Page 34 of The Write Choice

This used to happen all the time. I’d catch sight of her when she didn’t know I was watching, a soft smile on her face as she felt her growing belly. Or she’d come behind me when I was sitting on the couch looking at something for work and drag her hands over my chest, pressing her lips to that space between my neck and my shoulder. Or we’d be at a stuffy party full of rich idiots, and she’d catch my eye from across the room, but I’d already be looking at her, and she’d blush.

My love for her has always been all-consuming, but it has consistently been these small moments that knock the wind out of me.

I pull back and rest my forehead against hers, my eyes still closed while I breathe heavily.

“Dinner won’t be ready for another half hour,” she whispers, amused.

“Okay.” The roughness has returned to my voice tenfold. Fuck it. I don’t care if she knows how much I want her.

“The kids will have to wash their hands again.” I can hear the smile in her voice, so I open my eyes and, sure enough, the corners of her mouth are curled up gently.

It knocks the air out of me again. Katie is a guarded woman. She doesn’t smile often, and her smiles are precious. I take in the contours of this one, more than a little proud that I put it there, and bottle it up in my memory.

“Fine.” I lean in to kiss her again, and she lets me. No, she doesn’t just let me. She’s as eager to kiss me as I am to kiss her.

“Hey Mom—oh. Um, Chrissy, let’s go play upstairs.” The sound of Mason’s voice causes me to pull reluctantly away from Katie’s lips again, but I hear two sets of little footsteps scurry upstairs. Katie glances over my shoulder, then back at me, and we both break into a fit of giggles.

“They’re going to be scarred for life,” she says between laughter.

“I can think of worse things for them to see than their parents madly in love with each other,” I return.

Her clear, blue eyes flick back and forth between mine, and her smile fades slightly.

“‘Madly in love,’ huh?” she asks.

I swallow hard, then lift a hand to cup her cheek. She leans into it, and I feel more than hear that little purr of hers.

“Yes, Cat.” I sound over-eager now, but I don’t care about that, either. I want her to know how completely lost to her I am. I always have been.

Her smile is gone now, but she closes her eyes and rests her cheek on my palm. Her face looks peaceful. More peaceful than I’ve seen it in a long time.

She takes in a deep breath through her nose. “I’m glad you’re here,” she whispers.

Whatever pieces of my heart were left intact shatter. How the fuck did I miss this for so long? What made me think staying late at work was more important than these moments right here?

I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead in a silent promise that I’ll never miss these moments again. I fold her into me so her cheek is resting against my chest, then lower my chin to the top of her head, breathing in the scent that is so uniquely Katie—her rose-scented shampoo mixed with the smell of art supplies she never fully gets rid of, no matter how long it’s been since she’s painted. I hold her close, and she finally wraps her arms around my torso.

“Me too, Cat.” I squeeze her even closer to me. “Me too.”

Chapter 10

Katie

We make it to the end of the week, and things have been going pretty well. It’s late afternoon on Friday, and I’m feeling optimistic as I half-shut the door to my studio and sit at the desk. I unfold my laptop and open my email. I click on the link my therapist sent last night and do a quick check in the camera before connecting. My hair is mostly escaping its ponytail, and I’m not wearing any makeup, but I’m already a few minutes late so it’ll have to do.

“Katie,” my therapist’s bright voice comes through, though it takes another second for her face to appear on the screen. She’s a slight woman with dark skin and hair so black it’s almost blue. Her eyes are a warm brown, and even through the screen, I can tell she is looking right into mine over the distance.

“Hi, Nora.” I give her a half-smile and an awkward wave. I don’t make a habit of doing video calls, but telehealth seemed like the best option to continue therapy until I found someone local. Luckily, Nora was more than willing to accommodate the request.

Her office is in full view behind her—a cozy space with a couch and an armchair. The walls are painted a welcoming gray, and I can just make out the corner of the nondescript piece of art I used to stare at whenever I wanted to avoid her eye contact.

No avoiding eye contact over the internet, though, it seems. I suppress a shudder at how eerie it is that she can see me through my laptop camera.

“How did the move go?” She opens her notepad to a new page and clicks her pen.

I sigh. “It was fine, I guess.”

“Still not sold on the Midwest, I take it?” A corner of her mouth tilts up.