Page 57 of Not the Plan

“Will you call me when you’ve finished? I’d like to hear your voice one more time before going to sleep.”

Her heart fluttered. “Sure, but I don’t have your number.”

“Yes, you do.” He grinned. “It’s on the card with the flowers.” She turned back to the bouquet lying on the table.

“Aren’t you smooth?” Before he spoke, she went up on tiptoe to kiss him. It was a long kiss, a deep kiss. Like their kisses from the previous night. He pulled her close, she slid her hands into his hair. They kissed for a long time, savoring each other. Moaning, he released her lips, resting his forehead against hers.

“We’d better stop.” He sighed, his eyes closed.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Or you won’t be able to finish your work. I won’t let you,” he whispered.

“Mmm…okay, Karim.”

“Talk to you later, beautiful?” He turned to take the stairs, with reluctant steps.

She nodded. Words were complicated for her.

—

A few minutes before eleven, she rearranged the last stack of handouts and closed her laptop. After taking a quick shower and getting into her pajamas, she picked up the card with Karim’s number and read it again.

Missing you already, beautiful. Thank you for spending the day with me. —K

She giggled, picking up her phone.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” she said.

“Mmm, I hoped that was you. All done for the night?”

The sleepy timbre of his voice sent shivers over her skin.

“I am. Thank you again. You didn’t have to do all that, I’m sure you were tired already.”

“What was I going to do, beautiful? Let you struggle by yourself? I wouldn’t have been able to come home and relax knowing you were stressing out and I could have done something to help.”

“Guess I’m accustomed to being responsible for it all myself.”

He didn’t say anything at first.

She hesitated too, thinking she might have made a misstep, sounded egotistical or bossy somehow.

“That’s a lot to bear,” he finally said. “Why do you think that is?”

“Why do I think what is?” she asked.

“That you feel you have to do everything yourself? I mean, you don’t do it all the time; you have your staff. But in a crunch you wouldn’t reach out to them. And I’m not trying to get all psychiatrist-y on you or anything. It’s just, you know. Somethingto think about. I really appreciate you letting me help you if it’s hard for you to do that.”

She swallowed around a lump in her throat. How many times had RJ held up a mirror to the fact that she struggled with asking for help, had made life much harder on herself than she needed to because she just could not do it. Hell, he’d even printed out article after article, showing her that she’d arguably had something called an adverse childhood experience, having a mother who expected Isadora to have as few needs as possible. As a result, Isadora learned to be as perfect as possible, as self-reliant as possible. And now she couldn’t stop.

“I…um…yeah, sure,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I appreciate your help.”

She needed to change the subject. Get the focus off her.

“There’s something I wanted to ask you about,” she said, her voice evening out. “Though it’s about your divorce, your, um, wife. I don’t want to upset you.”

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