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"What are you going to do?" her friend asked her quietly.

"First, I am going to finish this excellent wine and then work on my designs.

Oh, you mean about the letter? Nothing." She rose and went to grab the bottle.

"Stop looking at me like that." She poured wine into both glasses and settled back on the sofa, one hand reaching down to comb her fingers through Brutus's thick fur.

Last night was like a dream, only it wasn't. The crumpled letter she had spent last night reading several times was living proof of what had happened.

He had not called her. She had spent a tense day at the store expecting him to.

Each time a staff member came around when she was in the office, she would jump.

Whenever she found herself on the floor dealing with a client and she heard the bell jingle, she expected him to walk in.

If he had wanted to unnerve her, he had accomplished it brilliantly. Her nerves were shot to hell.

"His letter was--" Yvette took a deep breath as she recalled the words. "A confession and an apology."

"It doesn't matter." She gulped wine. "And you're supposed to be on my side."

"Always honey." Her friend eyed her carefully. "What are you going to do?" she repeated.

"Maybe I should just have sex with him and get it out of my system." She lifted her shoulders in a jerky shrug, the movement causing Brutus to raise his head and stare at her.

"You don't have casual sex," Yvette reminded her. "And what about Matthew?"

"One crisis at a time please." She felt as if she was coming apart at the seams. "That son of a bitch!

" She gulped more wine. "He knew what he was doing.

Stirring me up like this and expecting me to fall like a ripe plum in his arms. Well, that's not going to happen.

I'm going to have sex with Matthew." Her eyes blazed.

"Who knows, it might be just what I need to get that bastard out of my system.

" She glared at her friend as Yvette sat there in silence. "Aren't you going to say something?"

"Frankly, I have no idea what to say," she commented mildly.

"Or I could have sex with him and still go out with Matthew.

That would show him that he's not exclusive.

" She poured more wine into her glass. Hell, she was not driving, was she?

She was already home. And what if she had a hangover in the morning?

Nothing was wrong with that. She had problems--he had come back into her life and turned it upside down as usual.

"He was always a tempest," she murmured, feeling the anger draining.

"A what?"

"A storm." She sighed as she settled back and curled her legs under her.

By this time, Brutus had gone to sleep and was snoring.

"I knew that it would be wrong to get involved with him, even then.

I knew of his reputation and was determined to stay away from him.

" She took a slow sip of wine. "He chased me.

" Her smile was whimsical. "He just would not give up.

He's like that. Always had to have his way. What the hell am I going to do?"

Tongue in cheek, Yvette responded, "I thought you were going to bang his brains out."

She laughed shakily. "It's more like the opposite.

What we had when we were teens was so profound, so powerful that I wept.

I crawled into bed that night and cried until my eyes were swollen.

It was humiliating. He did things to me--" She gulped wine again and felt the heat rising.

"He--Oh God!" She took refuge in the wine and tried to ease the dryness of her throat.

"He's Japanese," she ended as if that explained it.

"And tonight?" Yvette was having her own moment. The look on her friend's face told her everything she wanted to know.

"Tonight," she shook her head. "I have no idea what stopped me from begging him to take me right there in the parking lot."

Yvette leaned forward, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. "You're spiraling, you know that, right?"

She nodded, feeling the haze of the wine loosening her inhibitions further. "I know. It's just--he has this way of making me feel alive and out of control all at once. Like I'm standing on the edge of a cliff, and he's daring me to jump. And the crazy part? I want to. I want to jump."

Yvette's hand on hers brought her back to the present. "But why now? Why let him back in when you've worked so hard to move on?"

"I didn't let him back in," she said, her voice sharper than she intended. "He just--he was there, like he always is. Like he always will be, lurking in the corners of my life, waiting for a moment to remind me that he exists. And now, he's got me unraveling. Again."

Her friend was quiet for a moment. Then, with a sigh, Yvette said, "Maybe that's the problem. You've never really dealt with him, with what he meant to you back then, with what he still means to you now."

She opened her mouth to argue, but the words didn't come. Deep down, she knew Yvette was right. She had buried the feelings, the memories, the heartbreak, but they had never truly gone away. And now, here they were, clawing their way to the surface like a storm she couldn't outrun.

"I hate that you're right," she whispered, her head falling back against the couch. "I hate that he still has this hold on me."

"It's okay to feel that way," Yvette said softly. "It's okay to be confused, to not have all the answers tonight. Just promise me one thing."

She turned her head to look at her friend, eyebrows raised in question.

"Whatever you decide, whether it's Matthew or him or neither, make sure it's what you want. Not because you're trying to prove something, not because you're trying to escape something. Do it for you."

The gravity of Yvette's words settled over her like a blanket, warm but heavy. She nodded slowly, letting the truth sink in. "For me," she repeated, as if saying it aloud would make it easier to believe.

Yvette smiled, her hand giving hers a reassuring squeeze. "For you."

Silence followed, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that allowed thoughts to simmer, unspoken but understood. Brutus stirred at her feet, letting out a contented sigh, and she envied his simplicity.

Tomorrow would come, and with it, decisions to make and emotions to face. But for now, she let herself sink into the couch, surrounded by the warmth of wine, friendship, and the bittersweet chaos of her own heart.

As the evening wore on, the room seemed to settle into its own rhythm, the ticking of the clock blending seamlessly with the occasional crackle of the candle wick.

She found herself tracing the rim of her wineglass absentmindedly, her thoughts a tangled web of what-ifs and unspoken truths.

Yvette, ever perceptive, leaned back into the cushions, her presence a quiet anchor in the tempest.

"Do you think," she began tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper, "that it's possible to let go without losing a part of yourself?"

Yvette tilted her head, her gaze thoughtful. "I think letting go doesn't mean erasing. It means making peace. Some things--some people--leave marks that aren't meant to fade. But maybe that's okay. Maybe those marks shape us into who we're meant to be."

Her words hung in the air, wrapping around her like an embrace. She wanted to believe that. To believe that her scars didn't define her as much as they refined her. But the notion still felt distant, like a light she could see but not quite touch.

Brutus shifted again, his large, soulful eyes peering up at her as if sensing the weight of her thoughts. She smiled faintly and reached down to scratch behind his ears. His tail thumped against the floor in response, a reminder that love--simple and unencumbered--was still within reach.

"Maybe you're right," she said at last, straightening herself on the couch. "Maybe it's not about forgetting. Maybe it's about learning to carry it differently."

Yvette's smile widened, her pride for her friend evident in her softened expression. "Exactly. And when you do, you'll find that it's not as heavy as you thought."

For the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of hope sparked within her chest. It was small, fragile even, but it was there. And for tonight, that was enough.

But Kai was having a difficult time of it.

He had sat there in his car inside the parking lot after she left, just contemplating his plight.

And thinking seriously of storming her house, demanding to be heard.

He had said a lot, written a goddamned letter out of sheer desperation.

Bared his soul for the first time in his bloody life.

It should have been enough. He wanted it to be enough.

Christ Jesus! He needed her and he had never needed anyone before. It was humiliating and humbling. He was on the verge of begging.

Shooting the scotch, he shoved to his feet and went to stand at the balcony.

The breeze was stiff, but the cold had never really bothered him.

A faint smile touched his lips as he recalled how much it had affected her.

During the fall weather, she would be bundled up from head to toe, while he would be wearing just a thin sweater.

Christ! The taste of her was still on his tongue. He wanted more. Ached for more--her body had felt so damned right against his. He wanted her naked and desperately needed to be inside her.

He had left her and that was going to take some time for her to believe he would never hurt her like that again.

She bloody well better know that, he thought huffily.

He had been a damn child when his world turned upside down.

And how the hell was he supposed to know that after ten years, he would still feel this way?

How could he have predicted that seeing her again would churn up something inside him that refused to die?