Page 41 of Letting Go
Thanks, Walker. I appreciate it … and look forward to it.
Me
Me too.
I know I am toeing that professional line as close as I can, but in the same breath, I wonder how fast I could get to Forrest Falls from Texas if she needed me. I lock my phone and put it in my pocket as I take a pull from my beer, only to look up at two assholes grinning at me.
“What?”
“No one special, huh? I’ll be sure to mention that to Mama,” Sam says as Charlie joins him laughing.
“You will abso-fucking-lutely not. You know how she gets.” I know they know, we’ve all been through it. Where do people think I learned the true art of an interrogation? Carole Jane Bennett could teach an interrogation class at Quantico.
“I wasn’t sure we would see the day when a woman would make you smile, especially like that, Walker. I’m happy for you, brother.” Charlie shifts the tone of the conversation.
“Hear, hear.” Sam lifts his beer. “I don’t think Gretch the Wench ever made you smile like that, but I’ll be in Mama’s ear faster than a pig in mud if I hear about this from my wife first.” He glares atme, knowing I probably would call Carrie about my love life before him.
“Fair enough. You’ll be the first to know,” I concede.
Or the second. Vivian should probably be the first to hear how while I want to make her feel safe, I also want to make her feel loved, treasured, happy, and anything else that will put a smile on her beautiful face.
Chapter eighteen
Vivian
“Be a light and have a great day, baby!” I hug Eloise before she scampers off to join her friends in line. I love that she has made some sweet new friends at Forrest Hills Academy and genuinely loves going to preschool. It may only be a few hours but it gives me a little alone time, which is rare as a single mother. I’m going to need an extra shot of espresso in my coffee this morning, though. Eloise woke up at 2 a.m. screaming for her daddy and I don’t think I fell back asleep until almost 4:45 a.m. My 6 a.m. alarm felt exceptionally rude but caffeine will help me get through today; we just may need to try to get to bed early tonight. The early bedtime won’t make a difference with her nightmares, though I wish I knew what would help or stop them altogether.
I say hi to a few people I recognize as I walk back to my car. Waiting at the crosswalk, I look up to see Hot Jogger with his daughter waiting to cross on the other side of the street. We have only said hello in passing and today is no different, although I notice his black joggers don’t catch my eyes quite like the gray ones he wears. I shake my head slightly as I silently chastise myself for even noticing. We make eye contact as we pass each other and he flashes me another gorgeous smile as he says, “Good morning,” with a little chin lift toward me. I smile and repeat the greeting back to him as I quickly cross the street. I don’t need any of the gossiping Karens accusing me of flirting during drop off, but as I reach my car I can’t help but correctmyself.
So what if I flirt with a single dad and someone saw me shooting my shot? I am a single mom with plenty of life left ahead of me, and while yes, my husband was killed, he was also cheating on me, which has shifted—and at times complicated—my grieving process. I turned thirty-three last week and I do not plan on being a sad, wallowing widow for the next five or six decades of my life. I adjust the rearview mirror as I drive home and look at my reflection. I’m not dressed up by any means but I think I look pretty cute in my typical mom uniform. My hair is pulled up in a messy bun, I’m wearing a T-shirt from one of my favorite authors, joggers, and converse sneakers. I even put a little makeup on this morning, but that was just for me. I see the moms that obviously put on a full face of makeup and wear their designer clothes for drop off, but that’s not really my style. Trent strongly preferred I look my best when I left the house. He wouldn’t tell me what to wear, but he would make little comments about looking tired if I wasn’t put together, or excessively compliment me when I was dressed to his standards. I refuse to play that game again so if a guy wants to flirt with me while I’m comfortable in my athleisure, two extra points to him.
Let the hens cluck, I decide with a nod to myself in the mirror.
It’s not like I’m going on a date any time soon, but I realize that even thinking about going on a date evokes an interesting feeling in my chest. Instead of feeling guilty about moving on, I feel the smallest seed of … hope. A small feeling of hope that I can find someone who is going to be all in and committed to the relationship just like I am—instead of just convincing me they are by putting on one hell of an act.
My therapist challenged me to think about what an ideal relationship would look like for me in the future and one thing I want is to find someone who looks at me like my daddy looked at my mama, especially after they fixed their marriage. You could watchDaddy and know when Mama walked in the room by how his eyes would light up. Mama would often tell me that Daddy made her feel like she was his sun, and his love for her helped her shine brighter in every way. If Mama needed something, she rarely even had to ask because if Daddy overheard her talking about needing anything, he just handled it. I never remember her getting after him to get something done; if Mama asked, Daddy followed through and took care of it.
In my marriage, I had to remind Trent of everything, knowing that sometimes he still chose not to follow through simply because he didn’t want to do whatever it was. More often than not, I handled things on my own. I thought I was showing my daughter an example of being a strong, independent woman. In hindsight, I see that if I wanted something done, I handled it myself. In the future, I need someone I can depend on, a partner who has my back in big and small things, someone strong in every sense of the word.
A certain FBI Special Agent with a very handsome face, dark mahogany eyes, slight dimples, and a strong jaw comes to mind; he seems to be strong in all the right ways. I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to be held in his strong arms—I bet it would include an overwhelming sense of safety. I’ve only seen him with his shirt on, but he has one of those backs that you can just tell is muscular when you look at it. His well-developed trapezius muscles pull the fabric of his shirt taut over his shoulders, which look like he could carry anything—figuratively and literally.
Yummy safety that I kind of want to lick like a popsicle.
As if he knows I’m thinking of him, my car chimes as a text arrives and the screen on my dashboard lets me know it’s from Walker. I just saw him when he got back from Texas and our texting is now a regular thing. It’s not strange to hear from him,but it does make me smile to see that he sent me a message. After parking in the garage, I pick up my phone to read it.
Walker
Good morning, Vivian. Just a heads up that Harlow talked to Liam this morning. She followed up on those suggestions we talked about at your house the other day, but he already implemented two of the three. He is going to add the other layer remotely. He’s a good man.
Me
Hey there, Special Agent Man. Yes, he is, and so are you for looking out for me.
Walker
I will do anything in my power to keep you and your daughter safe.
Me
