fiction friday 30: secret admirer. part 8.

Posted on 17 June 2016 by what sandra thinks

fiction friday.

It’s Friday. This is part 8 of secret admirer. ♥
[Previously posted: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7]

part 8.

I didn’t want to let him go. I didn’t think I could. He was warm and strong and I was melting in his arms. My God, he smelled good. And I felt safe. I thought if I let him go, I’d fall apart. And possibly fall to the floor. But we couldn’t stand there forever.

He slowly eased his hold on me and pulled away. But he still touched me. He never took his hand from my waist.

“Amy… I know this is really the wrong time to say this…”

“It’s okay.” I looked at him, relieved to be able to delay telling him about Dan. “What is it?”

“That’s the first time you’ve ever let me hold you.” He sighed softly and apologized again.

His words brought the trace of a smile to my face. “Greg… it’s okay. I was thinking the same thing.”

He smiled, too. “Do you want me to do it again?”

“I really do.”

He held me again. I clutched him tighter, closer to me than before. He responded accordingly and for a moment, I thought of nothing but the way he felt against me. Perfect.

hug.

This time when he let me go, he walked me to the table behind him. I felt his eyes on me but I stared down at my fidgety hands. I needed to figure out how to talk to him about my recent discovery. I didn’t find the answer. But when he rested his hand on my arm, I lifted my eyes to his.

“Amy… can you tell me what happened?”

I took a deep breath and nodded. And I felt a tear roll down my cheek. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.” I wiped my tear away and hoped it was the last. “I met your lawyer. He was nice.”

“But he made you cry.” Again he smiled. Maybe some would find his little jokes inappropriate in the middle of something clearly very serious, very upsetting. But I didn’t. I appreciated it. I adored it. And it made me smile.

“Greg, he did not make me cry.”

“I know.”

“When I got home, I found some flowers… from Captain Insomnia.” I made myself smile when I said that.

“Oh my God, my flowers made you cry!?” His smile was the warmest, sweetest, most comforting thing on earth at that moment.

“Of course not.” He almost made me laugh. “But when I walked inside, I dropped them. I’m sorry.” My smile disappeared. I could see the whole thing in my head all over again.

He took my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Amy, it’s okay. Tell me what happened.”

“Dan was home. Not alone.” My damn tears returned. They made me so angry. “I hate that this is making me cry. I don’t love him. I don’t want him. But I did not expect to walk into my kitchen and find a woman on her knees in front of him.”

“Oh, honey…”

Honey. My heart was already racing when he lifted a hand to my face. He slowly ran the back of his fingers across my cheek, wiping away my tears. I had to catch my breath at his warm, sweet touch.

“I guess it makes things easier,” I mumbled. “Not that I had any doubts…”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry you saw that.”

“So am I.” I loved that I made him smile. Because when he smiled, I smiled.

“You know everything’s going to be all right, don’t you?”

“I guess. But…”

“What?”

“I can’t go back there. Not tonight.” My shoulders rose and fell with my sigh. “I need a hotel room… I’m not ready to retell this whole nightmare to my mom. Or my sister. I need to be somewhere else.”

“Amy…”

“What?”

“Come home with me.”

“Greg… I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“Well, I think it’s a great idea.” He paused to smile at me. I blushed and lowered my eyes. But I looked right back at him the moment he spoke again. “Hey… I’m serious. Tonight. Just for the night. No strings. I’ll sleep on the couch. I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, of course I am.”

To be continued…

This post is part 8. Previously posted: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7.

About what sandra thinks

Sandra is a writer, sometimes blogger, poet, artist, emotional disaster. She thinks far too much and sleeps far too little. Sandra lives in the Northeastern U.S. but dreams of an oceanfront home in Italy, but she would settle for a non-oceanfront home in Italy. She loves books, brutal honesty, coffee, and the color black. She hates insincerity, beer, whipped cream, and facebook. And she is uncomfortable talking about herself in the third person.

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