I Love You from Afar

After putting the kids to bed and having a kind conversation with my still grumpy partner, I wished her a heartfelt goodnight before retreating to the guest room with my laptop. My stomach was actually fluttering with anticipation of being carried away and seduced by another story. Chloe's profile page recommended the Unspoken series next, so I settled in and started reading. I was quickly captivated by the plight of a young woman in Colonial America fleeing into the wilderness in the middle of winter to escape her abusive family. A mysterious man that couldn't speak rescued her from death's door after she injured her leg in a stream. The innocent exploration that followed was unforgettable. It was intensely arousing for me to experience an intimate story from a woman's perspective. I felt like I was sharing her erotic pleasure, and that got my blood pumping. I wondered what Chloe felt when she wrote those scenes. I'm ashamed to admit how long I indulged in that thought. I made it through the third chapter before I had to stop and sleep.

The next evening, I was allowed to return to the master bedroom and didn't have an opportunity to read another installment of Unspoken. I was disappointed about it, but I was also relieved to have our home life getting back to normal. I snuggled against my partner and held her for a little while. I could feel her heart beating faster than normal, and it sparked my curiosity. I asked her if she was alright, and she took a deep breath and shook her head no. I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, and she nodded, so we sat up in bed and looked at each other for a moment.

I could see her face in the moonlight coming through the window, and she looked like she was about to cry. She asked me not to get mad at her for what she was about to say, and my stomach dropped. She started talking really fast after that, asking if I remembered a man named Sean from the New Year's Eve party. She had gotten fairly drunk that night. We were hanging out with our closest college buddies, and they were in high spirits too. She had nothing to feel guilty about. She said Sean was actually her high school ex. My anxiety spiked with each new sentence. She said they stayed outside talking after everyone went inside, and when Sean realized they were alone, he kissed her. She said she was too stunned and drunk to react at first, but after a few seconds, she kissed him back. She said she didn't know why she did it. She pushed him away when he started groping her breasts. She said she slapped him after that and went into the house to find me, but before she found me, she got sick in the bathroom. That's where I found her. I simply thought she couldn't hold her alcohol. As I helped her to the car, she mumbled, "I am so sorry." I thought she was apologizing for drinking too much, not for kissing her ex.

My heart was thumping with rage after she finished her story. I wasn't mad at her. I wanted to flatten Sean for taking advantage of her while she was drunk. I didn't understand why she didn't tell me about it sooner. She obviously remembered everything that had happened. I hugged her as she cried and let my rage cool before I spoke again. I asked her why she didn't tell me about it the next day, and she grew silent for a moment. She eventually said she didn't want me to be mad at her for kissing him back. I was too mad at Sean to be mad at her, but her behavior worried me. She had been acting colder than normal toward me since the party, and I didn't understand why. I asked her if there was anything else she wanted to tell me. She shook her head and hugged me for a few more minutes, easing my anxiety a little. Then we lay down and cuddled until we fell asleep.

Life got a little better after that night. There was less tension in the house, and I felt like I could finally relax and enjoy church for a change. My early Valentine's Day sermon was well received. Valentine's Day was on a Tuesday that year. The kids were going to their grandparents' house that night, giving their mom and me time to reconnect over a steak dinner that I would be preparing. I was looking forward to it for a change. A lot had happened to get me out of my two-year funk. I felt guilty about some of it, but I didn't hurt my family. I never would if I could help it. My marriage was stressful and not really enjoyable. My partner had a bad habit of putting her happiness above everything else, but at least she loved our children. I knew she wouldn't intentionally hurt them. I felt like she went out of her way to hurt me sometimes, or she simply lacked the excess of empathy that plagued people like myself. Whatever it was, I chose to be there and do my best.

She was oddly quiet as we enjoyed our dinner. She was usually quick to talk about the latest gossip from the women's group. She always went to that Sunday evening meeting. I asked her if she liked her steak, and she smiled and nodded. Then I asked her if she had any exciting news from the women's group, attempting to give her fuel to speak. Her expression fell after that question, raising my concern. I asked if she had gone to the meeting, and she said she had skipped it. She was frowning at that point. There was something she needed to tell me, so I asked her what it was. She let out a heavy sigh and stared at me for a moment, then she asked me not to get upset. My anxiety spiked again. I knew it would be bad. She said Sean came to our church that night and caught up with her in the hall. He said he needed to talk to her about what happened at the New Year's Eve party. So they went into an empty classroom to talk. He confessed to still loving her and felt terrible about kissing her without asking. She said she thought he was being genuine since he was always a gentleman when they were dating. The only reason they broke up was that he picked an out-of-state college after high school. She said he wanted to stay friends and join our church if she thought it was okay and could manage to forgive him for kissing her.

I felt nauseous as I listened to her speak. She was pleading his case like he was a dear friend, not a man that assaulted her while she was drunk. She always spoke well of things she wanted, no matter how terrible they were, and it was a punch in the gut for me. I calmly told her everything I was thinking at that moment, and she grew red in the face with rage. I feared she would start yelling at me, but she kept her cool and shook her head instead. Then she accused me of distorting her kindness and implying she wanted to be unfaithful. I bit my lip at that point, keeping myself from asking if that was what she wanted. I didn't want to make the situation worse, so I stayed silent. She said it hurt that I thought so little of her kindness. Then she left the table and locked herself in the bedroom.

I sat there for a moment, doubting everything I said and fearing she was right. No. I knew what she was like. She wasn't malicious, but she was self-serving. If she was genuinely unhappy with me, she would look for ways to reward herself for her troubles, like a four-hundred-dollar second coat that we could barely afford. I propped my face in my hands and groaned. I hoped to God my suspicions were overblown, but I was rarely wrong, and I seriously didn't want to think about it anymore. I left the food on the table and found my laptop before locking myself in the guestroom for the night. Thanks to a certain angel, I had a means of escaping my depressing thoughts for a while.

I climbed into bed and pulled up chapter four of Unspoken. The sad ache in my chest eased as I read about a Native American wedding ceremony. The story was fascinating and made me yearn for simpler times. The love between the main characters and their native friends was strong and healthy despite its hedonistic nature. I could see hedonism strengthening a small community when they actually valued each other as individuals. They were a tribe that had to work together to survive. They couldn't afford to be selfish. I was already seduced by the story long before I reached the first love scene. It was an indulgence and a celebration of arousal and love. I never wanted it to end. I devoured chapter after chapter until they were gone. She had stopped at chapter six. That chapter felt like a season finale, but she had left it open and obviously planned to write more. I yawned as I looked through her story list, hoping to read more, but exhaustion was catching up with me. I glanced at the time to see it was already past midnight. I had been reading and satisfying myself for almost four hours. Despite my horrible supper date, I felt comforted enough to sleep. I also had an unofficial coffee date with an angel to look forward to the next day.

My partner was cleaning the kitchen the next morning before she ushered the kids off to school. We exchanged a few words of apology and promised to speak again that evening. The sad ache returned as I imagined how the conversation would go. I shook it off and reported to church to greet my parishioners for confession. Then I drove to my favorite coffee shop to admire my angel from a distance. My heart leaped to see her beautiful figure sitting in the front window. A pleasant warmth filled my chest as I walked across the parking lot. I suddenly felt like I knew exactly who she was. I felt like I understood her heart on a deeper level after reading her amazing stories. The feeling scared me as much as it warmed me on that cold February morning. I wanted to speak to her, embrace her, and thank her for existing, but I couldn't. Despite everything, I couldn't stray from the path I chose and the promises I made before God to honor my partner and protect my family. I would admire her from afar and delight in her stories, but I couldn't be her friend. Being that close to her would be too tempting. My path was already decided.

My stomach fluttered as I entered the shop. I hurried past her to avoid giving her an opportunity to speak to me. I knew she saw me. I retrieved my tall black and sat at the table close to the counter, putting a large portion of the room between us. She glanced over her shoulder at me, and it took everything I had not to look up and meet her gaze. My heart pounded as she watched me, then she turned her focus back to her chess game. I let out a sigh of relief and looked at her back for a moment. She was wearing an attractive red turtleneck with a simple black skirt. The outfit looked perfect on her. I longed to sit next to her and tell her how much I loved her stories, but I had to be content with simply being in the same room with her. I pulled my Bible out of my satchel and pretended to read as I sipped my coffee. I couldn't help dreading going home that evening. I knew there would be another argument after the kids went to bed, and the only person I had to blame was myself.

That line of thought was turning my mini vacation into a pity party. Suddenly, Chloe hopped down from her chair and collected her things. My stomach fluttered at the thought of her walking over and sitting down at my table. What would I do then? I gulped when she glanced at me and started walking toward the back of the room. My heart was pounding as I dropped my eyes and pretended to read my Bible. Was she really coming over? To my disappointment and relief, she went to the restroom. I let out the breath I was holding as I stared at the lady's room door. Then my eyes drifted to the dark corner next to it. I had once imagined backing her into that corner and kissing her to my heart's content. I wondered how she would write that scene. We would stare at each other in uncertainty for a moment, knowing we were doing something wrong, but we couldn't resist the temptation. In the heat of the moment, we would taste each other's lips and give in to our forbidden desires. I would run my fingers into her hair and kiss her breathless before we stumbled into the lady's room and locked the door behind us. Then I would bend her over the sink and see if she was wearing any underwear.

I had to stop myself at that point. I couldn't write like her, and I was about to start drooling. Then, she stepped out of the restroom and immediately trapped me in her gaze. I probably looked like a deer caught in headlights. I watched a familiar smirk appear on her red lips before she sat down in the chair by the restroom door. Then she proceeded to stare at me like she was disappointed with me. I gulped and looked down at my Bible, trying to pretend I wasn't completely flummoxed, aroused, and a little frightened by her behavior. She seemed intent on giving me a taste of my own medicine, and I absolutely deserved it. Suddenly, another flummoxing thing happened. Someone called my name from across the room, using my "Father" title. I knew it was a parishioner. Of all the horrible times to be caught with an erection, that was one of them. I glanced toward the front of the shop to see an elderly couple heading toward me. They were the newest and sweetest members of our congregation. I smiled and waved them over. I didn't dare stand up. I hoped they didn't take offense. They didn't seem to care as they hurried over and joined me at the table. I smiled and greeted them warmly, hoping my voice didn't sound slightly hysterical because that's how I felt with Chloe staring at me from the corner behind them. God was punishing me at that moment, and I had to own it.

We spoke about health problems and future trips to the county's memorial park in the spring. Then they requested prayers for their family dog. The poor animal had eaten a few socks and was at the vet until it passed the unhealthy snacks. Chloe's smirk returned as she listened to me consoling the couple and assuring them that God cared about all his earthly creatures. Then we bowed our heads and prayed together. When I glanced at Chloe again, she was writing in her notebook instead of giving me a death glare. It was a relief. The parishioners thanked me and left my table to get on with their day.

Once I was alone, my anxiety rebounded. Chloe was still writing in her notebook and glancing at me every few seconds. I gulped and pretended to read my Bible, wondering if she knew how uncomfortable she was making me. She obviously did. I had done the same thing to her multiple times. She eventually sighed and tore the page she had been writing on out of her notebook. Then she walked over and dropped it on my table without evening looking at me. I stared after her in confusion as she left the shop. Then I looked down at the paper. She had drawn a realistic portrait of my face with her pen. I stared at it in amazement for a moment. She could be a sketch artist for the police. Crap. Did she actually work for the police? No. That wasn't likely. She had written another message at the bottom of the page.

"It was sweet of you to pray for their dog. Did you have a good Valentine's Day?"

I had a terrible Valentine's Day, but it ended on a good note, thanks to her stories. February fifteenth was a much better day for me. Chloe had given me a gift from her own skilled hand. It would join her first note in my notebook's hidden pocket. I almost always had my notebook with me, and I often read over the first note she gave me. No matter how low I felt, her words lifted my spirit. I had a feeling I would need them and her stories later that night.

After we put the kids to bed and cleaned up the kitchen, my partner and I sat down for an unpleasant conversation. I explained how I felt about her defending a man that assaulted her and that I thought she was doing it because she had feelings for him. She denied having feelings for him beyond friendship, but her frustration with the conversation spoke louder than words. I begged her to be honest with me. I said I wanted us to be content with our relationship, and she was making it difficult with her erratic behavior. I knew she was unhappy. I was, too, most of the time. If there was a way to fix it, we needed to try and find it. She rolled her eyes and huffed as if she had heard all that before. I sighed and asked her what she wanted me to do. She said she wanted me to forgive Sean and trust her for a change. That was all. I reluctantly agreed because I didn't want to argue all night. Then I asked if I could trust her not to blow our budget without talking to me first. She almost rolled her eyes again, but she caught herself and nodded instead. She even apologized again for buying the extra coat, and it sounded genuine. I thanked her for compromising, and she actually grinned. It was a reminder of better times in our relationship.

I often wished we could be more like we were in the early days, but her lack of responsibility drove me nuts since we were older and had more responsibilities to juggle. She had a bad habit of getting in over her head and abandoning projects before they were done, and I didn't have time to finish everything she had started. I asked the final question of the night to see if she wanted me to return to bed or not. She said she needed one more night to think and cool down. So, I gave her a hug and kiss before retreating to the guest room with my laptop.

The next story recommendation on Chloe's list was Coffee and Portraits. That one sparked my interest even more after the portrait she drew of me. I dived in and loved it. It was sweet, charming, and deeply romantic before taking a twist into suspense. One of the main characters reminded me of Chloe, but it wasn't the female lead. Caleb was a gifted artist that often drew portraits of people he liked. He was also a genius story builder that helped his lawyer friend solve complex cases. Caleb was obviously on the high-functioning and gifted end of the spectrum, and it made me wonder if Chloe was too. Phantom Code had blown me away and demonstrated her incredible view of reality. She was a talented writer, a philosopher, an artist, and a chess player, and I was getting more obsessed with her. I was beyond tempted to send her an email and ask her about her life. I wanted to know everything, but I told myself I wouldn't do it. I was already acting like a moth to the flame by returning to the coffee shop to see her, hoping she would close the gap between us. I wanted to get burned. What I really needed to do was read more and clear my head the old-fashioned way.

Coffee and Portraits was connected to another story. Sordid Details preceded it, so I found the link and dived in, and it was definitely sordid. The main character was a former porn star that was stalked and dominated by the man she was infatuated with. He seduced and coerced her into sex at every turn, and she enjoyed it. The arousal that story caused was on another level. I stayed up way too late enjoying it. I didn't get to sleep until after two.

The rest of the week and the weekend dragged by. The weather was bitter cold, making me wish I could spend more time at my favorite coffee shop. I didn't feel like relaxing at the house since I was either arguing with my spouse or actively playing with the kids. I enjoyed the latter, but it usually left me more tired. I was always trying to smooth things over with my partner, and she made it difficult at every turn. I would never stop trying. It was my job to make things work. We hadn't made love in a while, and I was beginning to miss her intimate touch, especially after the fantasy fuel I had been consuming for the past few weeks. She had allowed me back in bed, but she was still giving me the cold shoulder. I spoke with her about it Tuesday night, and she let out an annoyed sigh and apologized for her lack of interest. She said she was dealing with a lot of conflicting emotions and just needed my support until she sorted through it. I said there had to be something more I could do, and she said she just couldn't talk about it yet. I honestly couldn't blame her for being frustrated with life. I felt the same way, but she needed to share her frustrations so we could work through them together. If she refused to do that, things would only get worse. I explained that to her, and she agreed, but she still wanted more time to think. Then I stupidly asked if it had anything to do with our last big argument, and she snapped back, "It might." The way she said it sounded like a threat. I quickly apologized and said I would shut up and give her more time. She thanked me in an exasperated tone and wished me good night.