day that passed.
After a month, I had almost completely convinced myself that the miscarriage was for the best, that there was a valid medical reason why my body decided to terminate the pregnancy. Whenever I felt myself spiraling into sadness, I’d remind myself that there was nothing I could have done to change what happened, that it wasn’t my fault.
When you tell yourself something enough times, eventually, you start to believe it.
—
Conor came by my cubicle one day, hanging his arms over the low wall. “How are you, Sherman?”
I smiled up at him. “Logan. And I’m doing fine.”
“I noticed you’ve been keeping your head down and working hard on the presentation.”
I nodded, glancing back at my screen, hoping he wouldn’t come farther into my cubicle and see that I was actually just looking at funny pictures on the Internet.
“I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate your work ethic, that you didn’t bring your personal issues with you to work.”
I felt my face warm up, from the compliment and from the fact that he had seen me at my worst. “Thanks for not telling anyone.”
“It’s not mine to tell.” His eyes assessed me quietly for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I’m sorry it happened.”
“Me too.”
“Anyway, if you wanted to get out of here early today, then go ahead.”
I glanced at the stack of folders on my desk and the to-do list pinned to my wall. “That might not be possible.”
“Do it Monday,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. Something caught his attention across the wall of cubicles for a moment and he straightened. “Seems you have a visitor,” he said, his mood changing.
I stood up and found Henry walking down my row, making the breath catch in my throat. He looked intimidatingly gorgeous in his black leather jacket and jeans, with day-old stubble on his face and sunglasses covering his eyes. He walked toward us with long, comfortable strides, ignoring looks from my coworkers, his attention aimed directly at me as if I was his prey and he had all the time in the world to catch me.
I had to admit, seeing him like that rekindled the fires that had once burned low in my belly. I hadn’t seen him much the past few days, except when he was asleep, and seeing him this way was like a punch to the gut. Sometimes even I forgot how magnetic and beautiful my husband was.
“Hi,” he said, coming to a stop at the entrance to my cubicle.
Conor gave him a slap on the back. “Nice to see you again.”
“Same to you.” Henry took off his sunglasses and aimed his attention to me. “Hey.” He reached out and touched the small of my back and gave me a quick, warm kiss.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my lips tingling. It had been over two months since we’d last had sex, and all of a sudden, it was as if he was sending out pheromones that my body was picking up.
“It’s a nice day. I wanted to see if you were available to go for a ride on the Harley with me.” He glanced down at his watch. “Just for a while.”
“I was just telling her to get out of here,” Conor said, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “To take the rest of the day off. She’s been working too hard.”
Henry raised a dark eyebrow at me. “Well?”
My eyes flicked between the two men but eventually landed back on my husband. “You’re lucky I’m wearing jeans and boots,” I said to Henry. “But I don’t have my jacket.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I brought it with me.”
Conor started to back away. “See you on Monday, Logan,” he said and walked off toward his see-through office.
—
In the parking lot, Henry pulled my jacket from a saddlebag and came around to me. I slipped into the sleeves while he held the jacket out, then he gently tugged my hair out from the collar. I was acutely aware of his gaze on my face as he zipped up the front of my jacket and closed the snap at my neck, his fingers touching the skin at my throat for the briefest
After a month, I had almost completely convinced myself that the miscarriage was for the best, that there was a valid medical reason why my body decided to terminate the pregnancy. Whenever I felt myself spiraling into sadness, I’d remind myself that there was nothing I could have done to change what happened, that it wasn’t my fault.
When you tell yourself something enough times, eventually, you start to believe it.
—
Conor came by my cubicle one day, hanging his arms over the low wall. “How are you, Sherman?”
I smiled up at him. “Logan. And I’m doing fine.”
“I noticed you’ve been keeping your head down and working hard on the presentation.”
I nodded, glancing back at my screen, hoping he wouldn’t come farther into my cubicle and see that I was actually just looking at funny pictures on the Internet.
“I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate your work ethic, that you didn’t bring your personal issues with you to work.”
I felt my face warm up, from the compliment and from the fact that he had seen me at my worst. “Thanks for not telling anyone.”
“It’s not mine to tell.” His eyes assessed me quietly for a long, uncomfortable moment. “I’m sorry it happened.”
“Me too.”
“Anyway, if you wanted to get out of here early today, then go ahead.”
I glanced at the stack of folders on my desk and the to-do list pinned to my wall. “That might not be possible.”
“Do it Monday,” he said with a nonchalant shrug. Something caught his attention across the wall of cubicles for a moment and he straightened. “Seems you have a visitor,” he said, his mood changing.
I stood up and found Henry walking down my row, making the breath catch in my throat. He looked intimidatingly gorgeous in his black leather jacket and jeans, with day-old stubble on his face and sunglasses covering his eyes. He walked toward us with long, comfortable strides, ignoring looks from my coworkers, his attention aimed directly at me as if I was his prey and he had all the time in the world to catch me.
I had to admit, seeing him like that rekindled the fires that had once burned low in my belly. I hadn’t seen him much the past few days, except when he was asleep, and seeing him this way was like a punch to the gut. Sometimes even I forgot how magnetic and beautiful my husband was.
“Hi,” he said, coming to a stop at the entrance to my cubicle.
Conor gave him a slap on the back. “Nice to see you again.”
“Same to you.” Henry took off his sunglasses and aimed his attention to me. “Hey.” He reached out and touched the small of my back and gave me a quick, warm kiss.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my lips tingling. It had been over two months since we’d last had sex, and all of a sudden, it was as if he was sending out pheromones that my body was picking up.
“It’s a nice day. I wanted to see if you were available to go for a ride on the Harley with me.” He glanced down at his watch. “Just for a while.”
“I was just telling her to get out of here,” Conor said, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “To take the rest of the day off. She’s been working too hard.”
Henry raised a dark eyebrow at me. “Well?”
My eyes flicked between the two men but eventually landed back on my husband. “You’re lucky I’m wearing jeans and boots,” I said to Henry. “But I don’t have my jacket.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I brought it with me.”
Conor started to back away. “See you on Monday, Logan,” he said and walked off toward his see-through office.
—
In the parking lot, Henry pulled my jacket from a saddlebag and came around to me. I slipped into the sleeves while he held the jacket out, then he gently tugged my hair out from the collar. I was acutely aware of his gaze on my face as he zipped up the front of my jacket and closed the snap at my neck, his fingers touching the skin at my throat for the briefest
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