“It’s just that… I mean, that first day of class, the way you were standing there… kind of forlorn and uncertain, and so damn pretty… I wanted to… I wanted to rescue you, you know?”
My throat closes over. Only one man in the world has ever rescued me.
“Stop, Tyler. Please.”
I want to say I’m married, but that would be unfair. He knows it, and I sure as hell know it, and yet we met each other in a kiss that was far easier than it should have been.
I reach out to put my hand on his chest, but stop before I touch him.
“I’d better go,” I say.
Tyler backs away while I close the passenger door and go around to the driver’s seat.
“Are you… uh, will you come back to class?” he asks.
I hesitate, but nod. “Yes. We’ll just… let’s forget this ever happened.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I don’t usually… I mean, I never…”
“Tyler.” My hand shakes as I start the car. “It’s okay. I’m not upset with you.”
But there are no words to describe how I feel about myself right now.
“That looks good, Liv.” Samantha Davis, the curator of the Historical Museum, stops beside the display case where I’m arranging a collection of pioneer cooking equipment.I dust off my hands and step back. “Once they get the glass back on, I’ll put up the wall text.”
“Great.” Samantha tilts her head and looks at me. “You know, we really have appreciated all the work you’ve been doing for us. Would you be interested in helping out with the Historical Society’s holiday festival? It’s more hours, but there are a few perks. Volunteers get tickets to some of the shows at the Performing Arts Center, and we have a fun party at Langdon House on Christmas Eve.”
“Sure. Sounds like fun.”
Samantha smiles. “I’ll tell Felicia to call you to set up a schedule.”
She heads back to her office, and I fuss with the display for a few more minutes.
“Liv.”
Dean’s voice startles me. I turn to find him standing by the door, dressed in a suit and tie, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers.
“Dean. Hi.” My palms start to sweat. I rub my hands down the front of my thighs and approach him. “What are you doing here?”
“Came to take you to lunch, if you’re free.”
“Um, sure. I just… I just need to finish up here and grab my stuff.”
“Okay. I’ll wait.”
I try to quell the nerves jumping around in my stomach as I put a few things away and retrieve my satchel from behind the volunteers’ desk.
It’s been two days since Tyler and I kissed each other in the parking lot, and I haven’t seen Dean much at all. He’s gone to work before I wake up, and we spend our evenings in separate rooms of the apartment.
Which, although that’s been par for the course lately, is now something of a relief since it’s allowed me to avoid the massive question of what the hell do I do now?
As Dean and I walk out into the bright fall sunshine, the movement of his body so familiar next to mine, I know I can’t avoid that question much longer.
“How were morning classes?” I ask.
“Good. Busy with grading midterms.”
“Midterms are over already?” I shuffle my feet to make the leaves crackle beneath my shoes. “Next thing you know, it’ll be Christmas.”
“Yeah.” He glances at me. “You want to go anywhere?”
“Not really. Why?”
“I was thinking we could take a trip somewhere for a week or two. Hawaii, Florida. Someplace warm.”
I’m a little surprised by this. Dean has always liked a cold, snowy Christmas.
“Uh, any particular reason?” I ask.
“Maybe it would help to get away for a while,” he says.
It’s the first time he’s acknowledged that we need actual help. Only he has no idea that I’ve made things even worse.
I mutter something noncommittal as we head into a café for lunch. Our conversation is casual and impersonal—work, students, local happenings. I tell him about the Historical Society’s holiday festival, and he tells me about the progress of the book he’s writing on medieval architecture. We discuss the weather.
Yeah. The weather.
After lunch, we walk back outside and stand on the sidewalk.
“Want a ride home?” Dean asks.
“No, I’m going back to the museum. I’ll walk.”
“Okay.” He glances at his watch. “So I’ll see you tonight.”
“Sure. Any ideas for dinner?”
“Make something from your class, if you have time,” he suggests. “Sounds like it’s going well for you.”
I wouldn’t say that, exactly. “I can make parmesan chicken.”
“Great.” He hesitates, then leans forward to brush his lips across mine. “See you later.”
I watch him go. He’s never hesitated before kissing me. Ever.
I work at the museum for a few more hours, then stop at the grocery store on the way home for the chicken ingredients. It’s an easy recipe, one of the first dishes Tyler taught us to make, and by the time Dean comes home the kitchen smells good and the chicken is almost done.