One reason was, I couldn’t imagine Rett only being satisfied with that type of relationship. He was all up in my business now, if he was in my bed, too? It could be worse.
But more than that, I couldn’t bear to lose again.
Not my heart.
Not someone I cared for.
Not someone I loved.
Sex and even basic companionship could easily grow into love. That was a valid risk. Not too many people I knew could keep the two separate, even if it started that way.
Of course it was possible. People could have sex without all the intimacy that went along with it. But usually with random strangers, not someone they knew personally and had sex with on a regular basis.
Was keeping sex impersonal possible for Rett? Highly doubtful.
Even though the kiss had only lasted a few seconds, the worry of falling for the man could very well last a lifetime.
Despite the fact I pretended I didn’t like him, I did. Even despite the fact he was annoying and not as funny as he thought.
I liked more things about him than I disliked.
The way he looked. The way he smelled.
The way he loved his dog.
His books.
His upbeat attitude.
The fact that he kept a bookstore open for the residents of Eagle’s Landing, even though it was taking a financial loss. The fact that he hosted weekly activities at that same shop so the locals had something to do.
He was kind. He was caring. He was…
No.
Absolutely not.
After opening the large envelope, I slid out what seemed like a whole ream of paper. I doubted it was five-hundred pages but he didn’t have them numbered. However, his books typically ran on the longer side, depending on how much trouble Dexter Peabody got into during his investigation.
Actually, when reading them, I wouldn’t want any of his books to end if I didn’t know the next one was available and waiting for me to start reading. However, the one I held in my hands was the end.
At least until he wrote the next one.
Of course, that made me hyper-aware of how long my own readers had been waiting for my next book and why they were so impatient.
My first instinct had been to say no to beta-reading his manuscript. I really shouldn’t take the time out of my writing schedule to read and mark it up. But if I had told him no, I figured I’d regret it later.
I had been enjoying his books. Of course, now I knew where Peabody got his dorkwardness—Peabody’s own description of himself in the books—and sense of humor.
From the author himself.
I couldn’t say Rett was really a dork, or even awkward, but he did have a way about him that was endearing, just like Peabody.
Though, I would never tell the man that.
It was bad enough he was like a glue trap. One I had stepped on by accident and couldn’t free myself from, no matter how hard I tried to shake it free.
I was afraid that if I allowed it, he would quickly become a habit.
First as a fellow writer. Then as a friend. And after that…
It was a slippery slope I didn’t want to find myself at the top of.
I had slipped enough with that single kiss. It might not have lasted long, but it was long enough for me to catch myself and remember whose lips were pressed to mine.
Not Thomas’s, but Rett’s.
Not my husband’s, but a man I hardly knew.
Of course I missed intimacy, but did I want to get involved with another man, even as “fuck buddies?” No.
I couldn’t afford to get involved in another relationship.
Rett said it wouldn’t be considered cheating and while technically he was correct, it would still feel that way for me.
I had promised Thomas “’til death do us part.” Only, I hadn’t expected for his death to come so soon. It should’ve come after we were old and gray and we both had to gum our food, use a walker and hearing aids.
I expected us to grow old together. To both have age spots, wrinkles and dentures. Instead, I was forced to grow old without him.
He left me.
He left me alone.
He left me broken.
He left me not wanting to ever have anyone else.
I loved him with all my heart, but that heart and mind had been shattered when I found him.
When I found him. The worst day of my life.
“Why don’t your closets have doors?”
I closed my eyes.
“Why don’t your closets have doors?”
I sucked oxygen deep into my lungs and held it until it burned.
“Why don’t your closets have doors?”
Pressure built inside of me, causing my skin to tighten to the point I thought it would split. My vision narrowed and I began to suffocate. I desperately gulped air to try to relieve that pressure.
Clutching my closing throat, I dropped his manuscript onto the table and stumbled my way to the front of the cabin.