didn’t miss it. I know you still love Melissa.”
Hearing his wife’s name twisted the knife that seemed to be permanently lodged in his gut.
When he didn’t add anything, she continued. “Why does that mean nothing can happen between us? Don’t you think she’d want you to move on? Find someone else?”
“I can’t.” Paul met Megan’s gaze and shook his head. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am, but I just can’t.”
Without giving Megan time to respond, Paul said good night, and bounded up the stairs. He was running away, he knew that, but it was either that or break down in front of her—and to Paul, that would have been worse. Talking about Melissa to Chloe was one thing. Discussing her with Megan was something altogether different. Paul didn’t want to think about why that was, exactly. He knew he might find answers he didn’t want to know.
Paul woke up the next morning feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. It had taken him hours of tossing and turning before he’d finally drifted off, and then when he did, he was tortured by images of Melissa and Megan. In one dream, he’d been lying in bed with his wife, talking . . . kissing. It was a pleasant dream, and one he had often.
But as he leaned in to give Melissa a kiss, the dream changed and it was no longer Melissa in front of him. It was Megan. He’d woken with a start, panting, and stiff as a board.
Sleep was impossible after that.
The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as Paul pulled Melissa’s mug out of the cabinet. He’d found it in the dishwasher the day after her funeral, and he’d been using it ever since for his morning cup of coffee. It made him feel close to her somehow, as if a part of her was still with him when he started his day.
Before his wife died, Paul always drank his coffee black. He figured if he was going to drink the caffeinated beverage then it shouldn’t be doctored to make it taste like something else. That was before, though.
Paul opened the refrigerator and removed the milk, setting it on the counter. Once the coffee pot stopped percolating, he filled his glass three quarters of the way, and then topped it off with milk—just like Melissa used to drink it.
After putting the milk away, Paul sat down at the kitchen table and picked up the morning paper he’d snatched from the driveway as soon as he came downstairs. This was his routine, and routines were good. Unfortunately, Paul couldn’t focus on the words in front of him. It was as if he were reading some foreign language instead of English.
Frustrated, he tossed the paper down on the table, and massaged his temples. What was happening to him?
The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused him to glance up. Seconds later, Megan appeared. She was still wearing her pajamas from the night before. The bottoms only covered about a quarter of her leg, which meant there was plenty left over for him to see. Megan wasn’t tall, but her legs were long, and for a moment, Paul wondered what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his hips.
Startled by the direction of his thoughts, Paul shot up out of his chair and nearly spilled what was left of his coffee.
“You okay?”
Paul noted the concern in her voice. Unfortunately that wasn’t helping whatever it was that seemed to be happening to him. To them. No, to him. There was no them . “Yeah, I’m fine.”
She looked at him intently for a long moment, and then strolled past him to the counter to get herself some coffee. Paul clenched his eyes closed, and forced himself to breathe. He needed to get out of there.
Clearing his throat, he turned to face her, but she had her back to him. Unfortunately, that gave him a clear view of her backside. He averted his eyes quickly as his body began to betray him. “I’m going to head to work early this morning to catch up on some paperwork.”
Megan turned around, holding her coffee against her chest. His eyes narrowed in on her
Hearing his wife’s name twisted the knife that seemed to be permanently lodged in his gut.
When he didn’t add anything, she continued. “Why does that mean nothing can happen between us? Don’t you think she’d want you to move on? Find someone else?”
“I can’t.” Paul met Megan’s gaze and shook his head. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am, but I just can’t.”
Without giving Megan time to respond, Paul said good night, and bounded up the stairs. He was running away, he knew that, but it was either that or break down in front of her—and to Paul, that would have been worse. Talking about Melissa to Chloe was one thing. Discussing her with Megan was something altogether different. Paul didn’t want to think about why that was, exactly. He knew he might find answers he didn’t want to know.
Paul woke up the next morning feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. It had taken him hours of tossing and turning before he’d finally drifted off, and then when he did, he was tortured by images of Melissa and Megan. In one dream, he’d been lying in bed with his wife, talking . . . kissing. It was a pleasant dream, and one he had often.
But as he leaned in to give Melissa a kiss, the dream changed and it was no longer Melissa in front of him. It was Megan. He’d woken with a start, panting, and stiff as a board.
Sleep was impossible after that.
The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as Paul pulled Melissa’s mug out of the cabinet. He’d found it in the dishwasher the day after her funeral, and he’d been using it ever since for his morning cup of coffee. It made him feel close to her somehow, as if a part of her was still with him when he started his day.
Before his wife died, Paul always drank his coffee black. He figured if he was going to drink the caffeinated beverage then it shouldn’t be doctored to make it taste like something else. That was before, though.
Paul opened the refrigerator and removed the milk, setting it on the counter. Once the coffee pot stopped percolating, he filled his glass three quarters of the way, and then topped it off with milk—just like Melissa used to drink it.
After putting the milk away, Paul sat down at the kitchen table and picked up the morning paper he’d snatched from the driveway as soon as he came downstairs. This was his routine, and routines were good. Unfortunately, Paul couldn’t focus on the words in front of him. It was as if he were reading some foreign language instead of English.
Frustrated, he tossed the paper down on the table, and massaged his temples. What was happening to him?
The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused him to glance up. Seconds later, Megan appeared. She was still wearing her pajamas from the night before. The bottoms only covered about a quarter of her leg, which meant there was plenty left over for him to see. Megan wasn’t tall, but her legs were long, and for a moment, Paul wondered what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his hips.
Startled by the direction of his thoughts, Paul shot up out of his chair and nearly spilled what was left of his coffee.
“You okay?”
Paul noted the concern in her voice. Unfortunately that wasn’t helping whatever it was that seemed to be happening to him. To them. No, to him. There was no them . “Yeah, I’m fine.”
She looked at him intently for a long moment, and then strolled past him to the counter to get herself some coffee. Paul clenched his eyes closed, and forced himself to breathe. He needed to get out of there.
Clearing his throat, he turned to face her, but she had her back to him. Unfortunately, that gave him a clear view of her backside. He averted his eyes quickly as his body began to betray him. “I’m going to head to work early this morning to catch up on some paperwork.”
Megan turned around, holding her coffee against her chest. His eyes narrowed in on her
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