Forget Me Not

“You must be exhausted. I’ll let you get situated.” I point at the suitcase next to the bed. “Your mom brought you some clothes and some of your things. If you’re missing something, I can go out and get it or I can drive us to your apartment.”

“Livi, stop fussing over me. It’s fine, I’ll make do with whatever’s in there.”

“Right.” I let out a breath. “Well, you know how the television works and…”

“Liv,” he growls and I put my hands up before taking a step back.

“Right, sorry!” I close the door behind me and let out the breath I feel like I’ve been holding since we stepped foot into the apartment.

I make my way back towards the kitchen and pull off my coat before grabbing my phone from inside my purse. I scroll through the missed calls and texts and decide it might be time to return a few of them.

Which phone call is less likely to drive me to drink?

After a short yet very tedious conversation with my mother, where I informed her everything was fine, and by fine I meant Bennett was alive, I finally had to fake a headache to get off the phone. It’s times like this that I’m grateful my parents live a safe two and a half hours away in Philadelphia. Naturally, they were concerned about Bennett, even if they weren’t his biggest fans anymore. But once I told them he was alive, they seemed to calm down and wanted to know more about how I was handling everything. Of course, I left out the fact that he’s staying with me, knowing that it’s the quickest way to get my overprotective parents to the city for a visit. I let out a breath and open the door to the guest room to peek my head out into the hallway.

This is ridiculous. This is my house.

I shouldn’t feel nervous about leaving my fucking room. I make my way towards the kitchen as I wonder what I should make for dinner. I haven’t had much of an appetite the last six months, but I’ve forced myself to eat, mainly to keep my mother and Alyssa off my back. But I couldn’t remember the last time I ate for enjoyment. Bennett and I were big “foodies” and were always trying new restaurants, new cuisines, and took cooking classes together all the time. When we split up, I lost interest in trying new things and found myself barely eating at all. It wasn’t until my parents came to visit a month into our separation that my mother became persistent about my eating habits. Cooking for one is depressing, so I’ve taken to UberEats and delivery pizza. Thank God, I picked up working out amidst everything.

I stand in the kitchen momentarily before I decide what I want. I grab the bottle of Malbec I opened last night and pour myself a healthy glass of wine, letting my eyes close as the familiar flavor hit my taste buds. I set the wine on the granite countertop before I lean my head on my forearms and focus on my breathing. Maybe now is the time to try some of those meditation exercises Dr. Vorges recommended.

“You alright?” His voice rings through the air and my head snaps up to meet Bennett’s gaze. Concerned eyes rove over me and I feel exposed and vulnerable under his stare. He’s still in the same white t-shirt but without the jacket, putting his tattoo sleeved left arm on display. The intricate design stops just before his wrist so they wouldn’t show when he was dressed for work. I stare at his tattoos just as I always did when he bared them. They’re sexy and such a contrast to the straight laced businessman he is during the day. “Can I have some of that?” He reaches for the bottle next to me when I pull it out of reach.

“Not with your medicine.”

“Come on, Livi,” he pleads.

“No,” I tell him as I shake my head. “Don’t you want to get better?”

“Not really, no.” I narrow my eyes at him wanting clarification w

hen he sighs. “I assume once I’m better, I’m out of here. And depending on when that is, it’ll be going against my plan.”

I take another large sip of my wine. “What plan is that?”

“Winning you back.”

He takes another step towards me.

I take one back. And then another.

I feel the stainless steel refrigerator behind me and try to step to the side away from him when he puts an arm out, effectively blocking me from getting away. “Olivia.”

“What?” I ask weakly. He leans down and I immediately hold my breath to not inhale his sexy masculine scent, but I manage to catch a whiff of mint and a hint of his cologne. I shut my eyes, kicking myself for letting my guard down like this. “Please don’t do this,” I whisper.

His nose grazes mine before he trails it down my face. “You smell just how I remember you,” he whispers. “So fucking sweet and sexy.”

I let out a breath and press my teeth into my bottom lip, hard. Snap out of this shit, Olivia. His hand traces the side of my face, tucking a lock behind my ear and I briefly wonder if he’s going to kiss me. My mind races as it battles with my heart over what I want in this moment. “Why the change?” he asks.

My eyes flutter open and I stare up at him, my heart still pounding harder in my chest with each passing moment. “Wh-what?”

“Your hair.” He takes a step back but is still very much in my personal space. “It’s more curly.” He lets his hand fall from my hair after gently fingering the curls.

“Oh…” I look away from his eyes. “When we split up, I wanted something different.” I reach up and pull on the ends of my hair.

He closes his eyes and lets his head drop slightly. “Well, regardless of the reason, I like it. A lot.”

“You liked my straight hair, if I remember.” I cock an eyebrow at him and he chuckles.