The Space In Between(29)

I ran my hands through my hair, sat up in my bed, and looked at my surroundings. On the nightstand next to me was a tray with eggs, bacon, and a bagel. In a small vase were a few beautiful flowers. Pinks, yellows, whites. I assumed Cooper picked them from the front of the house. A sigh fell from me; even after last night he still picked me flowers.
As I picked up the cup of coffee, I breathed in the strong flavors before I sipped. He even added cream and sugar. The perfect amount. The coffee was still steaming hot, so it couldn’t have been that long ago since Cooper delivered it.
I gobbled a piece of bacon down, and that’s when I noticed a note sitting on the tray, under the vase.



My lips curved as I saw him call me by my middle name—one of the little known facts I’d shared with him the night prior.



Part of me was sad I’d missed him, but then again I didn’t want to face him after my breakdown last night. I didn’t know what had happened; perhaps it was the wine or maybe the unconventional confession of love. Possibly it was both. All I knew was that I was pretty freaking embarrassed.
What would I do while I waited for Cooper?





DANCE.
I stretched on the tennis court in his backyard. The sun was covered by thin clouds, and would reintroduce itself to me every time the clouds traveled on to their next location. Placing my iPhone on the ground, I turned on my favorite music station. The tweeting birds added their own soundtrack to the moment, making it that much more special.
My heart was still aching for Derrick each day. But Cooper made the aching less intense. Cooper made me feel like I was floating. He made me feel alive. And since he wasn’t here right now, I would turn to the next thing that made me feel good no matter what. Dance.
Rumi once said, “Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free.”
I wasn’t free from Derrick’s hold on my soul yet. But I would dance anyway. The music started to blare from my small speakers and I moved across the tennis court. It was my stage and I, the dancer. I would spin, I would leap, and I would feel. Feel the excitement of losing myself in the dance. It was my drug and I was ready to overdose on it. I would twirl until the world appeared dizzy. I would bend my body and make love to the movement. My breath would be in total control. I was the instructor and my legs were the students. They would move when I commanded them to. They would fly when I needed them to.
I danced for hours. I danced as the sun grew tired. And then I danced some more.
I thought I heard the click of his camera before it happened—I didn’t stop moving. I kept going. As I spun I could see him inching closer, snapping away at me. I posed for him. I leaped. I explored the space.
I let go.
I let go because I was sure he would catch me.
His sexy smile was hidden behind the camera, but I knew it was there. I finally brought myself to a halt. My legs were exhausted, so I allowed them to lie down on the tennis court. I lay down on my back as the sweat dripped down my face. It’d been so long since I allowed myself to stop and remember something I loved to do.
He lay down next to me, shoulder to shoulder. Turning to him, I felt the butterflies return. “How’s your mom?”
“She had another good day. I think you helped make her better yesterday.”
I bit my lower lip. He made me feel the best kind of nerves. “I think you’re making me better.”
Instant comfort. I glanced down at our hands; he held mine and we both lay silent with our heads turned up to the sky. I was surprised at how he wasn’t extremely freaked out by me. Why didn’t he go running after last night?
“Thanks for breakfast.”
“Anytime.”
I smiled. Because I knew he meant that.


Chapter Eighteen

THE SUN WAS shining brightly, but the winter breeze made coats necessary. I sat across from Iris outside the coffee shop, wishing I could be anywhere but there. We were wearing sunglasses, smiling at each other as the paparazzi stood back and took our photos. The trip to South Carolina had come to an end, and instead of sitting across from Andrea, I was stuck with my wife.
Iris was about six months pregnant, sporting heels that looked to be cutting off all blood flow to her feet. How could she be so damn stupid?
Through a grin I whispered, “You’re a bitch.” And she grinned and took my hand into hers.
“When are you coming home?” she softly asked. I wanted to pull my hand away and walk off, never to see her again, but what she had on me was big.
“Why were you talking about revealing information about Ken?” Turning to my father’s past to get back to me was as low as one could get. I asked her what I had done that was so dirty that she would turn to these crazy measures.
“You left me.” Her tone was so sincere and filled with sorrow that I almost felt sorry for the woman sitting in front of me. Almost. She saw the paparazzi and knew we wouldn’t be able to hold the real conversation we needed to have, so she offered walking to our apartment—her apartment—so we could figure out where to go from here.
As we walked, Iris made sure to have me wrap my arms around her waist. Andrea was floating through my mind. I secretly wished she were the one my arms were wrapped around. I wished she were the one taking me home.
Right as we stepped into the apartment, I released my hold on her and started to holler. “What the hell are you trying to do to me, Iris?!”
“You left me, Cooper. You walked away and didn’t look back. What was I suppose to do? You wouldn’t talk to me.” She cried as she took off her high heels and her jacket. “Tom doesn’t want anything to do with the child. He’s expecting his own with his wife…”