Suddenly, a small smile curls the corner of his lips. Relief floods me. I feel like I can finally let my breath out.
“No, I don't need to see your toes,” he sighs, dropping my wrists. My hands fall limply back to my sides, and immediately I miss his touch.
His shoulders slump slightly as he walks over to the bed, and then he turns around and sits heavily on the end of it, leaning forward to cradle his head in his hands.
“I'm so sorry, Dahlia… you must think I'm insane.”
I shake my head. What is he talking about? Did he figure it all out? Is he here to accuse me?
“God, I really hate musicians,” he groans. The groan dissolves into a chuckle and he looks up at me, shaking his head apologetically.
“This job can really make you crazy,” he shrugs helplessly. “Sometimes… these clients…”
“Oh, I understand,” I smile back, relieved that we have something in common to talk about. “It's like herding cats or something.”
He scrubs his palms over his stubbled chin, rolling his eyes and nodding. “That would be easier. Cats make more sense.”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I shift my weight from hip to hip uncertainly. My eyes drink in all the details of the space. King-size bed, with a charcoal gray comforter spread neatly across it. Not a fluffy comforter like mine, but a light, thin cotton one with rectangular quilting dividing the surface. Three pillows stretch across the head of the bed, precisely arranged to meet the edges. Even though it is tailored looking and angular, so different from my fluffy floral bed, it still looks inviting. Part of me aches to try it out, like Goldilocks.
He stands up again, more relaxed this time. His eyes drift over me, lingering at the straps of my sandals, the sash of my dress around my waist. Then he seems to catch himself again and he forces his eyes to meet mine. He blinks several times, shaking his head tightly.
“Well, thank you so much for coming,” he says, clearing his throat. “I'm sorry to have disturbed you. I just really need to see… nothing. Never mind. It's just work.”
I take a tentative step toward him. “You just needed to see, what?”
He shrugs. “Your nail polish. I’m looking for blue nail polish.”
I shake my head apologetically. “Blue nail polish isn’t really my style.”
He smiles at me. Such a relief to see it, such a relief to see him up close. There is such a new dimension to the communications that we've been having, and being close to him in real life now adds so much to the experience. In a way, I feel so much closer to him than I ever have, and now it seems inevitable. We've already shared so much…
“I'm glad to hear that,” he says, his voice low, “your nails are fine the way they are.”
His eyes drift down again, to my sandals.
“Pink,” he says.
I wiggle my toes lightly, watching his eyes track the movement. Then, holding my breath, I take another step toward him.
He glances at me, startled, and begins to step back. Before I know it, I've reached out a hand to stop him. He stares down at it, surprised. My fingers close around the fabric of his shirt. And I don't want to let go.
“Dahlia, no. We can't…”
“I feel like we have to,” I breathe, hearing the truth in my words as I finally dare to speak them out loud.
“Dahlia,” he says again. I love the sound of it. He's been saying tell me so many times, and I imagined his voice every time. But now, hearing my name on his lips, I have crossed the threshold. I can't go back again.
Chapter 16
August
Everybody makes mistakes. As soon as Dahlia arrives at my apartment, I know exactly what happened. She took that selfie with Kirkman, and somehow it got to Lori. She showed it to Lori, or maybe Lori just happened to see it. Then Lori took the initiative to try to snake my contract with Kirkman out from under me.
It happens all the time. It's nothing I really need to be concerned about.
But the look on Dahlia's face was heartbreaking. I could see the fear in her eyes, the terror that I was going to find out what she done. I'm not mad... how can I be mad at her? Especially once she stood there in the foyer of my building, trembling like a leaf, her eyes wide and pale, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.
She followed me obediently, and as I climbed every stair I could feel my anger ebbing away. After all, she hadn't tried to argue with me at all. She had arrived of her own free will, ready for whatever I was going to say to her.