Hold Me (Love The Way Duet 2)

I turn on the stool to face him and lean my elbow against the counter. Half of me feels nothing but comradery with Damon, and the other half doesn’t trust him anymore. I’d like to speak, but instead I shake my head and focus back on my tea.

It’s the perfect temperature and has steeped just right.

“Is it all right if I ask if you’re angry with him?”

“Yes,” I answer quickly, the word raw. Then I realize that only answers whether or not it’s all right if he asks me. “I’m very upset.”

“Angry and upset?”

It takes me a minute, staring down at my tea before I answer, “Just upset.”

Damon nods and I glance over to find he hasn’t eaten any more of the small pastry.

I offer him an out. “This can wait, you know? Quiet mornings are one of my favorite things in life.”

Instead of nodding and backing off, Damon asks, nearly blurting it out, “Are you upset with me?” His deep brown eyes sink into mine and I’m forced to stare back at him.

I nod and then whisper, “Yes. Honestly, I am.”

“I am sorry yesterday caused you distress. I’m sorry it all happened the way it did.” His words seem sincere but also professional. As if reading my mind he adds, “I mean it, Ella. When they told me what happened, I was worried about how it would all play out, but mostly worried about you.”

Finally breaking his gaze I murmur, “I appreciate that,” and return to a now empty tea cup.

It’s a bit awkward for a moment, until I pull an open package toward me and inform Damon, “This was waiting for me too.”

I take out a chunk of gray crystal. The dark and light grays mingle with a touch of white.

“What’s that?” Damon questions.

“It’s a rock.” Removing the note from Kelly, I read it to him. “Smoky quartz wards off negative thoughts.”

As Damon rises, making his way around the counter to the sink, I tell him Kelly sent it and that she suggested I bring it to therapy.

The charming grin on his handsome face grows and that small, amiable feeling takes over. Damon has an infectious smile. “You told me about Kelly? Didn’t you?”

As I nod he tells me, drying off his hands, “I like her.”

Smiling, I agree with him. “I’ve got good friends.” The admission comes with a sinking feeling that steals the lightness from me. Damon doesn’t miss it. Before he can say a word, I tell him, “I think I need a minute.”

With a more somber look, although his eyes remain warm, he says, “When you’re ready to talk, let me know.”

An hour after breakfast the sun sits perfectly in an array of pale coral hues along the tree line. Pulling a blue chenille throw across my lap, I do nothing to stop the breeze from blowing across my bare shoulders.

My satin sleep shirt boasts the same cobalt blue.

It’s quiet in the late morning, although I know it won’t be for long.

“You brought tissues?” Damon questions, taking the seat across from me on the patio. The outdoor fireplace is to his right but it’s not nearly chilly enough to turn it on. Maybe later tonight.

“They’re still here from last night,” I comment. The square box of tissues and journal sit side by side. Both were used equally last night. Silas gave me space, he’s good for that. Quietly watching, checking on whether I could use tea or anything to offer comfort. He’s kind and silent. Damon is kind as well … but never silent.

“I think last night might be a good place to start.”

“Last night it is then,” I respond and let out a sigh, repositioning myself on the chaise lounge to better face him. I’m caught off guard by his next question.

“Do you think there’s any chance that you’re displacing your feelings?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Your husband with Zander.”

“How is that relevant to last night?”

“It’s relevant to all of it, Ella.”

“So that’s what we’re doing today?” I say with mock humor. “We’re sparring?”

“We’re discussing my one concern.” Damon remains professional, giving me a moment to consider my answer.

I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to go anywhere near that question. Am I displacing my feelings toward James, my deceased husband, onto Zander? That’s a heavy question to begin a session with. “It feels like fencing,” I mutter, feeling more uncomfortable by the second.

“Is that what you’d like to talk about?” Damon raises his brow. “Fencing, or maybe we can talk about croquet?”

“Croquet?”

Damon shrugs and says, “It seems like an equally relevant sport.”

His comment is rewarded with a short and relatively quiet bubble of laughter I can’t control, and I readjust in my seat.

“I know we’ve talked about this before, but it’s okay to sit with your emotions. Right?”

I nod in response, pulling my knees into my chest and making myself a puddle of blue fabric, none of which can protect me.