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From: [email protected]
Subject: Ti amo. Though I wish I didn’t.
It’s not, it’s really warm which is nice for a change. My drive to work was uneventful. Though I can’t say that about yesterday’s as I almost hit an old man chasing a balloon for his grandson.
I thought only children ran into the roads after inanimate objects, but apparently cane-wielding old folks with fanny packs and wobbly knees also like to forget jaywalking rules.
Everybody was fine.
I may have cussed a little. I’m not proud of it but nobody heard me so I can forgive myself.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Ti amo. Ti amo. Ti amo.
Glad everyone was okay, sounds like a rough way to start your day.
What did you have for lunch?
I laugh, I can’t help it. He’s really aiming for those boring questions like I asked, but I’m going to play along for now. I shouldn’t. But I am.
From: [email protected]
Subject: You’re not allowed to love me.
I had a PB&J, some salted chips, a bag of cookies, a banana, some grapes, and a coffee.
I’ve gained a couple of pounds since I started working here. I need to hit the gym more.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Love doesn’t need permission to thrive.
I love PB&J. I love extra pounds, especially on you.
I want to ask for a visual but I’m terrified you’ll stop replying to my emails.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Love is a dick, that’s why. Love needs to find a new home.
That’s a clever way of asking without fully committing to the question.
The answer is no.
How was your day?
From: [email protected]
Subject: Love found its home in us. It doesn’t need a new one.
I knew you’d appreciate it. I don’t see any visuals attached to the email so I’m safely assuming your answer was no.
My day is abysmal. I want to be with my love on her birthday, but she won’t permit it, despite the fact I know she wants it.
From: [email protected]
Subject: That home was demolished long ago, it lingers in the rubble pointlessly.
It’s my birthday. Of course I want it. All I ever wanted was you.
From: [email protected]
Subject: There’s nothing pointless about our lingering love.
In that case, I’m outside of your apartment. I will wait for an hour. If you choose to join me, or not, it is your decision.
I would very much like to see you.
No way…
He’s kidding right?
What do I do?
I consider calling Laurie but then she’ll talk me out of it and I really don’t want to be talked out of it. For all my bravado and desperation to stay away, I can’t help but want to pull him close whenever I get the chance.
It’s not right. In fact, it’s so wrong. Especially after hearing Elizabeth cry the way she did.
How did he even find out where I live? I suppose his ridiculous amount of money had something to do with it.
He’s come all this way, the least I can do is glance at him.
From: [email protected]
Subject: It’s pointless when it can’t continue…
Like our meeting. It’s not fair on those you love. Elizabeth will be devastated. She’s pregnant.
From: [email protected]
Subject: I don’t believe that.
Please join me outside so we can talk. I swear I will not touch you. You have my written promise. Just give me time. Let me take you to dinner on your birthday, or anywhere you desire. I know you don’t have plans with Robert, he told me so himself.
Of course he did.
That has Robert all over it.
Though why they’re discussing me when I expressly asked them not to is anyone’s guess.
Sighing, I dress in casual jean cut-offs and a white, long-sleeve, deep-V shirt that shows my cleavage and a hint of my white lace bra beneath. I add mascara, blush, and matte lipstick and even put on my favorite multi-layer gold necklace. I’m not trying to look good at all.
He’s looking at his phone when I exit through the main doors of my apartment building. Damn, he looks good, his hair is shorter, his jaw shaved clean, his free hand tucked into the pocket of dark jeans, his arm muscles tight against the white button-up that reveals the dip of his throat.
I stop and give myself a moment to compose myself.
I miss his body against mine so terribly I ache.
Feeling me watching him he looks up, and I stop myself from racing into his arms.
“Hey, beautiful,” he whispers when I approach slowly, and true to his word he doesn’t touch me, he doesn’t even kiss my cheek, just turns to the car that he parked illegally and opens the door for me.
“You’ve got to stop leaving your car wherever you want. You’re going to get a ticket.”
“I’m waiting right by it,” he argues with a smile. “It doesn’t count.”
He’s got me there.
“I got you a gift,” he says softly and nods to the back seat of the car.
I turn and look over my shoulder, spying the gift-wrapped package in the middle of the seats. “What is it?”
