And as he pulled me into him, making me feel so safe and secure and happy, I couldn’t help but fall apart. Maybe I hadn’t done that enough over these past months. But, boy, did I ever do it then. I fell apart about my marriage and my family’s disappointment and not having Parker’s babies and breaking his heart all over again and breaking my own and knowing that, as much as I tried to push it away, I felt something for him that he could never feel for me. (I didn’t say that to Harris, obviously.) And I hated myself the entire time because this was what I had been trying to avoid. I liked Harris. He was handsome and laid-back, and, when we were together, I was the cool girl who didn’t have to talk about the future or “what we were.” Now I was ruining that with all these emotions.

Despite my better judgment, I allowed a rich, expensive cabernet to soothe my hurt feelings when Harris handed it to me. And when “Moon River” came on and I said I loved that song, I let Harris fold me into his arms and lead me around his kitchen-turned-dance floor, feeling so in sync with him that when he changed the foot he was leading with I didn’t even step on his toes. And I ate a delicious, thick steak, which made me feel full and warm and soothed inside. Sitting on Harris’s plush couch with a bottled water, the roaring fire feeling warm and good even though it was hot outside, I caught myself off guard saying, “I just want to stay right here forever.”

He shocked me by saying, “I wish you would.”

I looked at him wide-eyed, my buzz wearing off. I didn’t want to make too big a thing of it, so I laughed casually.

And he said, “No, really. I’ve been thinking about it. I know it’s early, but I want you to move in. Here.”

The vulnerable part of me wanted to eagerly take the bait that had been offered. But something was holding me back.

“After my giant scene, you still want me to move in with you?”

He laughed. “If that was your idea of a major scene, then yes, I want you to move in with me even more.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I said.

“Don’t say anything,” he said, waving it away. “This has been a big night for you. I know a lot is happening. Just think about it.” He paused. “I think we want the same things,” he said. “I don’t want to be married or have children. You don’t want those things, either. We have a great time together. We get each other. This feels like the real thing to me, Amelia.”

“It feels like the real thing to me, too,” I said.

It startled me to realize that, just a few months ago, all those things he had just said had been the God’s honest gospel truth. But then I imagined Parker beside me in that doctor’s office, holding my hand, how devastated he seemed as he’d walked out of my apartment just a few days earlier. How I had held myself back from telling him the way I felt when he was around, how everything had seemed right when we were together. In just a few weeks, everything I wanted had completely changed. But I couldn’t admit that yet. Not even to myself.