Sip by Sip

Chapter Eleven: Don't Be

    "I'm sorry I walked out on you last night. I was nervous, nervous of what you were saying, of what it meant in terms of us. I was scared, and I regret it."

    He shook his head, as he talked to his reflection. He sighed, his shoulders slumped. No matter how many times he rehearsed, it never sounded right.

    It was almost the end of the day, and he knew what was coming. He practiced, prepared, but none of it helped. As when he stepped out of the bathroom, he found himself face to face with her.

    Startled, his feet almost carried him off. But he forced himself to stand in front of her, his head hung.

    "Noah . . . " her voice was small, so unlike her.

    And in that moment, he knew exactly what to do. He pulled her into his arms, hugging her to him tightly.

    "I'm sorry, Mia. I really am- But I can't."

    She nodded against his chest, her breath warm and silently shaking, and for a moment, with her so small in his arms, he could almost imagine . . . .

    "And I can't ask you to." She whispered, and his heart squeezed with guilt.

    "I'm sorry."

    "Don't be, Noah. Please," her voice was barely audible, it couldn't even be called a whisper, "Don't be."

    He let her go, and watched her walk away, his heart sinking deeper and deeper into his chest.

    With a sullen mood, he returned to his apartment early, chopping up vegetables and pulling out pots and pans, and after setting everything up nicely, he called her.

    "When are you getting home? I have a surprise."

    "A surprise, huh? Sounds . . . appetizing." He smiled at her tone, laughing softly. His mood lifted considerably at the sound of her humor.

    "You could say. Get home quickly."

    He could hear the vibrations of her laugh carry through the phone. "Ok, see you in a bit."

    He hung up, lighting the two candles on the table, and dimming the main lights of their small kitchen. Juliana had always loved old fashioned romantic settings.

    The minute she walked throug the door, he took her coat. He led her to the table, pulling her chair out for her to sit. She laughed; oh how he loved her laugh.

    "I feel I have been neglecting the person who means the world to me, and I feel that I must atone for it." He spoke like the true rich man he once was, and she giggled. Her brown eyes displayed joy, appreciation of him.

    He served her, he carefully avoided the topic of work, and successfully had a pleasant dinner. The two laughed, and talked, and things seemed normal. Simple.

    Their evening ended in the bedroom, filled with sweet, wine-smelling kisses and slightly drunken happiness. He forgot about the day, the complications, Mia and Gemma. He may have felt guilty, but at the moment he was too content to care.

    He lost himself in her touch, in her kisses, and in the simplicity.