The Widower (18+) | [Complete]

Nineteen

My morning yoga session was fruitless. Too many thoughts and thoughts and worries raced around my head to allow me to let go and focus. From my position on the balcony, I watched as the widower finished lap number three around the island.

He hadn't said a word to me since he came back. He hadn't said much of anything to anyone. He had barely left his office to do anything but run. I tried not to take it personally but I couldn't keep myself from worrying it was personal. I pushed him, bent him . . . and now I feared I may have broken him.

The breeze off the water had a chill to it, but as the sun lifted higher, the summer warmth came with it. Augustine stopped to breathe and removed his shirt, then he turned around. He looked up in my direction and turned his body to face me. We were too far away from each other for me to make out any sort of expression, but if I could see him, I knew he could see me.

I straightened up, holding my ground. He stared for a moment and then went back to running. The breath I was holding left me like a sigh. 

He was being avoidant and I was getting annoyed.

. . .

Later that day while the kids were preoccupied, I walked up the hall and paused by the door of the office. I hadn't decided how to approach him yet. How to breach the subject of communication when he was so clearly doing the opposite.

"Come in, Ms. Nielson," he called to me through the door. I froze in place, still completely out of his sight. How did he know—"I'd recognize the sound of those heels anywhere." Oh.

I cracked the door open a little further. "I didn't want to interrupt anything."

"I find that hard to believe," he mused. He stared ahead at his computer screen while he typed with furious speed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

I walked closer, practicing my words until my hips and fingers touched the edge of his desk. "I wanted to check in." When he still did not look my way, I elaborated, "We haven't talked since we left the loft."

He hummed, still staring ahead at his screen. "It's as if I've been busy. That seems out of place for me, doesn't it?" His unusual sarcasm felt harsh. "I'm glad you've come. I wanted to speak with you about something."

"You do?"

"I do." He reached down and slid open his top drawer. My skin went cold with fear.

The picture. "This isn't what I meant, you don't have to talk about—"

I stopped short when he pulled out an open envelope and held it out to me between his first two fingers. I stared at it until he said, "Matthew's final marks."

My anxiety faded for a mere second before I realized I didn't know if his grades were good or not. I took the envelope from him and pulled out the card. When I saw them, I covered my mouth and the tears began to well.

One B, the rest A's.

Augustine walked around his desk to stand by my side. I continued staring at the letters as if they'd change when I looked away.

"You're surprised he did so well?" he asked.

I fanned my tears to regain my composure. "No. I knew he had it in him." I turned my head to look at him. "He's been through a lot. You both have. I'm just happy to see him succeed."

He leaned back against the desk, looking at me over his shoulder as I did the same with him. Augustine stared at me for a moment. "I apologize if I have been inaccessible since last we spoke," he said. My eyes widened. An apology? "My work has kept me very busy, but do not mistake my distance for disinterest." His gaze drifted down to my lips then back up to my eyes. "There are few things that pique my interest as much as you."