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Halley possessed my mind like a relentless storm. When I closed my eyes, I pictured her standing waist-deep in the ocean, her hair a golden halo around her face, her eyes shimmering with sunset swirl. Puckered skin from the cool mist. Full, parted lips, begging to be kissed.

I was a fucking idiot for kissing her. For taking something that wasn’t mine, for touching her in places that were no longer meant for me. For giving us both a deadly ray of hope. She’d been too willing, too responsive. Too goddamn beautiful. It was a recipe for disaster, and that disaster had followed me home.

Over the past year, I’d transformed half of the back room into an office, where I spent weeknights detailing workflow spreadsheets for both locations. A computer sat atop a paper-strewn desk in the corner, only sharing the space with a cup of pens, a stapler, and a single pewter frame that held a photograph of Tara and Halley sitting by the fireplace on Christmas Eve.

I glanced at it, missing them both.

Craving Tara’s hugs and Halley’s kisses.

My mind zoned out, just as a notification dinged to life on the screen. A chat box. I pivoted forward in the rolling chair, my heart skipping at the unexpected message.

Halley: Late night at the office?

We hadn’t messaged like this before. There had only been impersonal, work-centric e-mails that did little to subdue the sharp ache between my ribs. I hadn’t thought about making personal contact. It felt too real, too intimate. Too goddamn painful.

But that was…before. Before our visit, when my fingers had found their way between her legs, love confessions had spilled from my unworthy lips, and my tongue had knotted with hers while a salt breeze fused with tears.

Blinking at the instant message, I lifted a hand, positioning my fingers over the keys. A slew of poetic words whirled through my brain. They didn’t make it to my fingertips.

Me: Hey.

Lame as fuck.

Halley: Hey yourself.

Me: Sorry. You caught me off guard.

Halley: In a good way or bad way?

Me: Good. Always good.

A solid minute passed while I waited for more conversation that I would inevitably butcher.

Halley: Since your greeting led me to believe you’re gearing up for some rich, insightful, soul-baring conversation, I can only follow-up with something equally fitting: How’s the weather?

I grinned, chewing on my cheek as I imagined her sitting cross-legged in her desk chair, her sun-kissed hair piled on her head, pajamas swallowing her slim frame.

Me: It’s not picture-book sunsets over sparkling water while splashes of color paint your face and your laughter out-sings the ocean waves. But I’m enduring.

Halley: Ooh, there he is. Much better :)

Me: I miss you.

Halley: Even better yet. I always knew you were secretly a romantic.

Me: Because I swept you off your feet? Literally. Countless times.

Halley: LOL. The scissor sweep! But no, it’s because of the Beanie Baby sitting on my desk. Hoppity knows the truth.

Me: :) How are you? Any weddings lately?

Halley: We’re wrapping up the busy season next weekend and only have a few more in the books until April. I’m going to e-mail you a new favorite picture I took. Hold please.

I held.

Held on to my breath, my heart, my hopes.

A new e-mail chimed, and I switched over to my inbox and opened it up. It was a low-quality image of a mother and daughter dancing. The bride’s head was tipped back with laughter while the mother’s face scrunched with emotion, tears falling down her cheeks. It was beautiful. Candid. A testament to Halley’s keen eye, talent, and unmatched heart.