“What you want, and what you can handle right now, might be two very different things.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You said it yourself tonight, Lauren. It’s been a long time since you’ve done this. You know what I want,” he says, but do I? “And we’re just going to go as slow as you need.”
It’s like my body and my mind are at war with themselves right now. My body is urging me to stand up, swing my leg over, straddle Jameson’s lap, and show him hownotslow I want to take this. But then my mind is also pulling the alarm, reminding me that he’s been a great friend, and having sex with him would definitely ruin the friendship. In the end, it wouldn’t be worth it, no matter how good the idea feels right now.
“Everything that’s going through your mind right now is exactly why we’re going to take this slow.” He takes the dessert box out of my hand and sets it on the floor by his feet.
“How do you know what’s going through my mind?”
“Because I’m watching it play out on your face. Doubt. Fear. Worry.” He pauses. “It makes sense that you feel all those things right now, but you won’t always. You’re going to get through this, Lauren, and you’re going to come out stronger on the other side.”
I wish I had the faith in myself that he apparently has. I wish I was the strong, fearless girl he once knew: the one who wasn’t afraid to take on any challenge, who took life by the horns and wrestled it to her will.
But for the first time in a long time, I feel like I could be her—myself—again.
In fact, maybe I am already on that path. Moving across the country, remodeling a house to make it perfect for me and the girls, building a new friend group in Boston, getting a full-time job in the sports world ... these are not things that Josh’s wife, Lauren Emerson, would have done. These are classic Lauren Manning moves.
The fact that Jameson recognizes that I need to do this to rebuild myself and my life ... it’s like he gets me at a core level. If only he weren’t the kind of guy who avoids relationships at all costs. Because the Jameson Flynn I’m getting to know is the kind of guy I’d want to keep around.
“All right,” he says, “I need to get going.” He stands, then bends toward me, sliding one arm under my knees, and the other around my back, and lifts me off my beanbag. His warm hand slides against my bare thigh, and it makes me realize that it’s been many months—much longer than I’ve been a widow—since I’ve had a man touch me like this.
My hand is on his chest as he cradles me in his arms.
“I can feel your heartbeat,” I murmur as the rhythmic beating pounds against my palm. “It’s nice to know you have one.”
His chest shakes with silent laughter. “You thought I was heartless?”
“Only for the first few years I knew you.”
“You’re adorable,” he says with an eye roll, then drops my legs so I’m standing, facing him. “Walk me out?”
He leads the way back through the kitchen and down the hallway to the entryway, then turns to face me when we get to the door. He reaches out, his hands landing on my hips, gripping them possessively through the fabric of his jersey, and when I look up at him, I don’t even attempt to hide the longing I’m feeling.
“Go to bed, Lauren.” His voice is thick and low, like a warning.
“You’re trying to get rid of me?”
“I’m trying not to do anything you’ll regret.”
“What makes you think I’d regret ... anything?”
He gives me a half smile, brings his hands to either side of my face, then kisses my forehead lightly. “You’re not ready,” he says, then turns to put on his shoes and his coat.
“What if I am?” I ask, not at all certain that I’m even thinking clearly right now. But I miss his proximity, his scent, his warmth, his voice. I don’t want him to go. I don’t knowwhatI want.
“You’re not.” We exchange a glance, and he reaches out and caresses my cheek. “Yet.”
And then he turns and walks out the door.
* * *
“Hey,” Morgan calls from the entryway as she lets herself and Paige in. “We’re here!”
“I’m in the kitchen,” I call back, but my girls are already yelling “Morgan!” and running toward the entryway to greet her. They’re in their fleece zip-up pajamas with wet hair from their bath, and I pause, listening to them laughing with my sister and my cousin.
I take the salad dressings I made out of the refrigerator so they can come to room temperature, and then there’s a knock on the door. I walk into the entryway in time to see Paige opening the door for Jules, Audrey, and Graham. And as they crowd into the entryway, I realize thatthisis what I hoped for when I moved here ... family close by, real friendships.
