by Leigh Kramer
“Of course I know what she'd say. She'd tell me to start selling my own stuff or at least let friends see my work.” My voice raised. I didn't like where this conversation was headed.
“And that terrifies you,” he pointed out.
I didn't say anything in response. He knew it did.
“You don't think I was scared when I quit the bank and headed off to Ireland? You don't think I faced everyone's doubts and concerns about the mess I was going to make with my life?” I saw his point, but we had entirely different situations.
“Olivia, one of these days you're going to wake up and realize which battles are yours to fight. I can’t tell you what to do. Maybe you're supposed to run the gallery as well as paint. Maybe you're supposed to do something else entirely. Keeping part of your life hidden away from everyone has not done you any favors.”
“I know,” I said in a small voice. I did know. I would live with the guilt of not telling Elaine for the rest of my life. I didn't feel ready to tell Gram, but I didn't want to live with that guilt either. The possibilities paralyzed me.
“I'm not trying to pick a fight with you. You've had a rough enough week. I care about you and I want the best for you.”
“I know,” I replied. “Be patient with me?”
Reagan reached out for me and I slid across the couch until I lay in his arms.
“You got it,” he said and kissed the crown of my head. I tipped my chin up toward him, inviting him to kiss my lips. A quick peck turned into another and then another. I turned my body slightly, adjusting our angle.
Kissing drove away the hurts and fears. My frustrations went by the wayside. Nothing else mattered but the man beneath me. My body turned liquid as I responded to Reagan's ministrations. I wanted to go back to where we’d left things before my life turned upside down.
Between his touch and the red wine flowing through me, I was flying high. I didn't want the kiss to end. I wanted to finish what we started.
I nestled closer to him and rolled my hips into his. We fit together perfectly, his hard to my soft. Each juncture of our bodies lit a fire inside and all I could think was that I needed more of him. I wanted to stop thinking for a while. I wanted to replace the ugly memories with anything else.
Reagan left a trail of kisses down my neck and lingered on my collarbone before continuing further down.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered. I whipped my tank top off so only my bra stood in his way. “I just want to forget everything for a while.”
Reagan jolted forward and I almost tumbled off the couch as he stood up and walked to the other side of the room. I couldn't wipe the confusion and longing off my face.
“We can't do this, Olivia. Not right now. We got carried away,” he said, taking a deep breath. He scraped a hand through his hair and tugged in frustration.
“Don’t tell me what I want. I’m a grown woman, Reagan. You make me feel better and I don't want to be alone tonight,” I said, trying to keep the desperation out of my voice. He paced between the wall and the coffee table. He'd already made up his mind to reject me, I could tell. This night had gone downhill fast. “Don’t you want me?”
He scowled and gestured at the bulge in his jeans. “You know I do.” He was right. But there had to be a reason.
“I don’t understand what the problem is. We both want each other. It’s not like we hadn’t planned on having sex!” I balled my hands up into fists at my side. Couldn’t one goddamn thing go my way? I wanted to forget about this day and have sex with my boyfriend. Any other guy would have been thrilled. I grabbed my tank top from the where it had landed on the coffee table and put it back on.
“You’re right and you have no idea how much I want to stay. But it’s been an emotional few days, you just reminded me you’re drunk a few minutes ago, and on top of that, you unloaded a secret you’ve been carrying for more than a decade. You’re saying yes now but I don’t know if you’ll regret it in the morning. I’m not going to take that chance. I don’t want to be like your asshole professor and take advantage of you.”
I huffed an astonished laugh. “You couldn’t be more different from Benoit. You’re not taking advantage of me. I know it took me awhile to be ready but I want this, Reagan. Trust me.”
“I’m not sure if you want me or if you want to escape your memories. I don’t want you to have any regrets. This means something to me. I—” His expression froze and he cut himself off.
The silence hung between us and I wondered what he’d wanted to say.
“You?” I prompted him.
He waited a beat before saying, “I really care about you. We can wait at least one more night. That’s what you wanted this afternoon.”
I disagreed with a frustrated groan and my body protested as well. “I didn't know what I was saying this afternoon.”
Maybe Reagan was right. Post-crying sex didn’t work out so well in When Harry Met Sally, at least not at first. I couldn't blame him. Meg Ryan looked pretty even when she was crying, unlike me. I was not a pretty crier. And I was maybe possibly still buzzed from all the wine I’d drank earlier. In any case, there was no hope of changing Reagan’s mind. I reluctantly agreed with him.
“Freaking gentleman,” I muttered, and he chuckled.
He strode back over to the couch and pulled me up next to him. “It's late. I should get going. I’ll call you in the morning.”
I pouted. The heart wants what it wants. As does the body. I begrudgingly agreed to talk in the morning. A chaste hug and kiss later, Reagan left.
I locked the door behind him, then leaned against it. What to do with all this pent-up energy? For the first time in a while, I regretted not having any art supplies at my place. I glanced at the clock. It was close to midnight but I wasn’t tired.
I changed into jeans and grabbed my purse. If the art supplies wouldn't come to me, I'd go to the art supplies. Even if I had to walk to there.
Chapter Eighteen
I rubbed grit from my eyes, bleary and hungover after only a few hours of sleep. Suzy had ordered me not to come near the gallery this week, ironic since she was my assistant. Even if her responsibilities had increased the last few months, Madison belonged to me and I could not keep away from its doors any longer. Those stolen hours with a new canvas last night had settled me. Being the sole person in the dark gallery made me want to touch my finger to the pulse of what I'd created. I needed to spend time with Suzy, Ricardo, and the rest of my team. I needed a distraction from grief and regret.
No text from Reagan awaited me when I woke up. I worried over last night’s disclosure. I picked at my words and fragmented memories like a scab. I thought of how I could have rephrased things, or said nothing at all. I glanced at my phone to see if Reagan had called; he still hadn't. Maybe he’d forgotten to set a reminder. Fear slithered through me all the same. A voice taunted that Reagan would walk away from me now that he knew my secret. Clearly, I needed something to occupy my mind.
When I walked into the chaos that Madison Gallery thrived on, my staff froze as if I were an apparition. It was going to be harder than I thought. I waved and kept going. I didn't want to answer questions about the funeral or listen to heartfelt words. I wanted to lose myself in work. While I had a good work ethic, I'd never felt less like myself than working when I should have been grieving and trying to find order where I'd once thrived on freedom. I craved margin.
I'd barely flipped the light on in my office before Suzy barged in. I gauged her expression, unsure if she was there to hug or lecture me. I decided not to give her the chance to do either.
“I know you told me not to come in but I needed to do something normal today. This past week has been draining. Today I need to be with my people and my work. I'm not going to stay all day, just enough to remember who I am again,” I said.
Suzy's eyes flashed. She had a hard time not speaking her mind. For once, she simply gathered me in her arms for a quick hug, murmured she was here if I needed anything, then stepped
back and began rattling off the phone calls I'd missed, including some sort of pipe issue in the bathroom, paperwork the accountant needed, and an ordeal with an artist who claimed he hadn't been paid properly.
That was all it took. I threw myself into the day and pretended as if Elaine was at the bank and Arturo Benoit was the name of a cheap French wine. I ignored my phone when I heard it trill. Since Reagan hadn't called earlier when I needed reassurance about last night, I couldn't muster the energy to talk to him now. Never mind that I could have called or texted him myself. I was ashamed to face him in the light of day.
Knee-deep in invoices, the knock on the door barely registered.
“Just a second,” I muttered, my finger trailing the column of figures before giving up. I looked up and froze. Damn it. There stood Reagan bearing two cups from Corrupt Coffee.
“You didn't answer your phone so I got you Irish Breakfast tea and a Caramel Mocha. I'll drink whichever one you don't want.” He raised the cups in my direction.
“You don't even like tea,” I said, for lack of a better response. I stood up from the desk and walked over to Reagan. I should have kissed him hello but I had no idea why he was here. Instead, I zeroed in on the reinforcement he carried. My hand hovered between both cups as I contemplated the amount of caffeine I required. I opted for the tea.
“I banked on the fact that I probably wouldn't have to drink it.” Reagan sat in the chair in front of my desk while I returned to my own. He looked like he hadn't slept much last night. “I stopped at your place first and when you weren’t there, I figured I’d find you here. Are you avoiding me?”
Words escaped me as I struggled to respond.
“No.” I sounded out the word but it ended like a question. I tried again, gesturing at my desk. “I haven't been here all week. I've been distracted.”
“You were going to take the whole week off,” he stated, not accusing or angry. That had been the original plan.
I looked around the office and then squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. I didn't want to have this conversation. Why couldn't he simply let me cope the way I wanted?
“You're right. I was going to,” I conceded, while I figured out how to explain myself without giving too much away. “But the thought of waiting until Monday was too overwhelming. I wanted to get a jump start on things and be around my staff for a while.” That was a safe answer.
“And maybe ignore everything that happened last night?”
I stared hard at him. That conversation wasn’t happening here. “Are you not working today? Remember, you owe me a full slate of pieces by the end of August.” The moment we'd decided to date, Suzy took over as Reagan's primary contact concerning the exhibit. While he showed me his work from time to time, we'd agreed to keep his work separate from our relationship. I didn't mind using this to my advantage at the moment.
Reagan smiled wryly. “I haven't forgotten. Speaking of which, I had an—”
The office phone rang before he could continue. Saved by the bell. I gestured to it. “I have to get this. I won't bore you with the details but I've been untangling a nightmare of a situation and hopefully this is one of the people I've been waiting to hear from.” I answered the phone and then put the caller on hold.
With the receiver cradled against my chest, I thanked him for the beverage and visit. “We'll talk soon, I promise.”
“Tonight?” he asked. If he hadn't brought me tea and if he didn't look so cute, I'd have kicked him out of my office then and there.
Since I'd been out of commission all week, I'd made very few plans. My heart warred with my mind. I wanted to spend time with Reagan but I didn’t want to be rejected again, nor did I want to discuss the status of our relationship, or my dreams. I also recognized the wisdom in staying home and starting to process my jumble of feelings. If I gave in to this need for distraction and busyness, I'd set myself up for repressed grief and panic attacks.
The weight of the phone reminded me to make a split decision. I couldn't leave the caller on hold indefinitely. I let out an exasperated sigh.
“Not tonight. I need to sleep and do whatever I need to do. Without the influence of red wine,” I reassured. “I don't have the energy to do anything else. And right now, I need to take this call.”
Reagan nodded. “You’re going to have to deal with me sooner or later, Liv. I’ll give you tonight.” Then he walked out of the office, closing the door behind him.
I groaned in frustration.
“I heard that,” Reagan called from behind the closed door and chuckled. I barely resisted the urge to throw something in his general direction.
I didn't have time to analyze his mood or mine. He was sweet to have stopped by with my favorite tea, I knew. Self-protecting quills shot up around my heart. I couldn't afford more rejection. Surely, I could avoid him for a while longer.
* * *
A knock sounded on the doorframe the next morning. My gaze yanked away from the window as Reagan appeared. Relief flooded my body before tension replaced it.
“Suzy told me you came back in,” he said. Traitor. Suzy and I needed to talk about the inherent sacred confidentiality of my whereabouts. His eyes bore into mine and I looked away. I’d come into work because my apartment reminded me of him. It was too quiet, too full of memories. There was no better solution than to come back into work.
But I hadn’t accomplished anything and that frustration filled my voice as I finally responded.
“Yep.”
“Olivia,” he said, his voice strong and commanding. My eyes turned back to him of their own accord. “We need to talk. And then we need to not talk,” he added with a gleam in his eye.
A lick of heat shot through me. I narrowed my eyes at him. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? Did I want him to be saying that?
He walked around the desk and took my hand in his. “Come on, let’s go.”
“Reagan. You can’t just—” I protested but my voice came out weak and unsure. I gestured to my desk with my free hand. “I’m at work.”
“On a day when you’re not supposed to be here. I gave you yesterday. We need to deal with the fact that you’re my girlfriend and you’re avoiding me.” A hurt expression crossed his face and remorse washed over me. In trying to protect myself, I’d swept his feelings, whatever they may be, aside.
“Come on,” he said, and tugged me to my feet. He pulled my body flush with his and it felt right. No matter what happened with us, being in his arms felt right. One of his hands palmed the nape of my neck, while the other rubbed soothing circles on my lower back. I shut my eyes and burrowed against his chest for a moment. If there was any hope for us, we had to talk about what happened.
He pressed a kiss onto the top of my head. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Not that the whereabouts mattered. Once I accepted our need to talk, I was putty in his hands.
“My place.”
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. My apartment was closer, but I never minded spending time at his loft. I grabbed my purse and let Reagan escort me through the gallery and to his SUV parked out front.
He reversed from the space and then made a U-turn on Madison. My gaze toggled between him and the road, unsure if Reagan meant for our conversation to start now or wait until we got to his apartment.
As we approached a red light, Reagan took my hand where it rested in my lap. His thumb brushed back and forth, as if he couldn’t help but soothe me any way possible. The weight of his hand in mine comforted me. He glanced at me. “Where do you want to start?”
What a question. My stomach roiled with nerves.
“I’m not avoiding you.” He pinned me with his gaze and arched an eyebrow before looking back at the intersection. I amended my words. “I’m not not avoiding you?”
God, I was making a mess of this. My insecurities scurried for a foothold and threatened to drown me out. I took a deep breath and tried again.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for throwin
g myself at you the other night. I’m sorry for not wanting to deal with it and for ignoring your calls and for being irritated with you and for not enjoying your surprise visits at work and—”
“Whoa, slow down, Liv.” Reagan squeezed my hand in reassurance. “You didn’t throw yourself at me.”
I huffed out an unamused laugh. “Pretty sure I did.”
“A woman throwing herself at a man implies she’s trying to give something he doesn’t necessarily want. And I want you, Olivia. So goddamn much.”
I wanted to believe this was true. The haze of grief and the lack of sleep clouded my judgment. The right words eluded me so I went straight to the heart of my rejection.
“How many men turn down the opportunity to finally have sex with their girlfriend?” My voice came out quieter than intended, hushed by my hurt feelings.
Reagan’s eyes whipped toward mine before wrenching back toward the road, but I couldn’t read his expression.
“Maybe talking about this while I’m driving wasn’t the best idea,” Reagan muttered. He let go of my hand and raked his hand through his hair. I looked out the window as we passed the familiar restaurants and businesses lining the streets leading us toward the ramp for the highway. His hand grasped mine again a moment later and I looked back at him.
“All I want to do right now is pull you across the seat and show you exactly how much I want you,” Reagan said, as if he’d never paused. As if his words weren’t designed to set me on fire. My heart raced and my body anticipated what it would be like if he pulled the car over and settled me into his strong arms.
My eyes widened at the heat in his expression before he looked back at the road.
“But if we weren’t going to rush things the other night, I’m not going to rush things now.” He said with finality. I almost whimpered with regret and he must have sensed this based on the smile ghosting his lips.