“Worried you might like it a little too much,” he says as if it’s fact. “Valid concern.”
“Whatever.” I drop my hand. “If you’re not going to leave, then you can haul a couple of those boxes inside.”
I turn and open the door.
“Tame that enthusiasm,” he says with thickly edged sarcasm. “A boy could get the wrong idea.”
I step into the living room, careful to stay in the path I created earlier. Xavier stops short at the sight of the sea of pink and groans. Internally, I feel the same, and looking at them all again just brings up my negative thoughts. I really could use Xavier’s help.
“You already offered,” I say, singsong.
Hands on hips, he surveys the totes. “I did open my big mouth, didn’t I?”
“You definitely did.”
I follow the narrow path I created with the bags to the middle of the room, which serves as both living room and kitchen, and reach toward the counter to open a drawer and pull out a box cutter.
When I turn around, I find him fiddling with the handle of the door leading to the deck. “What are you doing?”
He pulls his cell from his back pocket and texts someone. “How long have I been telling you to get better locks?”
“I have a few other pressing matters to deal with at the moment.”
“I don’t.” He gets a return text and says, “I’ll be right back.”
“Wilde,” I yell after him, “don’t you bail on me after you said you’d help.”
But he jogs down the dock and disappears into the darkness. I sigh and shake my head. If anyone else had done what he’d done tonight, I’d be too pissed to speak, but I’ve always found it difficult to stay angry with Xavier.
I turn back to the mess at my feet and look at the boxes of Bodhi’s books. It’s surreal to know he’s so close. All this time, I pictured him on the other side of the world, still bedding his groupies. Now he’s in my freaking backyard saying he misses me and that he’s changed.
I pull a schedule out of a tote bag and find my name at the book signing, round tables, Q&A, discussion panels. I’d planned on supporting Shannon before I knew that name belonged to Bodhi. I remember how hard it was for me to get started in this business, how nervous I was to be an instructor and then a leader. I planned on reading this book tonight so I could see if our beliefs on spirituality meshed.
Now, I just feel stupid, which is exactly how I felt when I discovered he’d been unfaithful to me, naïve and stupid. I’m disgusted with myself for needing it, but, yeah, space between me and Bodhi would be best.
I make a spot for myself in the corner of the room and carry a box of books in, then I start trading my book for Bodhi’s.
Memories hit me from every direction. I lift one of Bodhi’s books from the box and tilt it toward the light. It’s a blue cover with the image of a triangle and the title embossed across the front. I’m surprised to realize I don’t even care enough about the book to read the cover copy. I don’t feel the need to compare my work to his, my cover to his, my content to his, my publisher to his.
Score one for my heart. Ego would have been all over those comparisons.
Maybe I didn’t backslide as far as I thought. Maybe at least some of the work I’ve done over the last year has taken root.
One by one, I slide Bodhi’s books into each tote and take mine out, silently repeating soothing mantras. I turn inward for guidance. Vulnerability is where healing begins.
The words soothe my nerves, but my mind still wanders back to the trauma of seeing Bodhi again, scrutinizing every detail of our interaction. When I notice my ego flare—how I was right to leave him when I found out about the other women, how selfish it was for him to hijack me this way—I stop what I’m doing. Already on my knees, I sit back on my heels, close my eyes, and drop my head back.
“Vulnerability is where healing happens,” I murmur, filling my heart with the positive to banish the darkness. “Healing is brought about through love and vulnerability.”
Xavier’s boots sound on the deck again, and I open my eyes to find him at the door surveying the bags. “It’s too bad you have to take your books out. There are three hundred potential readers coming to this thing.”
“It’s fine. I’ll set up a table somewhere in the conference center where people can pick up a copy.”
Xavier drops to his knees in front of the open living room door and starts dismantling the doorknob. His muscles ripple against the white cotton, shooting my mind back to the feel of those well-developed laterals and trapezius under my hands, and my mouth goes uncomfortably dry.
I push to my feet and tiptoe around bags to reach the fridge. I pull out a sparkling water for myself, then reach for a Heineken among the three different beers I stock—Heineken for Xavier, Dos Equis for Ben, and Sam Adams for Levi. My fridge is so small, I only have one of each chilled at any one time, and I immediately replace this Heineken for another stored in the cabinet.
I open the beer and set it on the floor beside him. “That doesn’t have to be done tonight.”