“I didn’t know about your family.”

I’d barely been able to hold those words inside me until we were wrapped in the relative safety of the SUV. Now, gripping the steering wheel, I stared straight ahead and tried not to think about how her voice had shook, the way her breathing had hitched and caught as she tried not to cry.

What the fuck did you expect? It’s a grief support group, dumb ass.

I shied away from that inner voice of sardonic loathing as I continued to sit there and wait, staring through the windshield because I couldn’t stand to look over at her as I apologized.

“I hadn’t told you,” she said simply. “How could you know?”

Finally, I darted a look at her, but she was doing the same thing I had been—staring out the window. But instead of a determined, blank mask that I used to hide all the anger and guilt, she looked calm and placid. Peaceful, even.

How could you go through something like that and be at peace?

I didn’t understand it.

Yet she sat there looking like the Mona Lisa.

“I…” I stopped, unable to figure out how to process everything going on inside my head. Hell, I didn’t even know where to start. “You haven’t ever asked me about…”

Who I lost. Why I’m an asshole. Anything.

But I didn’t have to say a word.

She feathered her fingers down my arm. Even through my coat, I felt the ghost of her touch, and I had to fight the insane urge to grab her hand and hold on tight.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” she said gently. There was a world of compassion in her voice. “If you ever want to, I’ll listen. But the only person who can make the decision to tell your story is you.”

Those words still echoed in my head nearly forty-five minutes later when we pulled into the cavernous garage. The interior lights came on automatically, dim at first, then slowly going brighter.

Taking the nearest open slot, I hit the ignition button, words trembling on my tongue, but before I could figure out what I wanted to say, Tish climbed out.

I fumbled the door open, determined to say something.

“Tish.”

She’d already reached the back bumper of the car. She stopped, turning to give me a quizzical look. I took my time shutting the door, still wracking my brain for the right words to explain what was in my head.

The problem was I didn’t know what was in my head.

“I…thanks,” I finally blurted out.

Thanks didn’t even touch on what I wanted to say. I appreciated the offer, sure, when I wasn’t pissed off about everything. And it was better than what most people told me—you need to talk. Isabel wouldn’t want this. You’re depressed, Sean. You need help.

Her calm acceptance was like a balm after the shit I’d been hearing. Like I didn’t know I was depressed, and fuck, yeah, I knew it would be a good idea to talk, and logically, I even realized that my happy-go-lucky wife would probably not want me feeling guilty.

But none of that shit helped.

Tish didn’t give me any of that.

She just accepted, and if I wanted to talk, she made it clear she’d listen.

For once, all rigid, hard barriers I’d erected around myself seem to buckle and fall away. I was floundering, and the only solid thing around me was her.

My fingers itched to reach out.

Before I could give in, she turned away and walked out the big doors of the garage, heading for the house.

I stared at her back.

It was better this way.

Really.

With a grim sigh, I followed along. As I exited, I thumbed the button on the key fob that controlled the doors. The light from the garage slowly disappeared, and by the time I reached the side door of the house, the only illumination came from the landscaping and a security light near the side door.

Tish fumbled with her keys. I could see her shivering in the thin coat she wore. When her keys fell from her fingers, we both bent to get them at the same time, and our fingers brushed. I picked up the keys, and we rose.

Standing this close, that wave of want hit hard and fast.

She stared up at me, her eyes wide and unblinking. A flurry drifted down and caught in her lashes, followed by another.

A sigh shuddered out of her.

I reached up and cupped her cheek. She’d pull away. I already knew it. She’d pull away, but I wanted to feel the softness of her skin again. That soft, silken smoothness.

She was warm, despite the chill of the night. And despite my expectations, she didn’t pull away.

Not even when I stroked my thumb across her lower lip.

Her lashes fluttered. I didn’t think it had anything to do with the snow that had started to fall softly.

I was going to regret doing this.

But I did it anyway.

Lowering my head, I pressed my mouth to hers.

Tish lifted her hands, curling them into the front of my coat, but instead of pushing me away, her mouth opened.

I took advantage, slipping my hand to the back of her head and pulling her in closer. Tracing my tongue across the lower curve of her lip, I demanded entrance to her mouth.

Any second, I expected her to pull away.

Any second, I expected this to come to an end.

Any second…