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She shook her head. “I don’t think so. I hope you’re interested in having a houseguest for the weekend because I don’t feel like going home.”
“Always,” I replied without hesitation. “But I have two showings tomorrow.”
“Early?” she asked, her tone hopeful.
“11 and 1,” I said, then raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you?”
“I was gifting myself a day off,” she replied, though we both knew in our line of work, that was wishful thinking.
I laughed softly, pressing another kiss to the tip of her nose. “You know in this business, you never get a day off.”
“Unfortunately,” she sighed, snuggling closer.
I ran my fingers through her hair, smoothing it back. “Let’s shower and have some food,” I suggested.
She smiled, her lips brushing against my chest. “You ruined my favorite pair of panties, but I suppose I’ll forgive you,” she whispered, a teasing lilt in her voice.
“Only if you promise to stay,” I murmured, my heart swelling with the thought of her staying longer.
“Deal,” she whispered back, sealing it with a soft kiss.
I couldn’t bring myself to look at Michael’s face. The anguish etched into his features was too much to bear. We were sitting at Brooks and Son, nursing drinks after a long day, and I’d just dropped the bomb that I was attending Morgan’s wedding with Erika this Saturday. Instead of meeting his eyes, I focused on my scotch, absently swirling the ice cubes around with my finger, the clinking sound filling the heavy silence between us.
After what felt like an eternity, Michael finally spoke, his voice low and strained. “I want you to take something to her.”
I glanced up, catching the glimmer of desperation in his eyes. “What?”
“A letter,” he said, the words weighted with emotion. “I wrote it a few weeks ago. I knew she was never going to split from her fiancé, but Slade Abbott is all wrong for her. She belongs with me.”
My heart twisted for him. I reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder, trying to offer some semblance of comfort. “I’m sorry, Michael. I promised Erika I’d be her escort.”
He gave a small, resigned nod, the pain in his expression deepening. “Your relationship seems to be moving along.”
“It is,” I admitted, leaning back in my chair, “but it’s not without bumps. I fucked up more than once.”
Before Michael could respond, our waitress approached, asking if we needed refills. She was a pretty brunette, probably no older than twenty-two, with high cheekbones and full lips. I noticed the way her gaze flicked between Michael and me, a calculated interest in her eyes as if she were sizing us up.
In any other situation, I might’ve slipped her my card, but not tonight. “We’re good,” I told her, my voice flat. She flashed us a smile before turning to check on another table, her figure swaying as she walked away.
“She’s into you,” I said, tilting my head toward her retreating form.
Michael barely spared her a glance. “I have no interest. I love Morgan.”
I sighed, the weight of his unyielding devotion pressing down on me. “You need to get over her, Michael. Move on.”
“I can’t,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I love her.”
We’d had this conversation before, too many times to count. But this time, I could relate in a way I hadn’t before. The thought of being separated from Erika again was unbearable—I couldn’t function without her.
“I wish things were different,” I said, the words sounding hollow even to me.
“Me too,” Michael replied, lifting his glass and taking a long, hard gulp of his vodka.
A heavy silence settled between us. I swirled the remaining scotch in my glass, watching the amber liquid coat the sides before taking a sip. “I’d never wish ill on anyone,” I began, hesitating for a moment, “but maybe her marriage won’t work out.”
Michael’s eyes darkened as he stared into his drink. “Abbott is a smug bastard. I have a feeling it won’t work out, but who knows? That could be years from now. And in the meantime, I’ll spend my life comparing every woman to Morgan.”
His words hung in the air, a bleak truth that neither of us could deny. I wanted to offer him hope, some light at the end of this tunnel, but the reality was grim. Love, as powerful as it was, could also be a brutal force—leaving scars that time alone couldn’t heal.
