Amazingly and mercifully, the kids went to bed without complaint, done in by the long walk, a simple but good meal of vegetarian chili and buttery rolls, and three bedtime stories, one read by her, two read by Brian. The observation pained Katelyn: Brian would be a sweet, involved father someday—just not to her kids.
She lit a couple candles and poured them each a mug of chamomile tea. Lord knew, she needed the calming effect.
“Is it to be continued time?” Brian asked. She nodded.
They sat thigh to thigh on the couch, and it was impossible for Katelyn’s whole body not to remember their not-a-date date. The feelings it had forced her to admit would not go away, apparently, no matter how stupid, ill-timed and impossible they were.
She sipped her tea, enjoying the solid presence of Brian beside her even though she knew she shouldn’t.
“I’m sorry.” Her whisper split the comfortable seam of silence.
“No, I’m sorry. I really like you, Katelyn, maybe even, I don’t know, could love you, like really love you.”
It was the first time he’d spoken the L-word to her; she wished he’d just curse or swear instead.
“And I’m selfish,” he continued. “I keep promising myself I’ll leave you alone, but then I miss you so much that I convince myself I can handle it, that we can pull off just being friends. I mean I have other women friends. It’s seriously not that hard—”
“Just with me it is.”
His laugh was sad. “Yeah, you get it. As usual.”
“I feel the same way and worse, like I’m leading you on, saying one thing, but doing another or acting in a way that makes a liar out of me.”
“No, I get it. The things you want and are striving for are smart and necessary—but your heart just happens to be as stupid and illogical as mine.”
Now it was Katelyn’s turn to laugh. And it was sad too. “I guess it’s like the old saying, the heart wants what it wants.”
Brian sighed. “Exactly.”
They each took large mouthfuls of tea, as if seeking to fortify themselves.
“So where does that leave us?”
Katelyn groaned. “I don’t know? Tortured? Suffering cruel and unusual punishment?”
Brian chuckled. “Well, I guess there’s some comfort in the fact that it’s not one-sided agony.” He clapped his hand on her knee.
It was a simple, companionable gesture. It shouldn’t have felt sexual in any way, but Katelyn shuddered and clenched her mug in both hands, struggling against a wave of arousal. Why did his nearness, let alone the merest physical contact with him, always trigger this over the top reaction? What was wrong with her? Why was a touch between them never just a touch?
“No, never fear that,” she agreed.
He grinned, but his eyes were rueful in the candle’s glow. “This back and forth, hot and cold, stay, no go . . . it’s killing me.”
“Me too. It will be better once I move away.”
“What if you can’t move?”
“What do you mean?” Katelyn had been feeling relaxed, meltingly so even, but now her backbone solidified again and all her muscles tightened.
Brian sighed. “Steve is a grade A, all caps total douche bag, for sure . . . but it’s a very rare judge that will permit a parent to relocate a family for no other reason than to punish the spouse.”
“It’s not to punish him!”
“I know that and you know that, but it’s not like you’re being forced to relocate for work or better opportunities. If anything, it’s a sounder financial decision to stay here, and it’s less disruptive to the kids. Plus, the new trend in the courts is to go with ‘the best interest of the children,’ and for some reason that has been translated into having contact with their biological parents, pretty much regardless of what one parent has done to the other parent or even to the children. The judge will frown on a move just for a move’s sake.”
He was right and she knew it—just like, in her darker moments, she knew she would be tied to Steve for the rest of her days, divorced or not, shared geography or not, because they had kids together.
“I’ve been calling about rentals in town for the fall,” she admitted.
He nodded. Their cups were almost empty.
“So where does that leave us?” he repeated. “If you’re living here . . . ”
Katelyn took a deep, wobbly breath. “For weeks now, for months even, I’ve been wanting to say we should go for it. That’s the whole reason I decided to finally get divorced, so we could . . . explore what’s between us.”
The happiness her words sparked in Brian’s eyes brought a lump to Katelyn’s throat, so sharp it was like she’d swallowed glass. He must’ve been able to read her expression as easily as she read his, however, and his countenance fell.
His voice was soft. “But you also keep wanting to play it safe, to focus on building a life for you and Sawyer and Lacey without bringing down any more of Steve’s ire than is absolutely unavoidable.”
She nodded miserably. “And I can’t ask you to wait for me to sort myself out. It’s not fair.”
“I don’t even know what I’d be waiting for,” he agreed. “I’ve never seen myself as a long-term commitment guy, but it’s like I said, I can’t stop seeing us together, no matter how much my brain yells, what are you thinking? Are you nuts?”
Katelyn slammed her empty mug down on the end table. “I know. Exactly. Why, since we both want nothing more than friendship, can’t we just turn off the bloody romance and fireworks machine?”
“You should go,” she said a moment later. Brian nodded and moved to comply, but then she placed her hand on his arm and he stayed put. Next, despite every line of logic ripping through her brain and every rational reason why she shouldn’t do what she was about to, she added, “but first, if you want, if it won’t make everything worse, you should kiss me good-bye.”
Brian reached across her body to place his empty tea mug beside hers, then settled back to sitting—but with a greater space between them than had existed seconds before. He looked at her for a long time, staring first into her eyes, then dropping his gaze to her mouth, then meeting her eyes again.
“Kiss you good-bye until we meet up next, or kiss you good-bye as in we’re going to stop seeing each other, going to stop . . . whatever this is?”
She had no good answer, and after a second’s pause he shrugged.
He pressed a finger to the plumpest part of her lower lip, and her mouth fell open involuntarily. His eyes, staring into hers so intensely, darkened. Her insides thrilled.
He cupped her cheek with one palm, tilted her chin and angled her mouth to receive his. She stretched up to meet him, her whole body longing for whatever short, stolen, quick before they came to their senses moment this would be—
But he didn’t kiss her. Or not her mouth, anyway. Instead he brushed his lips across her temple, then bent in and gently rested his forehead against hers.
“I want to, but I can’t,” he finally said. “Or I won’t. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but until I know exactly what you’re offering—until you know what you want, I’m not in. I just . . . can’t. I think you’ll hurt me.”
He thought she could hurt him. She pulled back, breathing hard, dizzy with unfulfilled want, humiliation . . . and anger. She was furious with herself. He was right. Again. She was being terribly unfair. And weak. She had to stop this emotional pendulum of want, want not, want, want not. It was exhausting. And maddening. And beyond frustrating.
“If we can’t be more, I would like us to remain friends. But that means we need set in stone boundaries.”
She nodded. It made sense. Perfect sense. And it was wise. She even appreciated him for stating it. But it sucked. It totally and in every way sucked.
The trail they’d walked with the kids earlier—and the fork in the path—flashed into her mind. She had reached another fork and couldn’t stall forever. She needed to decide whether she truly lived by her motto in the framed picture or not. She couldn’t keep taking one step forward, three back. If she did, she would eventually hurt Brian to a point where they couldn’t even be friends.
She was bereft but no more enlightened when the cabin’s door opened, then shut, and Brian was gone.