Tension blooms between us with each second we don’t look away from each other. With every hammering beat of my heart and every stuttering breath, I want to pull those suspenders down, off, unbutton that shirt, and press my lips hard over his heart. A kiss that would imprint him as mine again.
“It’s not like that with him,” I say.
He pauses loading bottles to watch me for a few seconds before resuming the task. “It’s not?”
“Nope. I haven’t seen him since he surprised us with that Christmas tree.”
He shakes his head in mock chastisement. “Using that man for his trees.”
“I told him…” I trail off and run my finger along the edge of the counter, avoiding his eyes. “I told him we’re better off as friends.”
“Like us.”
My head pops up and I stare at him. His gaze is steady, but seems to be searching for something. Whether he’s actually looking at me, or inside himself, I can’t tell.
“Not exactly.” I laugh dryly, struggling to regulate my breaths. “He never got further than a kiss.”
“Is that true?” He leans against the counter and folds strong arms over his chest.
“Yes.” My voice comes out like froth, light and airy.
“We haven’t talked about…” He stares at the floor and then meets my eyes directly. “That night in Charlotte.”
I’m shook that he’s the one bringing it up. It’s been like a specter between us, never mentioned but rippling beneath the surface of every interaction.
“We said we wouldn’t,” I remind him, my breath shortening.
“Yeah, but it did happen. I just want to make sure you’re okay with everything and it didn’t make things weird. You know I cherish your friendship. I wouldn’t ever—”
“We’re good,” I cut in, having no desire to hear him wax poetic about what a great friend I am when I fuck him in my fantasies. Does he really think I can forget what happened? It was fantastic, mind-melting sex. It was like old times, but even better. Apparently absence makes the heart grow horny.
Cross-stitch that on a pillow.
“Um, Soledad and I are spending the night with Hendrix,” I say before he can tell me more about what a great platonic buddy I am. “So that’s what I’m doing with my night of freedom while the kids are gone.”
“They asked me to take them to the Old Mill before they go back to school.”
And just like that we’re back to the mundane, back to this life where we don’t kiss or fuck or spill secrets in the dark. Our one night has been washed away. Our frank conversation about the issues that destroyed our marriage left a new openness and understanding.
Affection, respect, friendliness.
All there, but the passion we shared—gone. That’s the price I paid. He told me it would be this way, and I know it’s for the best.
You can pretend it never happened.
You can be his friend, business partner, co-parent without having more.
You can stop wanting him.
Dr. Abrams says honesty is medicine to the soul. I’ll have to ask her the remedy for a lie.
He takes another two bottles from the fridge to the cart.
“Is that a new brand?” I ask, nodding toward the champagne in his hand.
“It is.” He shoots me a sly glance. “Wanna try it?”
I giggle, but walk closer. “Isn’t it bad luck to pop bottles before midnight?”