ll try,” I answered as I started leaving his office. “And thank you again.”
Chapter 12
The rest of the day was a blur. Clients, papers, phone calls—all of it happened without me being mentally present that day. I’d taken the first step toward dropping the excess emotional baggage, and yet it scared me.
I hadn’t talked to my parents in a couple of weeks, so I dialed their number on my way home. The convenient thing about working for Mr. Bateman was that his office was only four blocks away, and I enjoyed the walk. It would give me enough time to talk to my parents and enjoy the beautiful afternoon.
Do I tell them?
“Is this Viola? My daughter?” Mom asked excitedly.
“Who else would it be?” I laughed. “Your other daughter.”
“And how is Jolie?” she asked sweetly. My parents loved Jo like she was their own.
“You’ll be happy to know that she moved out to L.A. and is living with me.”
“That does make me happy.”
“How’s Dad?”
“Working as usual. Busy. Are you doing okay out there? Do you have enough money?”
Though they weren’t supportive when I got married, I knew it came from a good place. When I’d told them that it was over, they weren’t entirely surprised, but fortunately, they had kept tight-lipped about their opinions.
“I’m okay. Really. I have a job, which is part of why you haven’t heard from me lately. And I made some friends out here, so they’ve done a good job of keeping me distracted.”
“And what about Will?” Her voice went low when she asked about her son-in-law.
“I talked to him last week,” I admitted. “He apologized and swore things would be different.”
“Is this something you’re considering?” she asked, and I knew it scared her to ask.
“Not just no, but hell no!”
She exhaled, but I spoke again before she got the chance.
“My new job is as an administrative assistant with a law office.”
“Vi, you were meant for so much more,” she said, the disappointment evident in her tone.
“Mom. Please don’t. I’m happy…or at least getting there. Besides, there’s an upside to working for a lawyer.”
“And that would be?”
“He’s agreed to draw up the divorce papers for me,” I admitted past the lump in my throat. I took a deep breath and continued. “I don’t know when I’ll do anything, but when I’m ready, I’ll have the papers in hand.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’m not sure. I know it’s a step in the right direction, but it doesn’t make it any easier. But the fact that he cheated…does.”
“I know this hasn’t been easy on you, but you’re so strong and determined. Who knows, in a year, maybe two, this will all be a small blip in the story of your life.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
We made small talk about Dad and my grandma and before I knew it, I looked up and realized I was already at my apartment. “I gotta go. I just got home, but just in case, no one else knows about this.”
“Got it.”
“Except Dad. You can tell him,” I told her, though I knew she’d tell him with or without my permission.
“Thanks for calling, honey.”
“Love you, give my love to Dad.”
I hung up and walked the three flights of stairs up to my apartment. I refused to take the elevator because it seemed too old and creaky for my comfort.
God forbid I break a leg someday. This would be hell.
“Hey neighbor,” I heard Wyatt say as I got to my door. I turned and smiled, seeing him leaning against the wall outside of his apartment.
“I was just about to go to the coffee shop.” I smiled. “I guess you’re not there.”
“Nope. I’m here.”
“So I see.”
He pushed off the wall, and walked a few steps toward me and tilted his head with a knowing grin. “So you were looking for me?”
“Just to tell you that I can’t do dinner,” I answered.
“You saw that, huh? So you’re telling me you were going to go out of your way to tell me you can’t do dinner?” he asked with a laugh.
“It’s not like I have your number.”
He extended his hand, palm up. “Well damn, Vi…if you wanted my number so bad, you just needed to ask.”
I looked down at his hand and back at him.
“What?”
“Your phone so you can have my number.”
“Do you ever give up?”
“Not when I think I’m right about something…or in this case, someone. It’s part of my charm.”
I conceded, against that voice screaming in my head that he was like all other cheating men, and handed him my phone. His fingers moved across the screen quickly and then he handed it back to me.
“All set.” He winked.
“Did you get settled in?” I asked, ignoring the way his fingers grazed mine.
“Not quite,” he said, pointing over his shoulder.
“Well, if you need any help, just let us know,” I said, shoving my key to unlock my door. I offered a wave and stepped inside, flipping on the light switch when I heard him speak again.
“Since you’re offering…”
I leaned back to look at him and his smile was still in place. “I was just being nice…but since you’re asking…give me ten and I’ll be over,” I answered.
“Sounds good.”
I closed the door behind me and pressed my back against it.
“Hello?” I called out.
“Back here,” Jolie said from her room. She was in the middle of changing her clothes and I looked at her curiously. “Date.”
“What? A date? Already? You’ve been here all of three days,” I reminded her.
“Yeah, it’s been forever,” she teased.
“Shit,” I muttered and threw myself across her bed. “That sucks for me.”
“Why? Were you interested?” She laughed and I narrowed my eyes at her playfully.
“I told Wyatt I’d go over and help him get settled into his and Dallas’s place. I was going to drag you with me.”
“Sorry, hon. No can do. But you’ll be fine.”
“Great,” I groaned, though I realized I wasn’t as irritated as I thought I should be.
I think I’m excited to hang out with Wyatt…without Jolie around.
I let that thought roll around in my head for a moment and smiled.
“That’s what I thought,” Jolie said, as if she could read my mind. “Go hang out with your friend.”
***
“I thought you were going to bail on me,” Wyatt said when he answered the door.
“I waited until Jolie left. Hot date,” I said, stepping inside and looking for Dallas.
“He had a date, too,” Wyatt answered for me.
“Oh.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about being completely alone with Wyatt. I kept reminding myself that it was harmless—and Jolie was right, he was my friend. He’d already stepped up and helped me by telling me about the job with Mr. Bateman. It was my turn to help him.
“So where should we start?” I asked, slapping my hands together.
“The bedroom?” he said with his signature smirk.
I swallowed hard and put on my game face. “Bedroom it is.”
Dallas had the same layout as my apartment, but flipped. I knew where the bedrooms were, and I even knew which one belonged to Dallas. But I followed Wyatt down the hall to his room since I was in his place. When I looked inside, I started laughing at the wreck he’d managed to create.
“Wow. You weren’t kidding. You do need help.”
I was stepping over piles of things and around boxes marked as to what they were. His queen-sized bed was pushed against the far wall and was made up, but otherwise it was obvious he hadn’t done much unpacking.
“You don’t really need to help…I’ve got it,” he said as he stepped around me. “But you can keep me company.”
I looked around the room, assessing the work ahead, and finally met his gaze. “Yeah. I guess that’ll be okay.”
As I did a small spin to find someplace to sit, I remembered there was only the bed. The floor appeared to be the safest spot, the friend-zone spot, so I grabbed a pillow from his bed and made myself comfortable.
Wyatt tilted his head and smirked. “Really?”
“What?”
“You can sit on the bed.”
“Well, some people are particular about their beds,” I said. “Besides, it’s all made up and I didn’t want to ruin it.”
“Whatever you say,” he answered and lifted a box and set it on top of another. “How’s it going with the new job?”
“It’s great. Mr. Bateman is nice to work for.”
“That’s good.”
“How are your parents?” I asked. I didn’t know much about them besides the small bit he’d shared, and I felt bad for not asking before.
“They’re good, thanks.”
A silence fell over the room and I looked at some of the frames he had leaning against the wall, trying to gain insight into the man that was determined to be part of my life. There was a framed Beatles record and a crate of albums lying next to it that I wanted to look through, but I didn’t want to be nosy. In the far corner of the room, I spotted a guitar resting on a stand and he caught me looking at it.
“You told me that you used to teach music.” It wasn’t a question, so I remained quiet and waited for him to say more. “Do you miss it?”
“The kids were great. I had some young ones, but I loved working with the teenagers.”
“Did you always like music?” he asked over his shoulder, moving from a box to his dresser.
“Always,” I laughed. “I loved listening to everything from classical to rock. I begged and begged for a guitar for years and I think when my parents got tired of hearing me whine, they caved. For my ninth birthday, I got my first. They even got me lessons. They didn’t think I would stick with it.”
Wyatt walked over and grabbed his guitar.
“Why is that?” He sat down on floor next to me and his fingers began to form chords while he lazily strummed. He was close enough that I could touch him—if I wanted to.
“I didn’t know you played.”
“You never asked.” He grinned. He played a few more chords and then stopped to give me his attention. “So you were saying?”
I thought for a moment before I remembered what we were talking about. Watching a guy work the neck of a guitar always distracted me in the best way. I smiled at the thought and tried to get back to our conversation.
“I was the kid who would see something and decide ‘that’s what I’m gonna do when I grow up,’ and it didn’t matter if only guys could do it. I wanted to play football, be an astronaut, be a stuntman, and then I learned to play the guitar and all I wanted to do was write music.”
“So you’ve written stuff?”
“I have.” I smiled.
“You should do that more,” Wyatt said, pointing at my face. “Smile.”
“When I talk about music, I can’t help but smile.”
“And you won’t do open mic because…?”
“Wyatt…”
“I’m just asking a question. No pressure.”
“Because I haven’t written anything in a while.”
He placed the guitar in my arms and I began softly strumming a familiar tune.
“How long is a while?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. I didn’t want to think of how long it had been.
“I don’t know. Let’s just say I haven’t felt inspired for a long time.”
I hated that I had lost that part of me and never noticed it was slipping away. And I hated more that I hadn’t done anything to get it back. The things that I’d written up to then were single sentences that amounted to nothing more than a fleeting thought.
“Enough about that, okay?” I forced a smile and angled myself so I was facing Wyatt.
He leaned back and watched me warily but relaxed.
“Do you still miss New York?”
He leaned forward and dropped his chin.
Oh shit! He’s going to kiss me!
“If I tell you something, do you promise not to make fun of me?”
“Okay.”
“The first time I talked to you was about the time I stopped missing it so much,” he answered as he leaned back.
Holy crap! Please kiss me!
“Wow, that was—wow.” I sighed. My eyes met his and I felt my pulse begin to race. “Are you screwing with me right now?”
“Not even a little,” he said, his voice low and deep. He reached for the guitar and placed it on the bed behind us.
I refused to be the first to look away, and apparently so did Wyatt. It became a battle of wills and he raised a brow, challenging me to look away, but I made a face, hoping it would make him. It was a back-and-forth, each of us acting like children and taking the seriousness out of the moment. After about the fifth attempt to break him, I started laughing and he pumped his fists in the air at his victory.
I reached up and pulled one of them down, still laughing. “That’s not fair.”
“You started it. I won,” he laughed.
He moved my hair behind my ear and brushed his thumb along my jaw. I swallowed hard and tried not to show that he was getting to me. But that went out the window when I found myself getting to my knees and moving to his lap so I could look down at his handsome face.
I dropped my face down to his but paused for a moment, wondering if I was doing the right thing. His hand was tangled in my hair, resting against my neck, and I smiled when I made up my mind.
“I’m not going to stop you from kissing me this time,” he said, his lips brushing against mine when he spoke.
“Good,” I answered. It was the only word I could form before finally joining our lips together.
My hands were gripping his shoulders as we continued to kiss. His tongue slid against mine and any thoughts of separating from him were dashed. It was as if everything and everyone ceased to exist. His free hand moved up my spine as my arms wrapped around his neck.
I was completely lost in Wyatt when I heard that nagging voice in my head reminding me how long it had been since I’d kissed anyone other than Will.
Damn it! Stop ruining this for me, Will.
I tried to stay in the moment, to kiss Wyatt as eagerly as he was kissing me, but I was beginning to be more distracted.
He started it. We’re not even together anymore.
I shoved the thoughts out of my head and found myself back in the present, with Will.
Wait. Shit. I’m kissing Wyatt. Will’s my husband.
And that was all it took—the reminder that I was still, in fact, married—to completely douse cold water on the one spontaneous moment I’d had in a while. We separated, and I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment.
“Are you okay?” he asked sweetly.
I shook my head. “I’m still…”
“Married,” he said, finishing my sentence. “But you kissed me. I thought you were…”
“I know. I know I did. I wanted to kiss you, so badly.” I sighed, climbing off his lap and sitting next to him, hugging my knees tightly against me. I finally turned my face to look at him, resting my cheek on the top of my knee, and saw how adoringly he looked at me.
“Don’t overthink it, Vi,” he said. He reached his hand out and brushed his thumb against my lip.
“I can’t help it,” I scoffed. “I thought I could. I didn’t plan on it, but I really thought that I wanted to kiss you.”
“And you didn’t?”
“It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?” He reached for my hand and threaded our fingers together.
“I wish I had an answer for that.”
“We can take this slow.”
“What do you want from me?” I asked, truly interested in what he saw in me.
“This, Viola, I want more of this.” His frustration was audible in his words.
“But I don’t have anything to give right now. I don’t even trust myself anymore.”
“Then let me help you.”
I moved away and got to my feet, leaving hurriedly. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. I can’t.”