It was wrong for a grown man to sneak into his office, let alone for him to even remotely consider working with the lights off. Not because of migraines or sensitivity or anything like that, but because he didn’t want to deal with his family. Yet that was me come Monday morning.
Unfortunately my family knew me, and knew that, come hell or high water, I’d be behind that desk. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when James walked in without knocking. “We need to talk.”
I was so sick of hearing him say that, especially when it meant shoveling the same shit and getting nowhere. Somehow, I didn’t think that was the case this time. I sat back and laid my hands on my stomach. “If it’s about DeShawn, not now.”
“Malik, I’ve been trying to call you all weekend.”
I knew this. No way I could have missed those messages and voice mails. I’d needed time to think. About seeing DeShawn again, about the reality of our marital situation, about the decision we’d—I’d—made at Larry’s office.
“This is something that involves the entire family,” James insisted, and I frowned. Because that was bullshit.
“No, it doesn’t. It involves me. It involves DeShawn. You’re no more involved than we are with you and your wife.”
James straightened, his shoulders stiffening and his arms hanging low at his sides. I saw the tightness in them, though, the way he flexed his fingers wide before fisting them again. He hated to be reminded about his slightly more-than-estranged relationship with his wife, and he’d put his foot down on anyone asking questions about it. Goose, meet gander.
“I agree we need to talk about DeShawn,” I said, trying to soften the admittedly low blow, “but not now. Now, I’m at work. I have work hours, and I don’t talk about my personal life during said work hours.”
James glared at me for another moment, then turned and walked out. At least he had the sense not to slam my door. I sank into the chair and ran my hands over my face. DeShawn and I hadn’t spoken since Larry’s office, other than to schedule a time to meet. He was coming to the house—tonight. With his dog, who would meet my dog, and we were going to figure out the bounds of this “reunion.”
That had been enough to keep me awake the whole damn weekend, and I hadn’t thought of a single thing other than the idea of DeShawn in my home for however many weeks we had before trial. James’s protests over not returning his calls? Subbasement level on my list of concerns.
I spent the next however many minutes doing all the deep breathing and meditating I could, and finally had enough wits about me to get some work done. It was hard. For every two or three or four items I checked off my list, a memory of DeShawn—his smile, his appreciative gaze—flashed in my head. Another three or four or five items, and I heard his voice in my ear. What would he say about the state of our restaurant? Would he say I’d screwed things up? Would he agree with James that my ideas were worthless?
“Arrgghhhh!” I flicked my pen down across the desk and pushed my chair back. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t focus, and I damn sure couldn’t do my job. A quick glance at my watch showed it wasn’t even ten, and no way in hell was I getting two more hours of work done.
I left the office and walked up front, hoping to at least talk to Sheila a bit while she prepped for lunch, and found James sitting there. Which was a surprise, because James typically came in like a whirlwind, bellowed at me, and left just as quickly. He didn’t linger.
“Malik,” he said, straightening and pasting perhaps the fakest smile I’d ever seen across his face. He seemed to struggle for words, eventually landing on, “Hey.”
I raised a brow. James had been pissed with me just a minute ago, so why was he still hanging around here? And why was he playacting at being nice after being his usual assholish self just minutes before?
Sheila came out from the kitchen, a towel thrown over her shoulder, murder in her eyes because someone was fucking up her schedule, and sat next to him. “Mom called. Said to find out how all this happened. Like I don’t have better things to do.”
“Why didn’t you just tell her? You’ve got the whole story.”
I don’t even know why I was surprised by the brow raise. “It’s not my story to tell.”
Of course not. Just mine to repeat ad nauseam. I sighed and pulled up a chair. Might as well get this over with. “Okay, let’s do this,” I said. “What do you want to know?”
“Well,” James started, then coughed. “I guess...everything.”
I ran a hand over my face. This was a part of my life I’d thought would stay dead and buried. I did not relish reliving it with an irritated sister and pissed-off brother. “I honestly don’t know how much there is to say. We were married, and we divorced. Years ago.”
“Oh, bullshit.” James pushed his chair back, and I watched it wobble for a second before righting itself. “How the hell didn’t you tell us you were married to DeShawn fucking Franklin?”
Sheila groaned and threw her head back. “James, please.”
“He kept the biggest news on the planet away from us. Do you know what having DeShawn in our back pocket could have done for this restaurant?”
“See, that?” I pointed at him and he looked at my finger like he wanted to break it. “That right there? That’s why I never said anything to you. DeShawn is not a fucking piece of meat. DeShawn was my husband. I loved him. Before he went to culinary school, when he was a sous chef at a tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurant who liked to use me as his goddamn guinea pig. You are not going to use him as a slab of meat to lure people in. And fuck you for even considering it.”
“Okay, enough!” Sheila’s sharp words were enough to shut me up and make me suck in a deep breath.
I sat, focusing my attention on her and ignoring the asshole still pacing the table. “I wasn’t out. I couldn’t even come home to you, introduce you to him, because I didn’t know how to tell you I was gay. And D? He got that. He never tried to force me, he honestly never cared if I told you or not. But he was such a good cook. And he started getting all these opportunities. Ones that having a closeted husband didn’t work with.” I shook my head, trying to put together the words in a way that made sense. “I wanted him to have all of his dreams. I wanted him to do everything. Have the best of everything. And I was a yoke around his neck.”
“So he divorced you?”
Sheila looked almost offended, like she didn’t give a damn who he was, how dare he divorce her big brother? I loved the protectiveness, and needed to quash it. “No. I divorced him.”
A lump stuck in the base of my throat every time I thought about that conversation, about telling him it was time for us to move on, about the tears we’d both shared at that brutal realization. He told me he didn’t care, that I was more important than the opportunity.
I looked up and tried to smile, but only halfway made it. “I couldn’t let him give up his future to deal with my present. He deserved so much more. And the only way I could give it to him was to let him go.”
Both of them fell silent. Sheila set her elbows on the table and let her head fall in her hands. James? It was harder to read him, and I didn’t have the energy to try. He collapsed into his chair, his eyes searching me like he didn’t know me anymore, and in some ways, I guess that was true.
We sat there, the three of us, in the most uncomfortable silence I could remember.
I tried to ignore the increasing butterflies in my stomach as I pulled off 495 and wound through the streets of suburban Maryland. I’d never been all that interested in having a home in the ’burbs, but it had always been Malik’s thing, and I drove down the streets of named development complexes, past the recreational center, leasing office, and horses grazing in a pasture, before pulling up near the end of a cul-de-sac. Not at the circular portion, but only two or three spots down.
Next to me, Corey whined softly, and I ran my hand over his head. “It’s going to be okay, boy. Malik and his dog will love you.”
I hoped like hell that was true. I climbed out and walked around, unfastening Corey from his doggy seatbelt before leashing and walking him up the front steps of the house.
This was just a meet and greet. A chance for the dogs to get to know one another, and for me and Malik to have a real conversation about what we were doing without prying eyes watching our every move. It was one thing to play reunited lovers for the cameras, for the courts, but I knew without a doubt that Malik would be pushing this divorce through as soon as he had the opportunity.
What I also knew, what had become abundantly clear between receiving Grandma’s news, having dinner with her, and the meeting at Larry’s office? This, this right here? Was what I’d been missing.
Oh, sure, I’d acknowledged for years that I missed Malik with the fire of a thousand suns. That didn’t hold a candle in the face of actually being near him again, actually being able to touch him, to feel him. One look and I’d been ready to risk it all. Ready to say the hell with this entire career, if it meant I got to see that face every day for the rest of my life again.
But if I told Malik that? He’d probably laugh his ass off, not because he thought I was serious, but because he’d assume I was making a joke at his expense. It was his defense mechanism.
I took a deep breath, then rang the doorbell. The loud, deep barking from inside had Corey giving it back in spades, and I heard Malik’s exasperated sigh. “Calm down, Bruno. It’s okay, boy.”
Bruno did not calm down, and neither did Corey. He matched the growls on the other side of the door, his body going stiff and taut on my leash, warning Malik’s dog of his impending doom.
Malik unfastened the locks, and I could tell he was struggling to keep Bruno in line, only opening the door a crack before an absolutely huge mastiff nosed it open all the way. His position immediately changed, and the big lug sat down, panting.
I waited a few seconds, then unleashed Corey. He sniffed Bruno, who suddenly seemed more than willing to allow it. And when he was done, Corey let out a short bark, and Bruno took off toward what I assumed was the kitchen, my dog on his heels.
“Just like that, the best of friends,” Malik muttered.
I snorted. “All things considered, I think that’s a good sign.”
Malik’s eyes drifted to me, across my cheeks, lingering on my lips, down my neck. Then he closed his eyes, gave his head a little shake, and stepped back. “Come on in.”
It was nice to know I still affected him. I wanted to still affect him. I wanted him to want me as much as I had him the minute he’d walked down that dingy hallway and into the light. If the physical desire was still there, it meant I could work on everything else. Right?
I followed Malik through the open-concept layout and into the kitchen, pulling up a stool at the beautifully appointed island. A light gray granite countertop, white cabinets, all stainless steel appliances. An absolute bitch to clean, but for just Malik and the dog? Well worth it.
“Your home is beautiful,” I said, taking in the hardwood floors, the outside patio just a few steps away, the fireplace that I wanted to cozy up in front of, weather be damned.
How lovely would it be, to come home and recline on the couch with him, let him lean against me and read his favorite book while I thumbed through recipes? To have the dogs lying next to each other in front of the fireplace, or outside, or wherever.
A whole host of things I never thought I wanted rushed through me. And I blew out a breath to stop the tidal wave of sensation from overwhelming me.
I turned to face Malik, who was staring at me. “Thank you,” he whispered, almost like he didn’t want to break me out of my trance.
I smiled again, then nodded toward his hand, which was holding a square plastic container. “What’s that?”
He looked down, like he’d forgotten all about it, then shrugged. “Brownies.”
I held my hand out, and he cracked a fraction of a smile before plucking one out of the container and handing it to me. Malik had been trying to perfect his brownie recipe when we’d separated. I took a bite and—yeah, he’d nailed it.
“This is exceptional,” I said, shoving the rest of it in my mouth and then holding my hand out for another one.
Malik laughed, which had been my hope, but damn, I still wasn’t ready for what that sound did to me. How much it warmed me. How much it calmed me. How much it made me want to lay across the nearest surface and take everything he had to give me.
“So,” I said, forcing that thought out my head and focusing on Malik. “How do we want to do this?”
“I guess, I mean—” Malik stopped, closed his eyes and gripped the counter, then blew out a breath and looked at me. “At the end of the day, this isn’t about you or me. It’s about honoring Grandma and her wishes, and not let that lying sack of shit uncle of yours keep her from that. Right?”
“Right.” And it was right. Never mind that I’d nearly forgotten about it in the rush of pleasure that shot through me at seeing Malik again. But he was right, painfully so, and I needed to remember that.
Although, to be fair, it looked like Malik was having a hard time staying on task, too, but I refused to think about what that meant. “The dogs get along, and that’s half the battle.” He grinned and I nodded. Truth, and praise Jesus for it. “So I guess it’s just a matter of setting public and private boundaries.”
I raised a brow. “Are they going to be different?”
His eyes flashed. His nostrils flared, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips. I mirrored his movement and leaned a fraction forward, wanting to chase his tongue with mine. Malik cleared his throat, straightened, and stepped back. Fuck. Hadn’t meant to do that.
His voice sharpened. “Yes. When we’re in public, I’ll follow your lead. You know what plays well with the cameras. Whatever it takes to make us look like a happily married, happily reunited couple. But here?”
After a beat of silence, I prodded him. “Here?”
He frowned, then bracketed his hands on his hips and nodded. “Here, we’re roommates. Nothing more. You stay in your bed, you take care of your dog, you fix your meals. You don’t worry about what I’m doing, you don’t worry about how I’m eating, you don’t worry about Bruno.”
“Barely passing acquaintances.”
He raised a brow at me, then gave what I’m sure he hoped was a nonchalant shrug, but it was far too stiff. “Exactly that. That’s what we are while we’re here.”
I wanted to argue, to trample over every word he said. But that wasn’t the way I’d won Malik’s heart in the first place, and if I wanted another chance, disregarding his needs wasn’t the way to go now. I’d had a few weeks to accept that we were still married. I could afford to give Malik time to catch up.
But if he thought I was letting him go again, he had another think coming.