Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131486 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Harvey closes his bag and stands, smiling down at me. I rise, too, and lean forward for the hug and kiss on my cheek I know is coming.
“This place isn’t the same without you,” he whispers in my ear, hugging me a little tighter. “I’m glad you’re back and so is he.”
Surprised, touched, I glance up at our old friend and return his smile and his squeeze. “Thanks, Harv.”
“I can walk you out,” Josiah says, standing too. “You hungry? We can fix you something to go, if you want.”
“Oh, I always want,” Harvey says, following Josiah to the office door.
Their voices and laughter float into the office from the hall until they’re too far away for me to hear. I pick up one of the photos, this one with a man and a woman, a few decades older than Josiah and me, sitting on the front porch.
Merry Herman and Ken Harris, Proprietors.
“What’s your story?” I muse aloud, staring at the couple who wants to meet us.
A trip overnight.
Together.
Josiah and I would have separate rooms, of course, but still…the idea of the two of us in another city with no kids, no Grits.
No Vashti.
It sends an unwanted thrill through me. That moment we shared before Harvey arrived comes back to mind, and my breath rushes out. Heat liquefies in my veins, moving and burning through me.
I want him.
I shouldn’t. It’s too late. I won’t act on it, but this traitorous ache I’d nearly forgotten roars at me from dusty corners, peers from the shadows and reaches for me through finely spun cobwebs. It’s wild and hungry. If I’m smart, I’ll starve it, deny it, because unlike before, it won’t be satisfied.
Chapter Twenty
Josiah
I send Harvey happily on his way, then reluctantly turn back to the office, taking a moment to linger in the hall.
What the hell was that with Yas before Harvey arrived?
I want to scrub my brain so I can’t remember those moments when Yasmen stood between my legs, but her scent lingers on my clothes, in my mind. The warmth of her imprinted on my pores. Even though our bodies never touched, I still feel her. But what I recall with absolute clarity is the fire in her eyes.
A fire I haven’t seen in years. Anger? Yes. Outrage? Maybe. Desire?
Most definitely.
What is worse than admitting I still want her is the prospect that she might want me too.
That shit ain’t happening. Not again.
“Harvey’s gone?” Vashti asks, stepping into the hall from the kitchen, wearing her standard white chef’s attire. She’s petite but not delicate. There’s a tensile strength to her, a core of serenity that I find calming. I like her a lot. I respect her even more and never want to hurt or mislead her.
“Yeah.” I smile down at her. “He loves that chicken potpie.”
“Who doesn’t?” She laughs, stepping closer until she rests against me. She rises onto her tiptoes, reaching between us to press her palm to my chest, and whispers in my ear. “I cannot wait to get you home tonight.”
We’re circumspect at work. If you didn’t know we’re dating, most would never guess from our behavior, but that isn’t why I put space between us now. With the memory of Yasmen still tangled in my thoughts, it feels wrong to stand here and talk about tonight with Vashti. I turn my head and kiss her briefly on the lips, but gently set her away from me. Disappointment rises and falls on her expression, gone almost before I detect it.
“I better get back to the kitchen,” she says, her smile lacking some of its usual shine. “Today’s special has to be prepared just right, or it’s a disaster.”
“Go kill it.” I nod toward the office. “I need to talk with Yas before she has to leave.”
I know she wonders about Yasmen and me, but she has asked relatively little about our marriage, divorce, or even our current arrangement. She trusts me to be a good guy, and I will be. I bend down and drop a lingering kiss on her mouth, squeezing the slight curve of her hip. She lets out a little moan, and angles her head to deepen the kiss. A sound at the door distracts me, and over Vashti’s shoulder, my gazes locks with Yasmen’s. She’s standing in the office door, her eyes clouded and the lush curve of her mouth pulled tight. I can’t help but think of the night when I watched her first kiss with Mark. Have they kissed again? Had another date?
Fucked?
I don’t want to know.
Vashti looks back, unfazed to find Yasmen watching us. She smiles at her, squeezes my hand, and slips back into the kitchen.
“You got a second?” I ask, looking from the purse Yasmen carries to her guarded expression. “I wanted to talk some about what Harvey said.”