His face froze as if my words were beyond his comprehension. He told me I would never have to see his mother again or Mixie. He would pay attention to me. He would be patient and loving. He would never hide his paychecks again. We would move to a new home in town. I was his favorite person. He was more in love with me now than the day we married, I was his whole life, he couldn’t live without me, please give him another chance. “I’ll make it up to you, Bellini, I promise.”
I said no. Then I decided to be blunt and honest, as I thought it would make things, ultimately, easier—for him and for me. I was gentle and calm. “I’m sorry, Martin. I don’t love you. I don’t like you. I don’t respect you, and I don’t want to see you again. Ever. We are done.”
All done.
Total meltdown. Too bad. He shouldn’t have treated me like his neglected pet.
My graphic design business took off because I had time to reach out to clients and to market. I quit the café job within a year and bought the house from Lorraine, partly with the upfront money that Maisie got me for Roxy Belle.
I felt myself coming back to me.
“And that’s it,” I told Logan. “We divorced. I felt like a failure, but I was relieved. I was so happy, I’m still happy, to be out of that relationship, but I try not to think about it at all.”
Our dessert came. I had lemon meringue pie. He had a cherry tart. As with our dinners, we traded bites.
“I’m sorry, Bellini.”
I smiled at him because he looked deeply upset. I think there were tears in his eyes. “Me, too, but it’s over.” Then I decided to change the subject. “What book are you reading now?”
He let me change the topic, probably sensing that I was exhausted from going back in time and reliving the debacle of my marriage. We were off and talking about one of our favorite topics—books.
It was not surprising that we’d read many of the same books—fiction, nonfiction, memoirs, thrillers—over the last years. It was one more connection we had. It was as if there was a little Christmas magic hanging over our reading selections.
Logan dropped me off at my truck that night in front of the bar. He got out and gave me a hug. I felt safe in that hug. Warm and snuggly.
Then I started thinking about whipping his clothes off, climbing into his truck, and leaning the seats all the way back. I pulled away. Fortunately, I was not yet panting with desire, which would have been embarrassing. That part of our relationship couldn’t start up again anyhow. It would never be worth it for Logan. Plus, I was leaving in January, and that was that.
“Thank you, again, for dinner, Logan.”
“Anytime, Bellini. I mean that.” He paused. “Chess soon? I hope I haven’t lost my game.”
I giggled. Yeah, it sounded like a giggle. “I think I’ll take you up on that.” I loved our naked chess games, but I knew he wasn’t proposingthat. Was he? Had we ever actuallyfinisheda naked chess game? I decided not to address it. I caught Logan’s eye, and I knew he was thinking the same darn thing. I giggled again, sounding like a fool. He laughed, then we stared at each other under that shiny moon, Christmas lights twinkling all around us, the sounds of “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” echoing from the bar.
Logan closed the door of my truck, and I waved as I left, visions of sugarplums and naked chess games dancing through my mind.
I still loved that man so much.
He had always made me happy.
18
Logan
Logan watched her drive off.
Damn.
He still loved her.
He knew he always would. He had naïvely hoped that his feelings would change once he spent time with her again, that he would see her, talk to her, and those same passionate, overwhelming feelings would be miraculously gone. They were not gone. His feelings, if anything, were stronger than before.
She was still so funny. Engaging. Open. Honest. Smart. So very smart. Quick on her feet. They could talk about a hundred different subjects, at length, when they were kids, and that had not changed either. She looked straight in his eyes when they talked and made him feel like he was the only human on the planet. She listened. She asked questions. She still showed any and all emotions she was feeling, which he found so authentic.
He remembered how they used to park and make love in his truck, the seats back. He remembered how they used to play chess naked. Had they ever even finished a game when they were naked? Probably not. He let the memories of naked chess games dance through his head.
He remembered all the books they talked about. He hadn’t been interested in books when he was in elementary school at first, but then Bellini had always been talking about books and reading books, so he’d started reading, too. Eight years old, and they would sit together, their backs against a tree, and read. They would read together at his house, by the lake, or by thestream, or in the barn when his mom was home and his dad wasn’t. Bellini knew and loved his land almost as much as he did.
He drove by the town Christmas tree on the way home. Neighborhood homes were decked out in lights. This was the best Christmas he’d had since they broke up. Maybe something hopeful would happen. Maybe something romantic. Maybe she’d change her mind about them.
