I look away. "You were everywhere, Wyatt. And nowhere. All at once."
Silence folds over us, but it isn't empty. He grabs my hand, caressing the back of it. It's slow and gentle, with the same desires of long ago brewing under the surface.
He murmurs, "Tell me this doesn't feel the same."
Warning bells ring. My mind tells me to pull back. But I don't.
I can't.
I squeeze his hand. And he's right. It does feel the same.
We don't kiss in the restaurant. Not because we don't want to. But because the heat in the air is too thick, and maybe we both know once we start, we won't be able to stop.
So we drink wine and smile across the candlelit table like nothing happened. As if our story never ended, and there's hope for us.
For the first time in years, I can't help but wonder if somehow our love survived the wreckage.
20
Wyatt
Margo asks, "Did you save room for dessert?"
I hand my card to her, saying, "Add dessert to go, please."
Willows's face shows her surprise, but it's quickly taken over by a flicker of anxiety.
I squeeze her hand and ask Margo, "Do you remember our favorite?"
Her gaze dances between Willow and me. "Bourbon pecan with a side container of extra whip?"
"Bring two containers, please," I state, grinning.
Willow stiffens next to me.
I slide my hand between her thighs under the table.
Don't worry. I remember what you love.
"Coming up," Margo replies.
Willow squeezes her legs together and smiles at Margo. "Thank you."
Margo nods and turns, but not before throwing me a wink over her shoulder.
"Careful, cowboy. That charm might get you in trouble tonight," Willow teases under her breath.
"Lucky for you, sugar, I brought enough charm and bad ideas to last well into the New Year," I boast, dragging my thumb slowly across the inside of her wrist, right where her pulse thumps hard.
Willow smirks. Another hit of nostalgia pummels me. It's the same look that used to drive me wild and make me do reckless things just so I could see more of it.
Margo sets a brown bag full of dessert on the table. She puts the check next to it.
I scribble my name on the receipt, slide my card back into my wallet, and stand. I place my hand on the small of Willow's back.
She doesn't fight me. Instead, she leans into me the same way she always did. The scent of her shampoo flares around us, eliminating any possibility of me staying a gentleman tonight.
I guide us through the cozy restaurant and out into the cold.
