Not that I expected him to.
So it was only after his sister and I became friends, and she invited me to join their Friday night family dinners that I realized he had two personas. The man he is outside the office was a daredevil, a prankster who meddled in his siblings’ love lives and spoiled his nieces and nephews rotten. He was the most charming flirt, and I caught the appreciative glances he’d send my way every so often. I let him tease me. He let me bust his balls. Our Friday night dinner crew called us frenemies who flirted. But until I dropped myself into his lap on Christmas Eve, we’d never, ever actually touched.
He is the living, breathing definition of gorgeous. His six-foot frame is a muscular masterpiece covered in smooth caramel-colored skin. His eyes are wide and dark as a starless night, heavy-lidded, thickly lashed, and dreamy. The bold curve of his cheekbones and his cleanly shaven strong jaw beg to be stroked. And his broad, lush mouth tasted like heaven when we finally kissed.
God, that kiss. I haven’t been able sleep for replaying the memories of what his dark head looked like buried between my thighs.
On Christmas morning, I’d woken up to help Remi’s wife, Kal, prep for lunch. But I’d chickened out of staying to eat. I was glad he’d had better sense than me, but I couldn’t face him.
At that point, my divorce drama was almost over, I finally had a good job, and I didn’t want to let myself get distracted.
Turns out I didn’t need to worry about that. I started skipping the standing Friday night dinners we had at Regan’s house to spend some time with my dad.
I kept telling myself what I told Tyson that night—leaving each other alone was for the best. I busied myself with helping my dad with a passion project and holding my best friend’s hand through some of the darkest days of her life. I gave Tyson the wide berth he was giving me, too.
And my new job on the competitive intelligence team at Wilde kept me busy.
I was born with an uncanny ability to read people. It made my teachers, friends, even my parents uncomfortable at times. I’m not a mind reader, so I could never say why, but I could sense when someone liked me or didn’t. Whether they were lying or not. And I was never wrong. As an adult, I make a living hunting down the truth and protecting people from liars. My mother used to call me a human lie detector.
Human lie detector my ass. I didn’t see the liar in the mirror until the lie blew up in my face.
Two weeks ago, I sat watching Beth being serenaded by the love of her life and realized that despite the crushing disappointment of my failed marriage, I wanted a moment like that, too. My fairy tale didn’t have a white knight who whisked in to take me away, but a man who was strong enough to handle me.
And who was secure enough to tell the whole world that I was the most important person in his life. Not on a stage in front of the whole world like what happened to Beth—I mean, that would be mortifying—but in ways that say I matter. I needed that.
And as that realization sank in, all I could think about was Tyson and the kiss that made me burn for more.
I wanted to finish crying on his shoulder and talk to him about his dad, tell him about my mom. I wanted to give him a soft place to land, too.
I got back from that visit with Beth determined to find Tyson and tell him all of that. But like the hero in every Greek tragedy I read in high school, by the time I realized my fatal flaw, it was too little, too late.
That same day, I saw the announcement about his posting to Paris. His going away party was tonight, and even as visions of disastrous scenarios that all ended with a very public rejection swam in my head, I said I’d be there. I wanted at least to say goodbye. And maybe, if I hadn’t blown it, say more.
This morning, I went to Helena’s on Richmond to get waxed and lady-scaped. I called in a favor from a former client who works at Leon Nails and got my feet done. Then I spent the rest of the day washing, twisting, and drying my hair. I even bought a new dress.
By the time Regan called to say she was on her way to pick me up, I was a bundle of tightly drawn nerves, but determined to see it through.
Until she told me her mother was going to be there, too.
I can count on one hand the number of people I live my life in awe of. And long before I knew her children or worked for the company she built, Tina Wilde has been one of them.
I might be able to stomach making a fool out of myself in front of Tyson. After all, he’ll be gone tomorrow, and I won’t have to bear the humiliation of seeing him every day.
But the thought of his mother being witness to it proved too much to bear. So I told Regan I wasn’t feeling well and asked her to make my apologies.
I check the time. It’s almost midnight. He’s sure to be home by now. I can go, say my piece, and leave.
I eye the half-finished bottle of Riesling on my counter with disgust. I shouldn’t have had so much to drink. I don’t trust my tipsy self’s judgment when it comes to this man. What if this is all just liquid courage I’ll regret, deeply, in the morning?
Torn and aware of my closing window of opportunity, I call my best friend Beth—again.
“So what’s the verdict? Are you going?” she asks as soon as she answers.
“I still don’t know that I should,” I admit. “I mean, he didn’t even tell me he was leaving.” On a pained groan, I flop back onto my bed and stare at my ceiling.
“Dina, come on,” Beth cajoles. “You’re friends with his sister, you work in the same place. Maybe he just assumed you knew?”
I scoff. “That man doesn’t assume anything.”
“He’s human, Dina. We all make assumptions. You should go. You’re going to regret not saying goodbye.”
“Maybe, but I’ll regret it even more if he laughs in my face. Or even worse, what if he’s not alone?” My stomach lurches at the thought of it.
“Listen, babe. I know you’re scared to be vulnerable, but if you’re this tied in knots, you should go talk to him. No matter what he says, at least you’ll know where he stands. You guys have been dancing around this thing for a while now. And you said it yourself, you haven’t exactly been forthright with him. Maybe if you open up, it will help him do the same.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” My stomach twists when I think about how abruptly and completely he disappeared from my life after our encounter on the porch on Christmas Eve.
“D, hold on,” Beth exclaims, and then in the next breath she says, “Sorry, babe, it’s Carter. We’re leaving tomorrow, and everything is a mess. Hold on just a sec.” She clicks over before I can tell her not to worry about it. I’m tired of talking about Tyson.
Less than ten seconds pass before she clicks back. “D—”
“I know. You’ve got to go.”
“Sorry, my passport isn’t here. And—”
“No, don’t explain. I understand. Go.”
“I hate leaving you alone right now.”
“I’m fine. Go be happy globe-trotting with your famous, gorgeous boyfriend, and send me all the details so I can live vicariously through you.”
After we hang up, I walk to my dresser and open the small pink jewelry box I keep there. It was a gift from my mother on my twelfth birthday, and the last thing she gave me before she died. Almost twenty years later, the small box’s dusky exterior is worn, the music box inside is broken, and the spinning ballerina’s glossy ceramic finish is chipped. But the words on the note she wrote me, the one I still reach for in moments when I’m afraid, are just as powerful.