Page 111 of Manhattan Kiss

I take a steadying breath and will the lift to move more quickly.

Finally, after what feels like forever, it reaches floor three and the doors ping open. I move to one side to let Deacon out and keep my gaze on the floor.

As he passes me, his fingers find mine, just for a second.

My hand heats, my skin flashes hot, and my entire body turns boneless.

It was just more than a hint of a touch, a brief acknowledgement that we were something more to each other once.

And it completely ends me inside.

Heartbreak and longing balloon in my chest, and I have the urge to run again. Run out of this lift and down the stairs. Out of this hotel. Back home.

It’s so difficult to have come so close to something that was almost perfect. For me.

If I’d never known him, I could have passed his touch off as an accident.

But Deacon doesn’t touch women in elevators by mistake.

He meant to touch me.

He didn’t know it would bring back the rush of pain.

I’m not sure if it was an I’m sorry. Or I hope you’re okay. Or I miss you.

Maybe it was all of those things.

I have no doubt that Deacon felt something for me. I believe in our connection. I just think he was so terrified that his daughter would feel what he felt as a kid, because of the death of his sister and his home life, that he couldn’t let himself focus on anything but her. But what he couldn’t see was that he was really trying to rewind time and stop himself from being hurt—an impossible task. All it did was to stop him from fully living.

There are worse flaws to have. There are worse men to be. He’s entirely devoted to his daughter and I can’t hate him for that.

I just wish it could have been different for us.

He steps out of the lift and instead of continuing to his room, he stops, as if he’s waiting for the doors to close. I can’t tear my gaze from him. It might be the last time I ever lay eyes on him, and I want to draw it out and make it last.

Maybe he realizes it too. Maybe that’s why he stays as the doors close.

At the last minute, just as there’s just a few inches between the closing doors, Deacon turns and we lock eyes once again.

For the last time.

And inside, I break in two.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Deacon

On Sunday morning, I roll the bright pink suitcase into Willow’s room. “I bought you something,” I say.

She comes running over, her smile wide in excitement.

“My own suitcase?” she asks. “Wow, Daddy! Thank you.”

“Well, you’ll need to take some of your things to your mommy’s place. And then you will need to bring some stuff back when you come home on Wednesday.”

She grins at me like she’s about to go on an adventure. “I made a pile of these toys that I want to take with me.” She steps aside to reveal a great mound of toys on her bed.

“That’s a lot. And they’re all soft toys.”