The phone rang behind her. She spun and nearly jumped back a foot as she saw Jon leaning in the doorway. The photo album slipped from her grip, but he closed the distance between them and caught it before it could hit the ground. Setting it aside, he pulled out his phone and answered it. The twitch of his lips as he did so didn’t dilute the seriousness of his dark blue eyes.
“What can I do for you, sweet girl?”
She wet her lips, staring at him, her mind whirling. With him so close, his voice created an echo with what she heard through her phone. She held the phone to her ear, silly really, but he was standing there as if he was in his office, miles between them.
That was the problem. By doing this alone, she’d put a distance between them that had no place in their relationship. And had brought back that terrible loneliness when she’d been genuinely alone in the world. She remembered what he’d murmured to her at their wedding, when they were dancing.
You stand in my soul; I stand in yours. That’s the room we always share, no matter where we are.
She clicked off the phone and set it aside. He did the same, putting it in his suit jacket, his steady eyes never leaving her.
“I was calling you because I wanted to hear your voice,” she said. “And I wanted to tell you why I stayed home today.” She found she couldn’t form those words yet, though, so she fished for something else to lead into it. “Um…what are you doing back?”
“I had to finish up a report for Lucas at the office, go over it with him. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have left this morning. I was coming back afterward, but I was hoping you would call first.” His gaze slid to the phone and back to her. “You did.”
The warmth in his voice eased the tightness around her heart. “I’m sorry, Jon.”
He’d slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, but he bent forward and brushed his lips along her temple, making her close her eyes and move her hands to his chest, palms resting against the heat beneath starched cotton.
“Tell me why you’re sorry,” he said.
“I think you already know.”
“I do. But tell me. I want you to say it while looking at me.”
She forced herself to open her eyes and look up at him. Though he wasn’t overly tall, she was only about five-three, so there were about seven inches difference in their heights. His face was close, though, bent attentively over hers.
“Today is my son’s birthday,” she said. “I always stay home on that day. I bake him a cake. The first year, after he died, I planted poppies, in remembrance of him, both as a soldier and as my son. I’ve propagated them over the years. Those are the poppies I brought to our home here, in pots, from the balcony of my apartment.”
He nodded. He’d complimented her on how well the flowers were doing during their blooming season. Many men paid little attention to the details of their home. He missed nothing, always noting if she’d hung a new picture or bought a seasonal throw rug. “Earlier this morning, I cleaned up the spot where I planted them and added a border. I used the rocks I’ve been collecting around our place, and on our trips together. After I bake the cake, I look through the photo album of his pictures. That’s what I was about to do next.”
She looked down, then remembered, and looked back up. He closed his hands around her upper arms, adding support as the rest of the words came.
“I cry. I sleep. I think of what might have been. I think of him every day, but I give myself one day out of the year to let it all out, all the feeling I have about losing him.”
“Alone.”
She swallowed. “I’ve always grieved him alone.”
His lips tightened, but his tone gentled as he touched her face. “Do you want to grieve him alone? A truthful answer, Rachel. If this is something you prefer to do by yourself, you can tell me up front. I’ll try to respect and understand that. I’ll go back to work, think about you, hurt for you, and when I come home tonight, I’ll comfort you however you need, but if you want that space, you have it. No wrong answer.”
He meant it. She could tell him yes, to go back to work, but it wasn’t a truthful answer. And truth was important, to them both.
“No. I don’t want to grieve him alone. I think that was what I just realized. That I didn’t have to do it by myself. It was why I was calling you.”
His expression eased. She knew he didn’t like her to be hurting and him not be close enough to shelter and protect. Her nurturing Master.
“All right. When do you eat the cake?”
Her spirits tilted in an upward direction at the casually posed question. Her Master cared first and foremost about her welfare, but he also had a serious sweet tooth. His blue eyes twinkled.
“Whenever you wish,” she said. “I thought about taking it into town and leaving it in the K&A breakroom for everyone to share.”
“Maybe we’ll cut up the rest for them. Tomorrow.” He winked at her and moved toward the door, the photo album now in one arm while he held her hand in the other. “Let’s go down to the couch. That’s where you were headed with it, right?”
She nodded and followed him down the steps into their open living room, with the wide glass windows and plants that tied the interior to the natural exterior. Japanese maples, aralia with its starlike leaves, and several bonsai in various shapes and sizes, placed on earth-toned wooden pedestals. It made their living room feel like an atrium, and she loved the effect. Their entire home made her feel more at ease.
He set aside the album to shed his suit coat, draping it on one of the chairs pulled up to the high counter that flanked their open kitchen. He also loosened and removed the tie, unbuttoned his collar and cuffs, and rolled up his sleeves. It was one of her favorite looks for him, the dress shirt with the belted trim slacks.
Though there was a lot to be said for him in jeans and a well-worn T-shirt that clung to his toned upper body, too. She liked the way he looked in anything. Though he was one of the most breathtaking men she’d ever seen, it didn’t have anything to do with his outside. Not since she’d learned about the generous heart and loving soul that gorgeous exterior covered.
As he guided her into a seated position on the couch, she sighed. “I was being stupid, thinking you wouldn’t know.”
He sat down next to her, putting a hand on hers. He gave her a look. “That’s one. Correct yourself.”
He only approved self-criticism if it was intended to build her up, like if she decided she needed to learn more about a certain yoga practice, or if she realized a therapy strategy hadn’t worked out the way she’d hoped, and she was trying to figure out why. Calling herself stupid fell in his total disapproval range.
“Some part of me felt it was part of my old life,” she said slowly. “This ritual, that is. Not my son. I didn’t want to burden you with it. I didn’t want to darken what we have with the feelings I’ve always felt on this day.”
“What feelings are those?”
She shook her head, but the touch of his fingers transformed into a firm grip on her wrist. “That’s two.”