December 2013
Sinclair made good on his word and a month later, on an early Saturday morning, we were moving into our dream house.
I spent the weeks before the move packing up everything. They say moving is one of the most stressful things to go through, but the chaos around me—packing up boxes, going through everything—kept me distracted. There was no time to focus on the blemishes slowly appearing in my marriage.
No time at all.
Instead, I concentrated on what I knew to be true: Every couple has flaws. No one is perfect. Put two people together and it’s normal for those flaws to become even more apparent. Yes, that’s all this was.
We were a completely normal couple. Besides, Wes had been perfectly fine these last few weeks: no outbursts, no anger. He was back to being the same man I loved. He had just had a bad few moments. I kept trying to tell myself that, but at the end of the day I still had my doubts.
Wes parked the car on the opposite side of the street. As the movers backed the truck into the driveway, I stared at our house. Even though it was the middle of December, the weather seemed to be on our side, with not a single cloud in sight. I had my North Face zipped up and a black beanie to keep myself warm. Wes was dressed just as casually. It might have been the first time in a while I’d seen him without a suit and tie.
Wes smiled at me and held out his hand. “Welcome home, Mrs. Donovan.”
It was hard to believe that this day had finally arrived. A car drove by, causing leaves to scatter across the road. A few skipped under the car and flew up in the air before they slowly fell to the ground.
“You ready for today?”
“Absolutely.”
Hand in hand, we hurried across the road and got to work. Wes helped the movers and when I tried to help, he smiled and told me to do nothing but tell the movers where I wanted everything. So I did. I stood in the finished foyer, with the walls freshly painted. The windows sparkled and the sun shined in. The front door stood wide open as men walked in and out, carrying dismantled furniture, boxes, rugs. I watched as the first floor slowly began to fill up with items. A rush of excitement danced down my spine. I couldn’t wait to cut open every box and make this house our own.
In the middle of the afternoon, everyone took a break and Sinclair arrived. His car pulled up behind ours and a slow tingle spread across my skin. He stepped out of his car and I stood up and leaned against the doorframe and watched him. He was dressed casually in jeans and a black polo shirt. Sunglasses concealed his eyes and gave him an aura of danger. Wes shook his hand and spoke to him briefly, then gestured in my direction.
When Sinclair saw me, his lips pulled up into a grin. He waved. I waved back, but my gaze instantly traveled to Wes, who looked completely nonplussed to see Sinclair around me.
“It’s finally moving day,” Sinclair said as he walked toward me with quick, confident strides.
“Finally,” I said with a smile.
“Let me guess…you’re telling the movers where to put everything.”
“How did you know?”
“You’re the queen of this palace. What else would you be doing?” We stood there, a small slip of silence creeping around us. I cleared my throat and quickly stepped aside to let him through. Sinclair slipped off his sunglasses and hooked them on the collar of his shirt. I saw a peak of his collarbone and olive skin that led to his shoulder.
My pulse didn’t quicken. It soared. It pounded against the base of my throat, begging to burst free. All because of a fucking collarbone.
I quickly looked away.
Sinclair was completely oblivious. He circled the foyer, staring at the walls and floor with a critical eye. “What do you think?” he asked.
“It’s beautiful,” I replied and I meant it. This home was truly my dream house.
Sinclair moved down the hallway, toward the kitchen, but I stayed put. I wanted to follow him yet I was terrified of Wes seeing us together.
I went back to my spot at the front door and a few minutes later Sinclair walked back down the hall. He stepped outside the house and looked around. “How are you doing?” he asked casually, not looking at me once.
“I’m good.”
“Just good?” He grinned.
Every time I talked to Sinclair I felt he was searching for something. I stayed perfectly straight when all I wanted to do was relax and slip into an easy conversation.
“What are you doing here on the weekend?” I asked him.
“I thought I would take a day off.”
“It’s not a day off if you’re visiting a client,” I pointed out.
“Since the house is finished, you’re no longer a client.” He lifted a brow. “We’re friends.”
Friends.
No, that didn’t sound right. Friends shouldn’t look at each other the way we were doing.
Nothing between us was friendly, but I nodded and gave him a weak smile. “Don’t you have a family?”
He smirked. “No. No family.”
I already knew that, but I wanted to hear him say it.
Since I’d found out he was Renee’s brother, I’d casually asked her about him. I wanted to find out all I could. It was wrong, but I couldn’t ignore my curiosity. He was the middle child out of three. He was single. No ex-wives. No children. No nothing.
And all my mind could think was, How? How was this incredible man not taken?
“Why not?” I said before I could think twice.
“Why don’t I have a family?”
I nodded.
Sinclair chuckled and shrugged. “Haven’t found the right person.”
“You will.”
“You think?”
“Of course.”
And then he looked me straight in the eye. His face was serious. “Maybe I’ve already found her.”
I gulped at the intensity in his eyes. “Maybe.”
Heavy pause. Tension crept over us. A handful of unspoken words hung between us.
“I should be going,” Sinclair finally said. “I’m glad you like your house.”
“I love it.”
“I’ll see you later.”
There was no masking the innuendo. I heard it loud and clear. Here was my chance to clear everything up. With a simple shake of my head the looks and sexual tension would vanish. But instead I nodded. I heard him, heard his request, and agreed.
At the end of the day, my mother stopped by. We all had dinner together and then she and I got to unpacking.
She was a woman on a mission, quickly reverting to the mom I grew up with. When the kitchen was unpacked, she immediately moved to the living room.
A few times she made Wes come and help us. He looked completely drained, but he didn’t say a word.
“Mom, we’re beat.”
She placed her hands on her hips and exhaled loudly. “What time is it?”
I glanced at my watch and groaned. “Eleven forty-five.”
“Oh, I had no idea it was so late.” She looked around the living room. The sofa and overstuffed chair were angled toward the TV. The carpet was rolled out in front of the sofa. Lamps were plugged in and pictures were on the end tables. All that was left were the curtains and pictures.
My mother grabbed her purse and coat. Wes and I walked her to the door, afraid that if she glanced around at the bare space she’d make a run for it, find a drill, and start hanging up curtain rods.
I leaned heavily against Wes as I stepped out onto the porch. In the distance I could hear a dog bark. Across the street the neighbor’s lights were on. Their blinds were shut, but I saw the shadows of bodies moving around. Streetlamps ran the length of the road. This small community was just as I had pictured it.
“Well, I’ll let you two get some rest.” She gave me a big hug and pulled back. “I’ll be back bright and early for round two of unpacking.”
“Goodie,” I teased.
She was walking to her car when I quickly thought of something. “Mom!” She turned around. “Hold on one second. I forgot something.” I grabbed my phone from the kitchen and ran back to the front door.
“Before you go, can you take a picture of the two of us?”
She grabbed my phone but playfully rolled her eyes. “You and your pictures…”
She walked to the middle of the pathway. Wes draped his arm across my shoulder. My hand snaked around his waist.
“Smile in one…two…three.”
I smiled.
I’m pretty sure I did.