he didn’t turn away. She could have—she had the perfect reason to—but she didn’t.
Instead she looked right at me when I crouched beside her and touched the sleeve of her gray sweatshirt. Instead she brushed the dirt from her hands and told me she was okay. Instead she asked me about medieval knights while I stood between her and the busy street and tried not to stare at her curved body.
Instead she stepped toward me. I had the strange thought that she wanted to come even closer.
November 20
I run outside a lot these days. Usually when the weather gets cold, I work out at the gym, play basketball, or run the indoor track at the university. Not this year. First thing in the morning, I put in five or six miles through town.
Liv is still asleep when I leave. She sleeps hard. She has ever since we got married. Before that, she slept restlessly, tossing and turning, waking often. Now my getting up, shuffling around the bedroom, turning on the bathroom light—none of it stirs her. The smell of coffee, though, that gets her going.
I press a kiss to her hair before I leave. I love her hair—thick, straight, shiny. I could spend hours nuzzling her hair, touching it. A sweet scent drifts from her, vanilla and something fruity. Peaches maybe. She always smells good.
She doesn’t move. I pull on my running shoes and head out the front door.
Mirror Lake is still, silent, only a few lights shining. My shoes slam against the road as I pick up the pace. Down Emerald Street, a path along the lake, back up into a residential neighborhood of refurbished old houses.
Thoughts that crowd my head all day, when I can’t shove them aside, whip away the faster I run.
Run. Run. Don’t think. Don’t imagine. Don’t remember.
Cold air hits me, the sharp sting of wind. Ice in my lungs. The grayness of dawn. My mind empties. For an hour, there’s only muscles burning, chest expanding, blood pumping. Into town again, past shops, restaurants, the movie theater.
It’s a good run, almost seven miles. I walk the final blocks home. A bakery on Avalon Street is just opening its doors. I stop to buy a bag of muffins.
The lights are still off in the apartment when I get home. I shower and dress in trousers, shirt, and tie before going to make coffee.
The pot’s almost full when Liv emerges, pushing her hair away from her face. She’s bundled in a robe that has enough padding to keep her warm in an avalanche.
She gives me a sleepy half-smile and pulls out a chair at the table. I add cream and sugar to a cup of coffee and hand it to her.
“Thanks.” She takes a sip and sighs with bliss. The breathy sound makes my cock twitch.
I turn away from her to pour myself a cup of coffee. We haven’t had sex in weeks, since before she kissed that bastard. Neither of us has mentioned it. I assume she hasn’t been interested, especially after the accident.
Her left hand rests on the table. The doctor removed the stitches yesterday, and now a scar mars the skin of her palm. I can’t stand that she got hurt so badly. That it was my fault.
My throat constricts. I fight down a wave of anger.
“Working at the bookstore today?” I ask.
“No, but I have a shift at the Historical Museum,” Liv says. “We’re putting together a quilt exhibition along with things like spinning wheels and looms. Oh, you know that old Victorian house over on Tulip Street, the Langdon House? The Historical Society decorates it every Christmas as part of the holiday festival and tour. Trees, lights, ornaments, the works. Samantha asked me to help with that this year too.”
I glance at her, my anger draining at the pride in her brown eyes. Since we moved to Mirror Lake, Liv has struggled to find a place for herself, and now she seems to have found it. She loves working at the Historical Museum and the bookstore, and with her newfound interest in cooking…
Shit.
I slide a hand to the back of Liv’s neck and bend to kiss her. She makes a little noise of surprised pleasure and opens her mouth to let me in. I tighten my grip on her neck. She gets it, and leans in for a harder kiss.
Her mouth is full, soft. One of the first things I noticed about her as she stood in front of me on the busy sidewalk. Probably one of the first things other men—
Stop.
I straighten and run my hand through Liv’s hair. My heartbeat’s kicked up a notch. I sit at the table and open the paper. Swallow some coffee, eat a muffin. Chew, swallow. Swallow, chew.
Don’t think about him.
Him and her.
I push the paper aside and stand. She looks up.
“I need to head out early,” I say. “I’ll see you this evening. Call if you need me.”
She smiles. “I always need you.”
For now, her words are enough. Enough to diminish the fire of jealousy I can’t put out. But I have no idea what’ll make it flare again.