To make matters completely worse, when he finally stood to start class—the jerk—I got an eye full of the most perfect ass I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying something, considering the amount of athletes I represent. His now slightly open mouth highlights a row of straight white teeth. Is there anything about this guy that isn’t sexy as fuck? When he notices my returned stare, a smile breaks out on his face and a—Oh shit, I’m so screwed—dimple pops out on his left cheek. To my surprise, heat starts to burn low in my belly and I shift uncomfortably at the signs of physical attraction that are somewhat foreign to me after all of these years. Guilt suffuses me. This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be feeling this way. Isn’t that a betrayal to Ben?

“You haven’t truly enjoyed anything in a long time, have you?” Chase’s soft voice breaks the connection. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a sexy expression on a woman’s face. Maybe that’s stepping over the line.” An adorable pink tinges his cheeks. “But I get the feeling that stepping into your space is the only way to pull you out of it.”

I squirm a little at the way he’s looking so deeply into my eyes, praying that he isn’t seeing into my soul. I don’t want anyone to see how broken I am. I straighten my spine and give him an icy glare, “You can step wherever you want… that doesn’t mean you’re going to get anywhere.”

I don’t get the reaction I’m expecting. His smile widens and he winks at me, continuing to melt my frozen exterior one icicle at a time. “We’ll see,” he whispers.

I’m so done with this. I change the subject and go back to munching on my snack. “What is it you do, when you’re not giving hapless people a false sense of hope in finding closure, of course?” My arrow hits the intended target, and a brief look of annoyance flashes in his eyes. Instead of triumph, I feel sad that I wiped the smile off of his face.

“I’m a professor at UC.”

“Go, Maroons,” I quip, mockingly, but without any bite.

His brows raise in surprise. “You’re an alum?”

I nod, taking another bite of the messy goodness. One bite left, I sigh internally, disappointed that my moment is almost over. “UC law? Impressive,” he states.

I frown, I don’t like talking about myself, “What do you teach?”

“Evolution and Economics of Human Behavior.”

I suppress a groan. Great, the guy is practically a shrink.

“Leading the grief group came pretty naturally, especially since it helped me so much when I was in the same boat. Still am sometimes, I guess.”

Another bit of me defrosts. I wonder who he lost, but I’m trying not to care, so I don’t ask. I take my last bite of heaven and ball up my trash, then wipe my hands down with a wet nap, before checking to make sure my clothes are still spotless.

“Why divorce law, Tori?”

I make a frustrated noise. “It’s Victoria, and I think we’ve had enough analyzing for the day. Don’t you?”

Chase laughs, and the sound is contagious, causing a small smile to turn my lips up before I can suppress it. He grabs my hand and when I tug lightly to pull away, he squeezes it gently. “This wasn’t analyzing, Tori. It was simply getting to know you. I’m not your teacher or your therapist, but I’d very much like to be your friend, and I think you need one desperately.”

He clearly hasn’t gotten to know me.

“I don’t have friends. I don’t need anybody. I’ve done just fine on my own for nearly ten years now. It works for me.”

Chase squeezes my hand again. “Does it?”

He lets go, then stands and offers me his hand to help me up. I take it because it’s the lady-like thing to do, but am shocked when he pulls me in for another embrace and speaks quietly in my ear, “Are you really living, Tori? I think you’ve been hiding and it’s time for you to live. They would want that for you, you know.”

I don’t respond. I want to lash out in anger, but I’m consumed with sorrow, leaving little room for the resentment I’m trying to cling to.

Would they? Would they want me to go on without them, as though they never were?

Stepping out of his embrace, I nod, giving him the impression that I agree. Like before, his probing eyes study me and I get the impression that I haven’t fooled him in the least.

“Well,” I say awkwardly, “I’ll, um, see you next week.”

I start to pull away, but he tightens his arms just a fraction, and shivers—those damn shivers—race down my spine.

“Have lunch with me this week.”

I shake my head vehemently, afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll agree. It seems like Chase could make me feel things, and I don’t like to feel anything.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid to spend time with me? The ice queen?” He raises an eyebrow at me in challenge.

I’m a grown woman, not a child who can’t refuse a dare. I open my mouth to tell him this, “Fine.”

What? My inner self screeches. Shit. I knew if I opened my mouth…

“Great!” Chase beams at me. “How about Wednesday?”

I run through my calendar in my head.

“The only time I have is on Tuesday.”

Chase’s face falls suddenly, a frown marring the perfection, looking over my shoulder and into the distance. His arms drop and he is no longer holding me. I feel a sense of loss and loneliness steal over me. He shakes his head, swallowing hard, and returns his gaze to mine, stopping the movement when they connect.

“Okay, Tuesday it is. I’ll meet you at your office at noon.”

I shift my weight from foot to foot, over thinking what it would look like if I left my office with a guy. Would it revoke my membership in the bitch club? Or make my co-workers think I’m approachable? I stop and roll my eyes at my train of thought. Since when do I care what people think? It’s not like they have the power to hurt me. “All right. I’ll meet you in the lobby. Noon. See you then.”

Chase is back to beaming at me and I am transfixed by the expression for several moments. I’m struck even more when I feel a return smile sliding across my face. It’s an odd stretch on the muscles. Has it been that long since I used them?

He walks me back to the center, and as if my world wasn’t already tilting on its axis, it begins to spin when Chase quickly hauls me back into his arms and places a soft kiss on my cheek before abruptly letting go.

“Tuesday,” he winks and strolls off down the sidewalk.

I spend most of Sunday cleaning my house from top to bottom, the mindless work keeping me from second-guessing my decision to have lunch with Chase. In the late afternoon, I shower and get ready to make my weekly sojourn into the past. For the most part, this trip is why I still have a car. It’s not like I use it to go to my childhood home frequently, or at all if I can help it.

Grabbing my keys and a light sweater, I trudge down to the garage and get into my blue Prius and head east to the town where I grew up. I pull off the freeway and drive the quiet streets to the Meadowland Cemetery. The plots are in the section on the left, so I turn and park on the side of the street, then reach back to get the little something I brought. The sound of the car door closing echoes in the silence, a cloud of melancholy shades the wide open spaces.

Three rows down, two rows over, the third plot in. I stop in front of a marble, gray headstone and the smaller one just beside it. There is a third plot, just waiting for me, on the other side of my little Sarah. As I do every week, I wish fervently that I could have my yesterday back, and if not, I wish that they had filled all three spots that day. There are small bouquets of flowers in front of each stone, as there are most weeks, and I dip to lay my lavender roses on the grass in front of Ben, and sweet purple daisies for my little girl.

“I miss you both, so much it hurts.”