Page 49 of Love Under the Microscope
The tension knotting my shoulders loosens a little. “Inside and out, but how did you know?”
“Because of the way you said her name and how you talk about her. You love her so much.”
Love, not loved. My heart shifts again. “Thank you for understanding.”
She squeezes my hand again, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I missed her warmth.
“I’ve never lost someone I loved the way you have, but I grieved the loss of my marriage. Divorcing Nate brought a weird mix of emotions. It still does some days.”
Been there, felt that. I half laugh. “I’m sure it does.”
“Just remember, you’ll always have the memories of Aisha and what you shared together, but you’re still here, so you shouldn’t feel guilty about living.”
“Even if living means I want to kiss you again?”
“Even then.”
My gaze locks with Zelda’s. A part of me wishes I believed that, and maybe I do, but moving on feels impossible. At least when it comes to my personal life.
Does living also mean loving?
I don’t want to know the answer.
Still, I want that kiss. I tilt my head and move closer to her.
“What would you like to drink?”
I jerk back, nearly falling out of the booth. Somehow, I maintain my balance before my ass hits the floor.
A server dressed in black with spiky black hair smiles at us and readies her pen. “Your order?”
Zelda smiles. “Two Long Island iced teas, please.”
“I’ll be back shortly.” The server hurries away, making a beeline to the bar.
“A beer would have been fine. Cheaper,” I say, trying to control my rapid breathing.
“You’ll like it.” Zelda’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “So where were we?”
The moment or whatever we’ve shared has been broken. If only the server had arrived a few minutes earlier before I told Zelda about Aisha, I could have avoided saying anything. And now I need time to regroup. “You’re going to tell me what you thought about Nigel’s call.”
Something—disappointment, perhaps—flashes on Zelda’s face, but a smile quickly slides into place. “You heard what he said as much as I did.”
Her tone is frosty, but I don’t blame her. Not after I poured a figurative pitcher of ice water over the spark building between us. “Yes, but I don’t know the backstory.”
She looks like she wants to huff or pout but pushes her hair behind her ear instead. “I believe he was speaking about Zentello to whoever was on the other end.”
“And him going to the safe?”
“I don’t know, but he could have been keeping the pages there. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“Well, he’s the CEO of a pharmaceutical company. He could keep confidential papers in the safe.”
“He could.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“No, though I might have tunnel vision where he is concerned.”
