Mind Over Matter

“Drink.”
    Nodding, she sipped. “She’s always needed me.”
    “She still does.” He took the handkerchief and dried her cheeks himself. “Just in a different way.”
    “I feel like a fool.”
    “The trouble with you is you can’t accept that you’re supposed to feel like a fool now and again.”
    She blew her nose, unladylike and indignant. “I don’t like it.”
    “Not supposed to. Have you finished crying?”
    She sulked a moment, sniffled, then sipped more coffee. “Yes.”
    “Tell me again that you missed me.”
    “It was a moment of weakness,” she murmured into the mug, but he took it away from her.
    “No more evasions, Aurora. You’re going to tell me what you want, what you feel.”
    “I want you back.” She swallowed and wished he would say something instead of just staring at her.
    “Go on.”
    “David, you’re making this difficult.”
    “Yeah, I know.” He didn’t touch her, not yet. He needed more than that. “For both of us.”
    “All right.” She steadied herself with a deep breath. “When you suggested we live together, I wasn’t expecting it. I wanted to think it through, but you got angry. Well, since you’ve been away, I’ve had a chance to think it through. I don’t see why we can’t live together under those terms.”
    Always negotiating, he thought as he rubbed a hand over his chin. She still wasn’t going to take that last step. “I’ve had a chance to think it through, too. And I’ve changed my mind.”
    He could have slapped her and not have knocked the wind from her so successfully. Rejection, when it came, was always painful, but it had never been like this. “I see.” She turned away to pick up her coffee, but her hands weren’t nearly steady enough.
    “You did a great job on this wedding, A.J.”
    Closing her eyes, she wondered why she felt like laughing. “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
    “Seems to me like you could plan another standing on your head.”
    “Oh, sure.” She pressed her fingers to her eyes. “I might go into the business.”
    “No, I was thinking about just one more. Ours.”
    The tears weren’t going to fall. She wouldn’t let them. It helped to concentrate on that. “Our what?”
    “Wedding. Aren’t you paying attention?”
    She turned slowly to see him watching her with what appeared to be mild amusement. “What are you talking about?”
    “I noticed you caught the bouquet. I’m superstitious.”
    “This isn’t funny.” Before she could stalk from the room he had caught her close.
    “Damn right it’s not. It’s not funny that I’ve spent eleven days and twelve nights thinking of little but you. It’s not funny that every time I took a step closer, you took one back. Every time I’d plan something out, the whole thing would be blown to hell after five minutes with you.”
    “It’s not going to solve anything to shout at me.”
    “It’s not going to solve anything until you start listening and stop anticipating. Look, I didn’t want this any more than you did. I liked my life just the way it was.”
    “That’s fine, then. I liked my life, too.”
    “Then we both have a problem, because nothing’s going to be quite the same again.”
    Why couldn’t she breathe? Temper never made her breathless. “Why not?”
    “Guess.” He kissed her then, hard, angry, as if he wanted to kick out at both of them. But it only took an instant, a heartbeat. His lips softened, his hold gentled and she was molded to him. “Why don’t you read my mind? Just this once, Aurora, open yourself up.”
    She started to shake her head, but his mouth was on hers again. The house was quiet. Outside, the birds serenaded thelowering sun. The light was dimming and there was nothing but that one room and that one moment. Feelings poured into her, feelings that once would have brought fear. Now they offered, requested and gave her everything she’d been afraid to hope for.
    “David.” Her arms tightened around him. “I need you to tell me. I couldn’t bear to be wrong.”
    Hadn’t he needed words? Hadn’t he tried time and again to pry them out of her? Maybe it was time to give them to her. “The first time I met your mother, she said something to me about needing to understand or discover my own tenderness. That first weekend you stayed with me, I came home and found you sleeping on the bed. I looked at you, the woman who’d been my lover, and fell in love. The problem was I didn’t know how to make you fall in love with