He Held Her Son the Night I Lost Ours novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: The Pavilion

The pavilion opened on Saturday night in a walled garden behind the studio.

It was a long glass room with a roof that hung from outside columns, the same idea I had drawn on tracing paper on my first morning.

Now it had a hundred guests under it, a string quartet and my name on the program.

Willa Prescott, Senior Principal.

I read it four times in the cloakroom mirror.

"You're blocking the champagne," Rafe said behind me.

I turned.

He was in a dark suit with no tie, and for once there was no grease on his hands.

"You look different," I said.

"Clean. It's temporary." He stepped closer and straightened the badge on my lapel with two fingers. "There. Now you look like someone who built the building."

His knuckles brushed my collarbone.

It lasted exactly as long as it took to fix a badge.

I noticed that I was holding still.

"Ashworth," I said. "We have a rule."

"A desk. I'm aware." He let go. "The desk is very proud of you."

I walked out into the garden with my face warm and my heart behaving badly.

The client's wife met me at the first table and took both my hands.

"You're the one who put the columns outside," she said. "My husband won't stop talking about it."

"It was the beam's idea."

"Don't be modest, darling. I hate it."

I laughed.

It was the third time that week that I had laughed without checking first whether it was allowed.

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