An excerpt from Slow Dancing on Price’s Pier, by Lisa Dale.
“How’s the espresso?” Thea asked.
Garret took a sip. The espresso was rich, pleasantly bright with hints of citrus, but chocolaty too—low notes of something dark, heavenly, and forbidden. He wanted to close his eyes, to give himself over to the taste and weight of it on his tongue. It was a damn good espresso, but then—he knew it would be. She’d made it. It burned a little going down.
“It’s alright,” he said.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m a busy man. I’ve got things to do, places to be.”
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
He crossed his arms, careful not to spill espresso.
“Anytime something’s gone wrong, I’ve always had my family to depend on. Well, I’ve always had your family to depend on. Since I met you, they’ve been my entire life.”
He pressed his lips together. Wherever this was going, he planned to resist. She’d get no sympathy from him.
“But now,” she went on, “I feel like I’m losing them. If they’re not already gone.”
He took a sip of his espresso to cover his reaction. “What do you want me to do here, Thea?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“I’m afraid I’m not following you.”
“I know you didn’t want Jonathan to marry me.” She raised her eyes to him, and he was struck by their color—the deep, rich hues of espresso ringed faintly with gold. Why hadn’t he noticed the similarity before? “I just wanted to tell you that I’m starting to understand how you felt. All those years you couldn’t see your family because you didn’t want to see me. I get it now. And I’m sorry for it. If I’d known what this was like…”
He waited, aware the he was scowling but unable to stop.
“If I’d known what this was like, I would have done things differently,” she said.
“Like what?”
“Like, I would have worked harder to make things right with you.”
He threw back the last of his espresso as if it was vodka. “Impossible.”
“Why impossible?”
“I wouldn’t have let you.”
“At least I should have tried. But instead, I just…it was easier, you know? Easier not to see you. Easier to let you stay away.”
He looked into his empty cup, the golden crema disintegrating like broken lace. He’d imagined this moment a thousand times. And in his imagination, when Thea had come to him—groveling, as he saw fit—he showed her no mercy. He rejected her. There was nothing she could say to make him forgive.
But in real life, something within him that had been festering and gnarled for a long time began to loosen. Instead of anger and resentment, tenderness welled up. It scared him.
“Look,” he said. “This conversation is going nowhere…”
Thea stepped toward him, her eyes searching, questioning. And, before he could force himself to move away, she was pressed against him, clasping him to her after so much time had passed, her two hands wrapped around his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest. Her hair smelled of vanilla, espresso, and spice.
For a moment he held himself upright, away from her, so she could feel that he was not about to hug her back. And then—though he tried to think of anything, anything that would make him remember why he hated his woman—there was nothing but the warmth of her body, her gentleness, melting the ice of his anger, filling him with a longing he couldn’t withstand, and he wrapped his arms around her, gathering her closer, folding her into a deeper embrace.
He didn’t owe her forgiveness, he knew that. But it shocked him to discover that, for his own sake, he wanted this—as if some part of him had already forgiven her long ago, though it had laid dormant, waiting for this moment, to be realized.
He let himself hold her until he could no longer stand it, then he pushed her away. “Tell me one thing,” he said. “You did love me once, right? I didn’t imagine it?”
Irina pushed through the fire door with a bang. “Mom! Uncle Garret!”
“Hey, kid!” Quickly he changed modes, already regretting his words. What did it matter if she’d loved him once? She didn’t love him now. She didn’t know him now.
“Uncle Garret, come see what I did! Come on!” She grabbed his hand and pulled.
For a fleeting second, he caught Thea’s eye, her smiling apology as her daughter tugged and tugged on his hand. Thea’s words were soft and rushed just before Irina pulled him away.
“Of course you didn’t imagine it,” she said.
