Aaron spent the entire next day at work thinking about his conversation with Keeley. She hadn't seemed angry; if he had to describe it, he'd say she seemed resigned.
Anger, resentment, or even bitterness would have made sense. But resignation? That didn't fit with what he knew of her feelings toward him.
Keeley didn't want him. She'd made that abundantly clear. Her resigned demeanor suggested she actually did want him around, but feared the consequences.
This didn't align with her repeated declarations of unforgiveness and the impossibility of reconciliation. "There's no going back" was practically her motto. She was determined to move forward and live her best life without him. So why the resignation?
It bothered him so much that he could barely concentrate on the reports Cameron had left on his desk. The numbers blurred on the page; he didn't process a single one.
He felt like a wreck by the time he got home. Keeley had beaten him back to the house for the first time all week and was singing to herself as she chopped vegetables.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine. You make me happy when skies are gray. You'll never know dear how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away."
The song could have been written about his feelings for her.
"What song is that?" he asked.
She whirled around, brandishing the knife. Her face registered alarm before she recognized him. She set down the knife and clutched her chest.
"You scared the living daylights out of me! A little warning next time."
"Sorry. The song?" he persisted.
"I don't know its origins. My mom used to sing it while doing chores. I think it's very old. That's just the chorus; there are verses, but I only know one."
Aaron settled into a kitchen chair and loosened his tie. "What are you making?"
"Tacos. I was just slicing onions. You might want to stay back if you don't want to cry."
She was smiling, but her eyes were red. Did onions really make people cry, or had she been crying earlier and was using this as a cover-up? He couldn't tell.
"Noted," he said as Dinah jumped onto the table. He petted her as he tried to initiate conversation. "So, how was your day?"
"Like any other. My mice are showing improvement, so my research seems viable. If it continues…and a lab is interested in continuing it with other animals…it might make it to human trials someday."
Keeley's reddened eyes sparkled at the prospect as she worked on the ground beef. Her back was to him.
"How long would that take?"
She snorted. "Oh, years. If I'm lucky, human trials in the next decade. I'd have to write follow-up papers for each animal, and it would take forever. I'm afraid this will be my life's work."
That was dedication. Then again, he was one to talk. He'd devoted his life to Hale Investments. He wasn't even passionate about it; he was good at it because it was all he knew.
If he'd had a choice, what would he have done? He had no idea. The only thing he'd ever wanted was a happy life with Keeley.
This pseudo-relationship—she felt slightly like his wife, minus the physical affection—was the best he'd get. He'd gladly take it; it was better than nothing.
Aaron had someone to come home to for the first time in decades, and he loved it. He loved the traces of her in his house—hearing her moving around, eating her food, knowing she was nearby, even when they weren't together. It was comforting.
"I believe you'll get there someday," he said sincerely.
Someone with her drive would pursue every avenue. Even if the technology wasn't available in her lifetime, her research would be cited by whoever eventually found the cure.
He felt wistful. If only she loved him as much as she loved her brother. She once had, enough to give up her dreams for him. Living happily with him became her dream, and it was never fulfilled. She hadn't been happy.
Aaron shouldn't have taken her for granted. She didn't love him anymore, and he deserved it. But that was okay. Having her around for the next six months would have to suffice.
If he was lucky, she'd be on good terms with him when she left and would stay in touch. It was part of why he was trying to be so friendly.
She turned and smiled. "Thanks." A thought occurred to her, and her smile faded. "Have you ever had tacos before?"
"Yes, but they're probably nothing like yours."
The tacos he'd had were at a high-end Mexican restaurant in Midtown Manhattan. They didn't use ground beef, to say the least.
Aaron smirked. "Don't you have a bad track record with tacos? Why are you making them?"
Keeley stuck her tongue out at him before browning the meat. "These are vastly different from horribly greasy fast food tacos, thank you very much. Nobody's getting food poisoning this time."
"You'll owe me big time if that doesn't turn out to be the case."
She finished the meat and set out various toppings—shredded cheese, onions, lettuce, tomatoes, and sour cream—on the table. She produced a bag of tortillas and demonstrated how to fill a taco.
He watched carefully and followed her lead, but overstuffed his, causing the tortilla to rip and spilling juices on his hands. Keeley laughed and got him a paper towel. At least he could make her laugh.