Crossing the Lines Page 28

  My furniture.

  “Oh, shit,” I whisper.

  “What’d you say, Mommy?”

  “Er, nothing. Do you want to listen to some music? I’ll find something you like.”

  While I turn on the radio, I draw a deep breath to settle the rush of nerves. Simon put all of my belongings into storage when I moved in with him. Every single piece of furniture and kitchenware I own, not to mention my appliances, are somewhere only he knows, and I’ll need them back when I move into my own place. Which means I’ll have to contact him sooner or later.

  For now, I choose later. I know Jo and Thomas won’t mind if we stay there for a few more weeks while everything settles down. Besides, with how my heart still flutters at the very thought of Simon, I think it’s definitely better to wait awhile until my feelings aren’t so raw and exposed.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Oh my God,” Jo says, her whole face lit up with a huge grin. “Abbi!”

  Both of us stand, throwing our arms around each other.

  “Thank you!” she says, squeezing me tightly. “I can’t believe it!”

  “I couldn’t either, but it’s the real deal.”

  “College!” She laughs. “Fucking college!”

  I pull back, nodding eagerly. “College. For both of us.” We take our seats again, both of us still grinning like loons. “What do you want to study?”

  “Nursing,” she says without hesitation. “I’ve been dreaming about that for a while now. I just never imagined I’d be able to do it until the kids were much older.”

  “That’s perfect. You’re a natural caretaker.”

  “Thanks,” she says softly. “What about you?”

  “Something with food, I think. I’d love to become a caterer or maybe open up my own bakery one day, once I’ve saved enough.”

  “I could see that,” she says with a nod. “You’re great in the kitchen. You could also teach, you know? Like you did with Lila, right?”

  “Yeah. I really loved doing that. I’m going to miss it.”

  “You’re not seeing her anymore?”

  I shrug. “I mean, I want to, but she lives …”

  “Next to him.” Jo supplies the obvious conclusion. “I get it, but she’s still your friend. That doesn’t have to change, does it?”

  “No, I guess not,” I mumble. “Besides, I’ll have to see him again eventually.”

  Jo raises her eyebrows, giving me a look.

  “He has all of my belongings in storage somewhere,” I explain. “Once I get a new apartment, I’ll need them, won’t I?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Or not. You could just buy new stuff.”

  “I could,” I admit, “but that seems really wasteful.”

  “Well, I could contact him. Ask him for you.”

  I nod slowly, pressing my lips together.

  “But you don’t want me to,” she says with a knowing smile. “C’mon, Abbi. You’re an open book. You don’t actually have to see him again. You want to. Am I right?”

  “No,” I mutter.

  Jo snorts.

  “Fine. Yes. You’re right. Does that make me pathetic?”

  “No!” she says immediately. “I get it. You love him.”

  “I do,” I whisper. “I really do, Jo.” Blowing out a breath, I continue. “He looked so awful when he came to my dad’s funeral. Like he’d been through hell and back. I’m worried about him.”

  “It must’ve been really hard on him. I mean, after what you told me about his son. I can’t even imagine. I think I’d die if I lost Pippa and Piper. How do you keep going after something like that?”

  I sigh, absentmindedly rubbing my hand across my chest as if to ease the constricting feeling within. “You close yourself off emotionally, and instead of a relationship, you hire a girl to sleep with you and tend to your needs, only to have her fall in love with you even though that’s not something you can ever return?”

  Jo gives me a sad smile. “Do you really believe that?” she asks. “That he can’t ever return your feelings?”

  “He won’t let himself try, so there’s no way to ever know. I can’t change who he is, and I know I deserve more than he’s willing to give me. I want someone who can love me back.”

  “Maybe I should be the one to contact him, after all,” she suggests.

  “No. I want to see him, make sure he’s okay.” I laugh a little, shaking my head. “I guess I really am a masochist.”

  Jo snorts, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

  “But maybe you could go with me?” I ask. “In case I need you?”

  “Of course. Just say when.”

  “Right now, I want to focus on me, on getting my life back together.”

  Jo smiles. “So what’s the plan?”

  I smile back. “We start looking at classes.”

  The next couple of weeks are filled with a strange mixture of both hectic excitement and melancholy. Jo applies for the Certified Nurse Assistant program part time since she still needs a job to make the household budget work. I offer to help her, but she refuses, insisting that I need a much larger portion of the fund as a sole provider.

  I decide to enroll in business school first, wanting to know more about the financial aspects of running a business before deciding on a career for the future. I know I like to cook and bake, and I’m pretty good at it, but that hardly seems like enough to start a business of my own. I have to be smart about it. An added perk of business school over culinary school is that Jo and I will be close to each other on campus, so neither of us will be completely on our own when we venture into the world of higher education years after high school.

  In contrast to all of these positive developments is the grief I feel for my father and worry for my mother, combined with sheer longing for Simon. I miss him, and some nights I can’t stop myself from crying when I know everyone else is asleep. I think of how he gazed tenderly into my eyes, how he smiled at me, how safe and cared for I felt in his warm embrace, how sweet he was with my son. And then I get angry, because he’s the one who did all those things and a million others that made me fall in love with him. He did so little to discourage my feelings, even telling me not to fake anything with him, to give him everything. Only in the end, he didn’t want everything. He didn’t want my love.

  On February 1st, I sign a lease for an apartment located in the eastern part of Seattle, a neighborhood called Madrona. At eight hundred square feet, it’s on the small side with just one bedroom, which means I’ll be sleeping in the living room on a pullout couch. I don’t mind, though. It’s clean and comfortable with a dining space in the kitchen and built-in closets, plus hardwood floors. Compared to our old place, it’s a palace. Instead of a noisy, broken-down apartment building in the middle of the city, we’re now the proud renters of the top floor of a quaint townhouse. The owners, Maxwell and Garrett, seem friendly and down-to-earth. They live downstairs and didn’t mind renting to someone with a kid. They’ve been married since it was made legal in this state, and they’re about to celebrate their anniversary on Valentine’s Day. We should be moved in by then.

  All I need is my furniture.

  “I don’t know if I can do this, Jo.” I blow out a breath, staring at my reflection in the mirror, Jo standing behind me.

  “You can.” Her words reassure me as she moves a few of my curls around my shoulders. “I’ll be with you. And you look great.”

  “I look like an idiot.” I frown at the conservative dress and jacket I’m wearing. It’s not my style at all, but I didn’t feel right showing up at his office in jeans and a sweater. Last night, we sat down at the computer to find out where he works and discovered that Simon has his own company located downtown. The fact that I never knew highlights how naïve and stupid I was to pack up and move into his place—with my son—without knowing anything about him. He’s an auditor and, apparently, a really, really good one, working all over the world for big companies. All of his travel now makes s
ense, as well as his endless stacks of paperwork. It all makes sense. Checking other companies for errors in their financial paperwork wouldn’t exactly make you popular on arrival and would be a good way of avoiding emotional connections in your work life. If only he’d been this diligent about his home life.

  “You look like a beautiful idiot, then,” Jo says, bringing me out of my thoughts as she pinches my ass.

  “Hey!” I grin at her in the mirror.

  She grins back, ushering me toward the door, where I put on a new pair of low heels. Thirty minutes later, we’re downtown in the financial district, parking my car outside a huge office building. Inside the lobby, we go to the desk and ask for Thorne Consulting Services. It’s on the seventh floor, and I draw several calming breaths as we enter the elevator.

  “You know what you’re going to say?” Jo asks.

  I nod. I’ve already rehearsed the words in my head—a calm explanation that I no longer need the storage and would like to get my belongings immediately. Beyond that, I don’t think there’s much else to say. I really just want to look him in the eyes, to make sure that he’s all right, and so he can see that I’m all right too. Then I think I’ll be able to move on. God, I hope so.

  There’s a young man sitting behind the desk in the waiting area, talking on the phone. He gives me a brief smile and looks me up and down as he holds up his finger, indicating that he’s almost done. This must be Simon’s assistant, but I don’t remember his name. It was so long ago he told me, the night we celebrated his birthday. The memory is bittersweet.

  “How can I help you?” the assistant asks, looking between Jo and me before settling his gaze on my face.

  “Is Mr. Thorne available?” I ask.

  “He’s in a meeting right now, but he should be done soon. If I can just take your names, please?”

  “Abigail Winters,” I say, watching as he scribbles it down before glancing at Jo.

  “It’s just me,” I add. “She’s, uh …” Here for moral support. “My ride.”

  “All right, Miss Winters?”

  I nod.

  “Miss Winters and ‘my ride,’ may I take your coats?” He smiles at his own teasing. “You can wait right over there.” He motions to the chairs.

  Jo and I sit down, me on the edge of my seat. I’m so nervous, I might vomit. Jo sends me a warm smile, and I inhale deeply through my nose, trying to center myself. Five minutes pass with me staring at the door to his office, which is located behind the assistant’s desk. Whenever I glance in his direction, he smiles at me, and I feel forced to return it, acting as though everything is fine. I nearly jump out of my seat as the door opens, but it’s not Simon who comes out. It’s a woman. A beautiful forty-something woman in a blouse, skirt, and heels, carrying a briefcase. She turns in the door, her profile to me, and says something I can’t hear, smiling.

  She’s smiling at him. Who is she?

  I turn my head to look at Jo. She’s also watching the woman closely.

  “Who’s that?” she whispers. “A client?”

  “I don’t know,” I mumble, jealousy flaring inside me.

  She’s not his type at all, but maybe he’s decided to move on to someone like her—an older, more confident woman who wouldn’t fall head over heels, who could have a sexual relationship without feelings.

  The woman closes the door to his office behind her. The assistant is already on his feet, helping her into her coat. As she turns our way, she sends me a polite smile before talking to the young man.

  “Same time next week,” I hear her say to him.

  He enters it into his computer, and then she walks past us on clicking heels as my stomach churns.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  “Abbi?”

  I turn to Jo, realizing that I’m clutching the edge of my seat as though I’m scared of falling off.

  “You all right?” she asks softly, a look of concern on her face.

  “I’m really not,” I say. “But I have to do this. I have to get it over with.”

  “Okay. I call ice cream and Pitch Perfect tonight.”

  “How about booze and Thelma & Louise?” I whisper, only half-kidding.

  Jo laughs and I can’t help but join her, drawing the attention of the assistant who gives us a curious look.

  “Sorry,” I mumble. My nerves are frayed, making me feel pretty unhinged.

  “Never apologize for that beautiful laugh,” he replies, giving me a wink before turning to his phone.

  “Wow, flirty,” Jo whispers, nudging me.

  The assistant presses a few buttons, clearing his throat. “Mr. Thorne—” He pauses, listening. “Yes, sir, I do remember, and I cancelled them all, but you have a walk-in, a Miss Winters here to see you.” He sits up a bit straighter. “Miss Abigail Winters, yes.” He glances at me. “She’s here now, should I—yes, sir!”

  He hangs up, quickly rolling his neck while I watch with bated breath. I guess I’m not the only one who finds Simon intimidating. “Miss Winters? He’ll see you now.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, taking a few seconds to find my balance in the heels after sitting for a while.

  “You want me to come in with you?” Jo asks.

  “No, thanks.” I send her a smile. “Just knowing you’re out here is enough.”

  I square my shoulders and walk toward Simon’s office, careful not to brush up against the young man who opens the door as I approach. I take a step inside, my eyes sweeping across the room, but I can’t focus on anything besides the man behind the desk. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen him, but now that I’m facing him, it’s as if no time has passed at all, my stupid heart still fluttering at the sight of him.

  Will it ever stop doing that in his presence? And then I realize it won’t matter. I won’t see him again after today. The thought is sobering and unwelcome.

  “Would you like anything to drink?” the assistant asks behind me.

  “No, thanks. I’m not staying long.”

  I hear the door closing behind me, and my nerves make me flinch at the sound, knowing we’re alone.

  “Abigail,” he says.

  I draw a quick breath as he stands up to approach me. He looks better than he did at the funeral, but there are still shadows underneath his eyes, and I’m pretty sure he’s lost weight too, his jawline and cheekbones appearing even sharper than before.

  “Please don’t get up. I won’t take much of your time.” My gaze meets his, and for a few seconds, we just stare at each other.

  “You look beautiful,” he says.

  “Oh, uh, thank you,” I say, not expecting the compliment. “And thank you for coming to the funeral. I didn’t get to tell you that.”

  He nods once, moving slowly around the desk toward me. The closer he gets, the harder it is to think.

  “I just came by because … because I need …”

  “What do you need?” he whispers, stepping right into my personal space, which forces me to tilt my head back to look up at him. He’s so close, and he smells so good. I should’ve brought Jo in with me.

  “What do you need?” he asks again, brushing his fingertips across the apple of my cheek, letting them linger on my chin.

  I stare up into his eyes, helplessly drawn to him, unconsciously wetting my lips as my heart thunders away. I shiver as he brushes his thumb over my lower lip, his gaze leaving mine to follow the movement.

  “F-furniture,” I sputter, stepping around him and backing out of his immediate presence.

  “Pardon?” He turns, looking at me with raised eyebrows.

  “I didn’t come here to … to do whatever you just tried to do!” I exclaim, feeling my anger building. “You can’t … what are you doing? We aren’t together anymore. I won’t change my mind.”

  He buries his hands in his pockets and at least has the decency to look guilty. “I know.”

  “Right. So we’re not … touching like that. That’s not why I came.”

  He sighs softly, nodding his hea
d. “What is it you need, Abigail?”

  “My furniture, please. I don’t need the storage anymore.”

  “Oh.” He frowns. “You’re not at your friends’ anymore?”

  “No.”

  He gives me an expectant look, but I don’t want to tell him anything else. I need to get out of here before I start either crying, yelling, or kissing him. Quite possibly all three.

  “So if you’ll just tell me where everything is, I’ll have it picked up as soon as possible,” I say, sounding a lot calmer than I feel.

  “Do you need any help moving?”

  “No, thanks. Just the info, please.”

  He watches me for a few seconds before he retreats behind his desk and sits down, motioning to the chair on the other side. I take a seat, clutching my hands in my lap while he rummages through his top drawer. He pulls out an envelope and hands it to me. It has my name written on the front in his elegant cursive.

  “The lease is paid out for the rest of the year, so if you don’t want to take it all now, you don’t have to.”

  “Thanks. That won’t be necessary, though,” I tell him, standing up.

  “You don’t have to leave just yet. Would you like coffee?” he asks. “Or lunch? I can have Andrew—”

  I shake my head, backing away. “Thank you. I’m fine.” I’m not fine at all. What is he doing? Why is he doing this?

  “Jo is waiting for me,” I add as I reach the door. “Goodbye, Mr. Thorne.” I turn with my hand on the doorknob, hesitating. “I hope you’ll … be happy. I really do,” I say, opening the door and stepping out.

  The assistant, Andrew, jumps out of his chair to fetch our coats, and Jo approaches, her eyes scanning me. I give her a quick smile and turn when the assistant holds my coat open for me to slip my arms in.