He looks at me like no man has ever looked at me before.

Not as a toy to pass around between his friends, not as a quick fuck to forget about his dead wife, but as a man, standing before a woman that he can’t stop thinking about, and can’t stop wanting.

“I have to get back on stage.”

His hand drops from my cheek, and I miss his touch immediately.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I guess you do. I’ll just…”

“Wait for me?”

He’d stepped back and was looking anywhere but me, but his head snaps up and his eyes lock with mine.

“I owe you a coffee, maybe you could wait for my set to finish and I’ll shout you a cup? That is if you can stick around that late?”

A blush fills his cheeks and I find it endearing, attractive and so appealing that I want to run my fingertips over it and feel the heat beneath. This grown man, with his suitcase full of issues, acts like a young boy asking his teen crush out on a date.

“I’d like that,” he replies softly, almost shyly and then adds with a small smirk. “You owe me cake too.”

I can’t help the laugh that slips free, and with a shake of my head I step forward and place my hand on his chest. The contact sends a ripple of warmth up my arm that continues to make its way over my entire body.

“No, I think you owe me cake. I barely tasted the last slice.”

He doesn’t laugh because his focus is on my hand resting on his shirt just above his heart. Feeling the moment change, I swiftly remove my touch and slip my hands into the deep hidden pockets of my dress.

“I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

He lifts his head and gives me another of those shy smiles, that combined with the way his dark-framed glasses highlight his eyes, has my heartbeat skipping and my breath catching in my throat.

“I’ll be waiting.”

I nod awkwardly and sidestep around him to the door.

“You can wait here if you want,” I offer as I reach for the doorknob.

“I’d rather listen to you sing,” he answers earnestly. “You were amazing out there tonight.”

That weird heart-skipping thing happens again, and I need to get out of this room before my ability to sing tonight leaves me along with the full use of my voice.

I croak out a “thanks” and swiftly exit the dressing room, unable to wait for him to follow just in case he touches me again.

The crowd cheers when they notice me walking towards the stage, and I suck in a deep, steadying breath, then take the few remaining steps to my place, front and centre. My eyes sweep the side of the room to follow him as he exits through the dressing room door, and then stands off to the side with his back against the wall and his stare focused solely on me.

My set list rests at my feet, and I look down despite knowing the next song on the sheet, the one I intended on opening with for the second half. Instead of beginning with the melancholy cover, I pick up my guitar, draw the strap over my head, close my eyes, and strum the opening chords to Stop Crying Your Heart Out by Oasis – a song I’ve never before played for others.

The crowd sings along as I put my twist on the hugely popular song, but I’m singing it for him. It’s all for him, to let him know I’m ready for change, I’m ready for hope, I’m willing to choose and I’m ready to stop living in the past.

I’m ready to stop the silent tears of my heart.

 

The hour disappears in a heartbeat, and although I never look his way again after my opening song, I always know where he is. I can feel him staring at me. I can feel him drinking in everything I’m telling him through every word that passes my lips. This knowledge fills me and emboldens me and by the time I finish my last song of the night, I’m ready to let him in, but I’m also confident that I’m stronger now. What happened between us made me stronger, and I won’t allow things to be the way they were before. I will not be falling into his bed or his arms.

“Thanks, Aurora. I hope you enjoyed your evening and I hope that I’ll get to sing for you again sometime. In fact, if you’re here the same time next week, I’ll be sharing the stage with a couple of new bands. We’d love to see you all. Goodnight and sweet dreams.”

I exit the stage and head straight for the dressing room. I learnt early on that by this time of the night some of the patrons can get a little over-friendly, so I’d much rather seem aloof and disappear, than fight off numerous wandering hands and have to call for security.

As I’m washing my face, I smile at my reflection and count the seconds in my head. He’s sure to follow me in here.

He doesn’t.

I pack up my stuff and stow away my performance guitar, still counting in my head.

One eighty-three, one eighty-four, one eighty-five…

I’m still alone.

Nerves begin to build in my belly. What if I was wrong and he didn’t stay? What if I only felt him watching me because I wished it to be true?

With a resigned sigh, I grab my messenger bag, tuck the loose strands from my braid behind my ear and walk out of the room with the decision made to tell Rach that I’m heading home.

I step out into the still bustling club, where the atmosphere is now chilled and relaxed. All the clubbers have gone from dancing the night away in the adjoining club, Accede, to listening to me for a few hours, to now waiting for the sun to rise over Aurora’s balcony, highlighting the impressive and breath-taking vista beyond. I realise how lucky I am that I get to sing at the top venue on the island and to have signed as a permanent artist is unreal and everything I never thought I’d achieve.

I take a few steps towards the bar and see him. He’s waiting for me with a large white box balanced on one hand and what looks like a thermos flask in the other.

“Coffee,” he says as he holds up the flask. “And cake.” He motions with a nod of his head to the box in his other hand.

I don’t bother to hide the smile that is part relief and part amused shock.

“Where on earth did you get those from?”

He shrugs and the box tips slightly on his outstretched palm.

“It helps to have your brother as the owner. The guys in the kitchen helped me out. I thought maybe we could have our coffee and cake on the beach, catch the sunrise together?”

Wow.

He chuckles slightly, and I have to wonder if I said something funny.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

He smiles, and it’s a grin so big that dimples I never knew he had, pop out on both cheeks.

“No, you didn’t say it, you mouthed it dramatically.”

I can feel the heat rising up my neck and painting my cheeks.

“Well, it’s impressive,” I offer honestly, figuring there’s no need to hide my feelings when he can see them on my face. Rach is right. I’m crap at hiding how I feel.

“You wanna take this from me before we’re forced to eat the cake off the floor?” He motions to the box, and I rush forward to take it from him.

“Is this a whole cake?” I ask, feeling the heavy weight of the box in my hands.

“Yeah, I figured with the way you scarfed down the last one I’d make sure to have enough to sate your impressive appetite.”

“Har, har, you’re hysterical,” I mumble with mock affront. “Take me to the beach before I change my mind.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” he teases with a sweep of his hand, motioning for me to take the lead.

As I walk past him, I remember where I was going before I spotted him standing there looking so adorable with his coffee date goodies.

“Oh, I just need to let Rachel know that I’m leaving or she’ll worry.”

“I already told her.”

“You what? What did she say?”

“You want the word for word rundown or the Cliff Notes version?”

I raise my eyebrows imagining what my best friend said, and he laughs lightly before replying.

“Well, she spotted me in the kitchen, so I told her my plans, and the short version of the rant went something like: ‘You fuck around with my friend’s feelings again, and you will die a painful and horrible death.’”

“Oh, no, she didn’t?” I ask in horror despite knowing that she probably did.

“Oh, yes she did,” he replies in a mock pantomime voice.

“I’m so sorry,” I rush out, worried that my friend overstepped the line between her and our boss’s brother, even though she was just trying to protect me.

“Don’t be,” he answers. “She had a right to say what she did. I hurt you, and she doesn’t want that to happen again.”

He doesn’t seem annoyed by Rachel’s interference. He seems happy with it, as if the thought of someone looking out for me pleases him.

We begin to walk side by side to the rear exit, the one that leads directly down to the beach. It’s closed to customers as security need to monitor who comes in and out of the club, but staff can use their key codes to access the direct path down towards the water.

“I’m not here to hurt you again, Halle,” he states as the door closes behind us. “I hope you know that.”

I look from the box in my hand to that man at my side and decide that I do know that. He’s so different from the man I last saw two months ago. He’s like night and day, and I have to find out what’s changed to make him this way.

“I can see you’re different, Josh,” I begin. “But you’re going to have to explain to me why, because as far as I can tell, we’re the same people we were a couple of weeks ago. Nothing has changed for me.”

As my feet hit the sand, I hear him murmur, “Everything has changed for me.”

We walk to a spot far enough away from the road and the rear of the club to be out of sight from prying eyes and sit down on the cool sand with only the moonlight to bear witness to our date.

“Dammit,” Josh curses loudly, a few moments after we settle. “The flask only comes with one cup, and I didn’t think to bring a knife for the cake.”

I turn to look away from the ocean glistening calmly before us and stare at the profile of the man at my side.

“It’s okay,” I tell him quietly, a small smile on my lips. “I’m happy to share, and cake is always better when eaten with your fingers.”

“This could get messy,” he states before opening the box and placing it between us on the sand.

I’m not oblivious to the dual meaning of his words. He’s not just referencing the cake.

“Isn’t that what life is? Just one big old mess,” I ask rhetorically.

He stops his movements and turns his head to look at me.

“Life is complicated, ugly and often messy, but it’s also beautiful too.”

His hand finds mine, and he links our fingers.

“It’s also incredibly short, and I’m done with letting it pass me by. It’s like I’m a bystander watching others live while I go through the motions, but I want to live it, I want to embrace the mess, and if I come out a little messy too, at least I can say I lived and not just existed.”

“What changed for you?” I have to ask. I need an answer to that question more than I need my next breath.

“Everything,” he begins before releasing my hand to pour coffee into the lid of the flask that also doubles as a small cup.

“It was the anniversary of Laura’s death and also Arthur’s birthday,” he states quietly but with a determination in his voice to confess and share this with me.

Laura. Such a pretty name.

“I expected it to be the day that broke me completely, but my entire family showed up. What could have become a day for me to dwell and slip back into unbearable grief, actually turned into a celebration of two lives – Laura’s, and the little boy she sacrificed herself to bring into the world.”

He hands me the steaming mug of coffee to take the first sip and our fingers brush, eliciting that same reaction deep in my belly that always comes from his touch.

“When someone you love dies, grief is a by-product of that loss, but it can become indulgent, and it doesn’t serve anyone. The pain you endure becomes something you live on like air or water or food.”

His eyes track the water before us, but I stay connected to him by more than his words when he softly places his hand on my shin as if to anchor himself while he lays out his truths before me.

“That day I-” he shakes his head lightly, his eyes now focused on the recent memory “-no, we, transformed all our grief into remembrance. We shone a light on all that was Laura, highlighting her and the joy she brought to each of our lives. In doing so, we each gave something of her - our memories, and our love - to another person. That day was the day I realised that for all of us who were lucky to love her, she would never die.”

He turns to face me once more with tears pooling in his eyes and a sad smile on his face, and I can’t help but reach out to touch him and give him comfort. He leans into my touch, absorbing it and speaking directly to me for the first time since we sat here on the beach.

“But it was also the day I realised I had been dying, and the day I decided that for my kids, for my family, but also more importantly for me, that I needed and I wanted to live.”

He leans forward to rest his forehead on mine, and I close my eyes at the touch.

“You gave me that, Halle. You. And if nothing else ever happens between us, I wanted to tell you that.”

I’m silent. Not because what he’s shared hasn’t impacted me, but because I don’t have the words to share just how much.

Everything he’s said has been my life up until now. Yes, I’ve been alive, but I haven’t been living.

For him, I could. For him, I could live.

“What happened?”

I don’t have to elaborate. He knows I’m asking about his wife.

He lifts his head from mine, looks for a long, painful moment into my eyes and then resumes tracking his gaze across the ocean. It’s like it’s too painful to verbalise unless he detaches slightly, but he keeps his hand on my leg. I’m his anchor at this moment, and it fills me with a sense of belonging that I’ve never had before.

“She had epilepsy. If she didn’t take her meds, her seizures could become regular and quite violent.”

Anger tries to break through his words, and he remains silent for a beat while composing himself. I can see how much he is struggling with what he’s about to say, so I gently take his hand from my leg and lace his fingers with mine, giving them a small squeeze to tell him ‘I’m here, I’m listening’.

With a shaky breath, he continues, “When she fell pregnant with Ivy, we discussed with her specialist the risk her meds would have on the baby. With the kind of drugs she was prescribed, it increased the risk of congenital disabilities or neurological conditions by about eleven percent, but he also said that he didn’t know how the pregnancy would affect Laura’s condition if she came off her drugs. It could have made it worse or in some cases better.”

“But Ivy is okay, isn’t she?”

A proud and beaming smile eclipses his face at the mention of his little girl.

“Yeah, Princess Ivy is perfect.”

“So Laura stayed on her meds?”

His brow crumples in confusion as he pieces his thoughts together and answers,” Yeah, she did when carrying Ivy. We argued about it, but I insisted that her health was more important.”

Realisation dawns and a sinking feeling hits me straight in the gut.

“But she didn’t with Arthur?”

He shakes his head sadly and pinches his lips together; fighting back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. When he’s got himself under control, his voice sounds thick and hoarse.

“No, she told me she was still taking her meds, even told her midwife and doctor the same thing, but she stopped taking them as soon as she found out she was pregnant. After she…” he swallows thickly. “When my mother was cleaning out her drawers in our ensuite bathroom, she found all of Laura’s meds hidden in a cosmetics bag that was pushed to the very back.”

He releases my hand and wipes his palms down the legs of his jeans. Lost without his touch, I place the now tepid coffee between my feet and wrap both arms around myself. I know this isn’t the end of the story and if he needs to do this without my touch reminding him he’s here with me and not her, I can understand that, but it doesn’t make me feel less devastated.

His voice takes on an almost dreamlike quality as he recalls the day he lost her, and the day he gained a son.

“Laura had been complaining that she was feeling lethargic all weekend, but we both put it down to the hot weather. By now she was almost full term and finding the summer heat unbearable. The following day I had parent and teacher evening in school, so I needed to leave early and knew I’d be home a little later. I kissed her goodbye at six and left her in bed. She begged me to call in sick and stay home. I knew she was teasing, but I called my mother and asked her to stay with her for a few hours until I got back.”

He hesitates before continuing, and I know this is getting more difficult for him, but I fight back the urge I have to touch him. I know when he needs comfort he’ll come to me, and I’ll be ready to offer it without restraints or restrictions.

“My mother stayed with her during the morning and then took Ivy out after lunch. Laura said she was tired and wanted to grab a few hours in bed before I got home, so my mother promised to keep Ivy until I came to collect her.”

The memory begins to get too much for him, so he pushes himself up off the sand and stands at his full height, lacing his fingers behind his neck while still staring off into the sea.

“I had a free period for my last lesson, and instead of using the time to prepare for the after-school parents evening, I drove home, stopping off on the way to grab a litre of Laura’s favourite ice cream.” He trails off as if something else has come into his memory and adds, “Funny enough it’s Ivy’s favourite flavour too.”

He shakes off that thought and begins to rock slightly from side to side before continuing.

“I entered our house at two o’clock and didn’t think anything was wrong. Laura had sent me a text to say she was going to have a lie down for a few hours, so I expected her to be in bed.”

His rocking turns to pacing. His hands are now in front of him as he examines his wedding band on his ring finger.

“Eight hours. That’s all it took for the bottom to drop out of my world. Eight hours from the moment I walked out of our bedroom to the moment I walked back in.”

He stops pacing and looks down at me, his frame blocking the moonlight, his eyes finding mine even in the darkness.

“I left my wife, the only woman I had ever kissed, warm, safe and full of life. She was glowing with our new baby inside her and eager to meet our son. When I got back to her she was clammy, borderline cold, her pulse was weak, and vomit was pooled across her chest and clinging to her hair.”

He turns away from me once more, and begins pacing in earnest, his hands running through his hair to tug on the strands.

“I tried to wake her. I begged her to open her eyes.”

He stops dead, his chin to his chest, his arms limp at his sides.

“Another eight hours and she was gone forever. They tried to save her, but her brain had been starved of oxygen for too long. Arthur was lucky to survive. They told me that you know. That I was lucky.”

He gives an angry snort.

“There was nothing lucky about that day. Nothing.”

Then he turns to me before sinking to his knees.

I’ve never seen a man sob before and never want to see Josh do so again.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this wasn’t meant to be this way… I-”

I wrap my arms around his frame, kneeling behind his back and engulfing him with my touch. The cold coffee spills at my feet and stains the pristine sand.

“Don’t be sorry. I can’t imagine how hard it was to share that with me.”

“There’s more, there’s so much more, but I don’t want you to hate me. I hate myself enough.”

“Shh,” I soothe, leaning my cheek on his shoulder, my lips mere millimetres away from his skin, his warm, clean scent enveloping me. “We don’t have to share everything now. We have time for that, all the time in the world.”

“I thought you said no do-overs.”

His voice is still hoarse from tears, but I detect a slight tease in his tone.

“I also once said that I was going to become a nun and run away to join a convent. Guess I’m prone to changing my mind.”

“Fickle. Huh, I’d never have guessed.”

I laugh lightly and place a soft kiss on his cheek.

“You still owe me cake, mister. I suggest you pay up before I change my mind again.”

We sit in silence sharing sips of the lukewarm coffee from the flask, licking cake frosting from our fingers and watching the sunrise over the Mediterranean.

It was both the worst and best date of my life and I’d yet to share any of my ghosts with the brave man by my side. Maybe once he got to know me, it’d be him changing his mind.