Never is a Promise(45)
She sighed the kind of happy sigh that made me feel like there might still be hope for us. I pulled in a lungful of the warm clean scent that left the top of her pretty little head.
“We need music,” she said wistfully.
“Not a problem,” I said. Pressing my lips, I began to hum a soft tune. The words played in my head, but the melody rumbled in my chest, inviting Dakota to melt into me. And for all of three minutes, melt into me she did.
“You know I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” she said a moment after the song had ended. She pulled herself away, though my hands reached for hers, catching them in mine and lacing our fingers together. I couldn’t bring myself to let her go entirely. Not yet.
“Stay,” I said. I wasn’t asking.
“You know I can’t.” She laughed, tilting her head and gazing into the distance. Funny how just a few days ago, she was this poker-faced Ice Queen who resisted everything about me, and now she was letting me hold her in my arms and unfolding like a flower in the spring.
“I’ve never loved anyone else the way I loved you,” I said, my voice low and my jaw clenched. “And I never will. You’re it for me, Dakota.”
“There she is,” Harrison announced as I pulled my suitcase inside the front door of our apartment. “The woman of the hour.”
His face captured an overdone excitement I hadn’t seen in him since I didn’t know when.
“Dare I ask if you missed me?” I set my purse down on the antique, marble-topped buffet he’d gifted me on our first wedding anniversary. We’d found it at an antique shop in the Hamptons, and supposedly it had once belonged to a Kennedy.
He stood with his hands in his pockets, his cheeks rosy as his eyes drank me in from head to toe. He lunged for my suitcase. “Here, let me get that.”
I resisted the urge to ask him what’d gotten into him. It was as if I left Manhattan with this micro-managing curmudgeon of an ex-husband and returned to find he’d been completely transformed into the man I’d once fallen hard in wonderment with.
That’s all it had ever been – wonderment. I realized that as I was walking down the aisle on my wedding day. With the most breathtaking designer gown sucking in all my curves and a bouquet of fresh peonies in my hand, a sick feeling flooded my stomach when I looked up at my groom and saw the face of the man I’d been unable to love even after a handful of good, hard years.
“I ordered us takeout,” Harrison said after rolling my bag to my room and returning. He followed me to the living room where I collapsed upon the sofa. “Got your favorite. Special number four from Happy Panda.”
“Are you feeling all right?” I teased.
Harrison lowered himself to his leather chair, his eyes locked on mine. I waited for him to ask about Kentucky or how the interview went or what kind of quotes I got on tape, but he only sat there, staring at me.
“I made an appointment with Dr. Goldberg,” he said, breaking the silence. We’d attempted marital counseling once. It was an hour-long session that had ended with Dr. Goldberg telling us that neither of us were vested enough in our marriage to make it worth her while to even treat us.
“Harrison,” I cocked my head to the side. “We’re not married. Why would you do that?”
“Coco,” he responded, parroting my tone. “We might not be married, but we can still salvage this. I want what we used to have. I miss that. And being away from you this week made me realize that you’re the kind of girl worth fighting for. I’m sorry I didn’t fight hard enough for you.”
“Harrison.”
“Please.” His eyes flashed with fired-up determination. “The last two years, going back and forth like we’ve been doing, it needs to stop. We’re grown adults here. It’s time to piss or get off the pot.”
“Elegant,” I laughed, standing up.
“You know what I mean,” he huffed. He stood and stepped toward me, taking my hands in his. Perhaps at the peak of our marital days, we’d had an unstoppable physical passion for each other, but the emotions were always surface-level. And in the end, we discovered we loved our jobs more than we loved each other.
“Come on, don’t do this. I’ve been traveling all day. I’m exhausted.”
“What about last month?” he asked, referring to the night we’d shared a bottle of wine and one thing led to another. It seemed innocent enough at the time, and my physical attraction to Harrison was still rampant and undeniable despite the dissolution of our marriage. Sex with him was always chocolate cake. A guilty pleasure. A special occasion desert.