Page 74 of Room for Us

He takes a step toward me then pauses, glancing at the open back door, expression torn.

“It’s okay,” I murmur.

“No, it’s not,” he says, low and tight. “Zoey—”

“Dad!” calls Daphne from outside. “I’m starving! It’s like nine p.m. in New York!”

I push off the wall. “I’ll start cooking right now.”

He grabs my arm as I move past him. His lips graze the hair over my ear. I almost, almost, sag against him.

“We’re talking about this later,” he whispers.

I nod and continue on, my steps light over the floorboards, my heart a leaden weight in my chest.

I pass a mirror in the hallway. See a blurred version of myself. Past, present, and future selves superimposed.

She’s alone.

40

Daphne likes her. It’s impossible not to notice the way her eyes light up whenever Zoey speaks.

It was my daughter’s idea that we eat dinner together. She’s fascinated—just as I am—with the beautiful innkeeper. Her utter lack of artifice, her warmth and presence.

There simply aren’t many people in the world who are exactly who they appear to be. Zoey is one of them. When she smiles, it’s genuine, and when she laughs, we all do. And when Daphne fires question after question about the inn’s history, and Zoey regales her with anecdotes of famous guests, prohibition times, and illicit basement gambling, we’re both enraptured.

Most importantly, perhaps, Zoey talks to Daphne like she’s an actual human being, not some childlike caricature as Britt so often did. And my kid shines—clever, smart, and adorable as hell.

This is hands down the best night of my life.

But as all writers know, the best moments in life—the ones that stay with us—are those that marry joy with pain. There’s nothing more profound, more immortal, than an awarenesses in moments of happiness of Time’s inexorable decay. Nothing perfect ever lasts. And no matter how I wish this evening could carry forward forever, it won’t.

I counted this morning: twenty-nine days to finish this book, to be with Zoey until goodbye. Less than a month before I fly back to New York and we both move on with our lives.

Like I said—joy and pain.

Daphne stays up way past her usual bedtime, especially given the time change, but I don’t have the heart to upset the natural flow of the evening. Besides, she napped earlier, so my parental guilt is easily ignored.

She eventually falls asleep on the living room couch while flipping through a photo album of the inn’s history, thick with black-and-white photos, newspaper clippings, and carefully preserved pages from an ancient guestbook. Zoey and I share a smile over her head before I carry my girl upstairs to the Lilac Room and tuck her in.

I find Zoey in the kitchen doing dishes, which I put an end to by lifting her hair from her neck and pressing my lips to her soft skin. She sighs, leaning into me. As I drop kisses up and down her neck, I watch her nipples harden, sweet little points pressing through her bra and thin tee.

“Ethan, we can’t—”

That’s as far as she gets before I spin her toward me. Soapy water flies, spattering across my shirt. I catch her startled laugh with my lips, savoring its taste before tipping her face upward and urging her jaw open. Then I take, and take, until we’re both panting and my erection strains between us.

“I need you,” I grate, my hands rougher than usual, rougher than she deserves. But by the noises she’s making, she doesn’t seem to mind.

“Not here.” Grabbing a handful of my shirt, she pulls me from the kitchen, down the hallway, toward her aunt’s former room. On the threshold she pauses, changing her mind, and yanks me into the laundry room.

“Really?” I ask.

“Who cares?” She unbuttons my long-sleeved shirt, yanking the halves apart.

“Not me.”

We end up on the dryer. Or rather, she does. Legs spread for me, her head braced on a hastily rolled up towel. The height of the machine happens to be perfect. Watching her—luminous dark eyes on mine, messy hair, little gasps, and kiss-swollen lips—watching myself—sliding in and out of her body, finding that certain stroke that makes her whimper and tighten around me—ranks as another of life’s immortal moments.

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