Chapter 35: Moving On
229 words
The smell of burnt leather still lingered faintly when the doorbell rang. It wasn't the press, and it wasn't a contractor. It was Marcus Vance. But he wasn't wearing his shark-skin suit. He was in a soft cashmere sweater, holding a bottle of wine instead of a briefcase. The sight disarmed me. For a year, he had been my sword; seeing him as a man was jarring.
"I thought we could toast to the renovation," he said, his voice lacking its usual courtroom boom. "And maybe discuss dating after loss, or at least, dinner?"
He stepped inside, looking around at the half-painted walls. He didn't judge the mess; he smiled at it. My heart did a traitorous little flip. I had convinced myself I was broken, that the widow who scraped for tips was all I would ever be. But standing there, realizing I didn't need grief counseling to know I was lonely, something shifted.
"Dinner sounds nice, Marcus," I said softly.
He moved to the kitchen to find a corkscrew. I looked down at my hand. My wedding band, worn thin and scratched from years of hard work, caught the light. It had been my anchor while I drowned. But I wasn't drowning anymore. With a trembling fingers, I slid the ring off and placed it gently on the mantle. It wasn't forgetting; it was breathing.
End of Chapter 35
