Sabrina examined her husband in stunned silence. Her brain said he couldn’t be serious, but her eyes insisted he was. This wasn’t the type of reconciliation she’d hoped for when he called. Being apart from him had been a nightmare she kept hoping to wake up from. It was like she was haunted by his image. For the first couple of weeks, she’d remained on Jewel’s sofa most of the day, not wanting to face the world or a future without him. When she did leave the apartment, everywhere she looked she thought she saw him: sipping a coffee in a nearby cafe, seated in a taxi rolling down the street, or walking ahead of her on the sidewalk. Even in sleep she hadn’t been able to escape, dreaming about him and waking up in the middle of the night, wishing he was there with her. He was always a gentleman and had risen to his feet when she approached the table. She almost wished he hadn’t because she’d smelled his cologne—a scent which had made her want to lean into the solid strength of his body, missing being encased in his warm, loving arms.
