I scoffed. “No,” I said, recalling the conversation. “God, no. I wouldn’t let him. He offered, but… It didn’t feel right. I mean, what would happen if we broke up? Would he hold that over me?” I shook my head. “I couldn’t chance my business on a personal relationship. I learned my lesson a long time ago not to trust money.”
“You don’t like money?”
“It’s not that I don’t like money,” I said. “I just hate what it does to some people. They get obsessed with it, to the point that they forget what’s standing in front of them.”
“Isn’t that what any obsession does?” he asked. “Fester and eat at you until you can’t remember how things were before.”
“Sounds like love,” I said, smiling.
A quiet chuckle left him. “You’re getting married, and you’re still anti-love?”
“Love is still tragic,” I said with a shrug, repeating the line from our conversation that night.
“And what’s tragic about your current relationship that makes you continue to believe that?”
I eyed him. “It sounds like you’re drilling holes into the bottom of a perfectly steady boat,” I said.
“Sounds like the boat was already sinking.”
He stared smugly at me, and before I could say anything, the waitress came around with our food.
There were only the clanks of our silverware hitting the plates for a few minutes, both of us sneaking glances at the other, that coy smile still on his perfect lips. I could hardly eat. I wanted to be mad at him for prying, for calling me out on gaps he could already see. But it was too easy to talk to him and admit the things that maybe I hadn’t even admitted to myself. It had been like that previously on that Valentine’s night, and it didn’t seem to matter how many years had escaped between us.
“You shouldn’t smile at me like that,” I said as I forcefully swallowed a mouthful of eggs.
“Like what?”
“Like you know all of my secrets.”
Gavin’s smile widened. He finished the last bite of his food, wiped his mouth, and tossed the napkin on the table. “Want to get out of here?”
“And go where?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It’s a beautiful day. Take a walk?”
I almost laughed. “Like a long walk on the beach? Is that your idea of the perfect date?” I asked in a sing-song voice.
Gavin’s lips split, showcasing his white teeth as he sat up, pulled his wallet out, and slapped a few large bills on the table. “Baby, if this were a date, I’d have already taken you backwards on the car ride over,” he said. “It’s been five years. The fact that I haven’t touched you yet makes my palms itch.”
“You should probably see a doctor about that,” I said, taunting him to cover up the sudden throb between my thighs.
He laughed softly, eyes bright when he looked at me again. “Fuck, I missed you,” he said.
My smile met his. “It was one night,” I said. “Barely enough time to get to know someone enough to miss them.”
It was a lie.
Because I had missed him, too.
I wanted to hate him for making me feel this way. But inwardly, I craved it. I had missed flirting so much. And here he was, the king of flirting, back in my life for two seconds, and acting as though no time had passed.
The way his gaze softened then made me curious about what he was thinking. It was that same look of knowing. I felt as though he could see into my soul, and that notion, that sentiment, made an unfamiliar feeling rise in my chest. A sadness washed over me, and I sat up in my seat.
“How about that walk?” he asked.
I snapped out of my daze and reached for my drink, downing the rest of it back like a shot. Gavin was standing at my side, his hand out, when I was finished.
My fingers slid into his like they were a missing puzzle piece.
