Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(78)

I don’t have words. Just one giant, audible gulp.

“Thief,” he whispers into my ear.

“I want a picture with Mommy and Daddy too!” Claire shimmies in between us before I can respond.

Faintly I hear Lucia say cheese. I’m supposed to be smiling at the camera, but I’m not. I’m staring at Isaac. I watch him smile at Lucia, then laugh with our daughter, and I wonder at what point this all went from hours to more.



I think it’s time for The Talk.

But, considering we shared an Uber with Isaac’s friend and his wife, there hasn’t been a private moment yet. And another private moment definitely won’t be found at this place.

We’re forty-five minutes from home in the ballroom of a resort. It’s beautiful, I suppose. Gold metal-backed chairs, large flowery centerpieces, a shiny wood dance floor in front of an impressive stage. Too bad I can’t appreciate it. I’m distracted by the words I almost heard.

I’m here. She has me. We’re…

Isaac reaches for me. His hand is warm and soft, and suddenly I want to press my cheek against it.

I gaze at him, wondering if he’s on the same wavelength. Maybe it’s possible. Last week we both made Claire’s lunch for the next day, not realizing the other had already done it. And we’d made the exact same thing. More and more, every day, we’re falling into sync.

Except for right now. At this exact moment, Isaac lets go of my hip. He’s talking to someone from somewhere, I honestly don’t remember, even though he introduced us no less than three minutes ago. I also don’t remember the name of someone from somewhere’s wife, who’s still telling me about how she plans nutritious and healthy meals that are also so easy to make. She keeps saying so easy. I can’t help but tune out. Normally I’m a very good listener, but this is proving too much for me. I nod my head again. I hope I at least look interested.

Beside me, Isaac is completely immersed in his conversation. He’s motioning with his hands, as though he’s using tools, and I assume they’re talking about work. I strain to pick up on a few words of their conversation.

“…if you don’t take it I will,” Dr. Someone says.

The band starts playing louder, and I don’t hear Isaac’s response. But what I do catch is his look. His eyes dart my way. I smile and rest my hand on his lower back.

“Would you mind if I stole Isaac for a dance?” I ask.

“Go right ahead,” Dr. Someone says. He motions to the dance floor.

“Thanks, Craig.” Isaac says. “We can pick up that discussion later, if you like.”

“I’d like to. I need to know why—”

“Come on, Aubrey.” Isaac tugs on my hand and sends an apologetic smile over my head.

Dr. Someone and his wife wave. They both look bewildered.

“What was that about?” I ask, but Isaac either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t want to answer. We reach the dance floor, and he pulls me in, curling me into his body. It takes a lot of control on my part not to bury my face into his suit jacket. Getting even closer to him might be worth smudging my makeup.

“Sorry about that,” Isaac murmurs into my hair. “It didn’t look like you were enjoying Craig’s wife very much.”

I wince. Now I feel bad. I guess I’m not very good at faking.

“What were you and Craig talking about?”

Isaac’s shoulders stiffen. The seconds tick by, then he says, “A position that’s opening at Boston General.”

I look at him. His gaze is somewhere across the room. His shoulders haven’t relaxed yet.

“What about it?”

“It’s a prestigious role, that’s all.” He’s shrugging like it’s no big deal, but the defensive edge to his voice tells me there’s more.

“Why do I feel like I’m not getting the full story?” It takes so much effort to keep my voice light, I have no more energy left to keep the sudden nervousness from eating away inside my stomach.

Isaac sighs. Finally, his shoulders drop, but something tells me they are far from relaxed.

“Aubrey, I don’t really think this is the place for you to hear about it. I don’t want you getting the wrong idea.”

I step back, turn, and walk away. Eyes down, I head straight for the doors. Once I’m outside, I walk another twenty feet until I reach a little wooden bench. I sit, tipping my head back, and stare at the teardrop shaped leaves. My heart hammers in my chest.

The air beside me swirls, the bench croaks in protest, and I don’t have to look to see if it’s him. Staring up at the pieces of navy blue sky filtering through the leaves, I say “Tell me what you’re keeping to yourself.”

Now I look at him. He’s rubbing his hands over his face. When he’s done, he drops them to his knees. “They want me for this job—”

My exhale is angry. “I knew it.” I shake my head and look away. This was a mistake. Getting close to Isaac was a mistake. A giant, horrible, life-altering mistake. Not just for me. For my daughter too.

“Aubrey, calm down. You haven’t let me finish.”

Does he even need to? I can fill in the words for him. “You’re going to tell me what a big step up this would be in your career. What an honor it is to be asked to join the team.”