Painful Truth
The words hit like a punch. "Last week? And you didn't tell me?"
"It's not much of a big deal."
"My mother called and you decided not to tell me."
He moves closer, but I step back, hitting his desk. "Anna, please. Let me explain."
"Explain what? How you've been lying to me?"
"I haven't been talking to her. She sent one email. One." He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. It makes him look younger. "I didn't respond."
"But you didn't tell me either."
"Your birthday's tomorrow. I didn't want to ruin—"
"Ok you want to use my birthday as an excuse."
The silence stretches between us. I can hear my own heartbeat, too loud in the quiet office.
"What did she want?" I finally ask.
"Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters! She's my mother!"
"She gave up that right fifteen years ago." His jaw tightens.
"Then why didn't you delete her email? Why keep it secret unless—" A horrible thought occurs to me. "Unless you're considering seeing her."
"Anna—" He moves closer, and suddenly I realize I'm trapped between him and the desk.
"Don't." But my voice wavers.
"I would never let her you again." His hands come up to cup my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones. The touch sends electricity through me. "Don't you know that by now?"
"James..." My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
"You're shaking." His voice drops, concerned. "What's really wrong?"
"Everything. Vanessa calling. You keeping secrets. And..."
"And?"
"And the way you're looking at me right now."
Something shifts in his eyes. Darkens. He leans closer, just an inch, but that inch changes everything. His breath mingles with mine.
"Anna," he whispers, and my name sounds different on his lips. Not like a daughter's name. Like something else entirely.
The intercom buzzes like a fire alarm.
James jerks back so fast he almost stumbles, dropping his hands. "What the hell am I doing?"
"Christ, Anna, I'm sorry. I don't know what—"
"Mr. Reynolds," Candice's voice fills the room. "Your three o'clock appointment is here. Should I have them wait?"
He clears his throat, still not looking at me. "No. Send them to conference room B. I'll be right there."
"Yes, sir."
The silence that follows is deafening.
"You should go," he says, his voice carefully professional now. "Just... go home. We'll talk tonight."
"James—"
"Please, Anna. I need to think."
I practically run from his office. Candice looks up as I pass, and something in her expression tells me she knows exactly what almost happened.
The elevator ride feels endless. My reflection in the mirrored walls shows flushed cheeks, bright eyes, lips parted like I'm waiting for a kiss that didn't happen.
---
The house feels different when I get home. Everything... everything just feels different
I try to distract myself, shower, change, start dinner, but I keep touching my face where his hands were. Keep feeling his breath on my lips.
My phone buzzes. Text from James: "Working late. Don't wait up."
Coward. He's avoiding me.
Fine. Two can play that game.
Except I'm making his favorite dinner like an idiot. Honey garlic salmon, roasted vegetables, the wine he loves. Because even after whatever that was, I still want to take care of him.
God, what is wrong with me?
It's past nine when I hear his car.
"Anna?" His voice is careful, testing.
"Kitchen," I call back, not trusting myself to look at him yet.
He appears in the doorway, tie gone, sleeves rolled up.
"You made dinner."
"It's cold now."
"I'm sorry. I should have—"
"Avoided me better? Your meeting ended at four, James. Candice told me when I called."
He has the grace to look guilty. "I needed to think."
"And?"
"And what?"
"What did you conclude? During your five hours of thinking?"
He moves into the kitchen but keeps the island between us. Safe distance. "That I'm losing my mind."
"Because you almost kissed me?"
"Because I wanted to." His knuckles are white as he grips the counter. "Because I still want to."
The admission hangs between us, raw and honest.
"We should talk about your birthday," he says, clearly desperate to change the subject.
"What about it?"
"I cancelled Vanessa. Made reservations at Laurent instead. Unless you'd prefer—"
"James." I finally look at him. "Are we really going to pretend nothing happened?"
"Yes." The word comes out harsh. "We are. Because acknowledging it makes it real, and it can't be real, Anna."
"Why not?"
"You know why." His voice cracks slightly. "I raised you. I'm supposed to be a father to you, not—"
"Not what? Want me?"
"Stop." But his eyes drop to my lips when I say it.
"You were going to kiss me."
"I know."
"I wanted you to."
"Anna, please—"
"I still want you to."
He moves so fast I don't see it coming. One second he's across the kitchen, the next he's in front of me, hands braced on either side of me against the counter.
"You don't know what you're saying."
"I'm twenty-two, James. I know exactly what I'm saying."
"This is wrong."
"Then why are you looking at my mouth?"
He makes a sound like he's in pain. "Because I'm weak. Because I'm selfish. Because I've been trying not to notice you for two years and I'm failing."
"Two years?"
"Since you came home from sophomore year in that sundress. Since you started looking like a woman instead of—" He stops. "This is exactly why we can't talk about it."
"But we are talking about it."
"And look what's happening." He's so close I can feel the heat from his body. "I should step back."
"But you're not."
"No," he admits. "I'm not."
My phone rings, shattering the moment. Daisy's ringtone.
James steps back immediately, running his hands through his hair again. "Answer it."
"James—"
"Answer it, Anna. Please."
I grab the phone with shaking hands. "Hey, Daisy."
"Just checking you're okay after earlier. You seemed really shaken about your mom calling."
"I'm fine." I watch James retreat to the other side of the kitchen. "Just processing."
"Want me to come over? We could have wine and talk shit about everything."
"Not tonight. But thanks."
"Okay, bye.“
I dropped the phone and he was about to leave.
"Wait."
He stops at the doorway but doesn't turn.
"How long have you felt this way?"
His shoulders tense even more. "Goodnight, Anna."
"How long?"
"Since the moment I realized you weren't a little girl anymore. And I've hated myself every day since."
He leaves before I can respond.