“I wasn’t referring to the inconvenience.” Tim slowed to cross Baggot Street Bridge. The rush of water over the locks penetrated the car windows. “He knows he’s lost you now. That has to hurt.”
I shook my head. “Only his pride. Not his feelings.” The dark ribbon of the Grand Canal gleamed through the trees. “When we were first together... I couldn’t believe someone like Gray could love me. And then, when everything went wrong, it sort of confirmed what I secretly believed all along. That I didn’t... You know. Deserve him. That I wasn’t good enough.”
“For an intelligent woman, you can be remarkably obtuse sometimes.”
A compliment. I wouldn’t let it go to my head. “The thing is... I tried so hard to be worthy of him. And I guess I’ve realized that he was never going to love me. No matter what I did. I couldn’t change him. I can’t make him give me what I want. All I can change is my own response.”
“By dumping oysters in his lap.”
I smiled. “Well...”
“Excellent job, by the way.”
“Thanks. Anyway, it’s good to finally have...”
“Victory?”
He had been a soldier. Of course he thought in terms of fighting, of winning and losing. “I was going to say, closure.”
“Indeed.” One word.
I studied his profile, illuminated by the streetlights—the cowlick in his thick, dark hair; his hands, quiet and controlled on the steering wheel; his well-defined jaw. When his fiancée cheated on him, he’d managed a kind of victory by breaking up with her. Salvaged his pride. Kept his integrity. But he was still working with her, right? Putting his drunken buddy to bed, protecting them both by hiding their betrayal from his family. He’d never hadclosure. It wasn’t fair.
“Tim...”
“Here we are,” he said, pulling in behind our building.
I didn’t move. I was still buzzing from the confrontation with Gray, my mind churning, my body seething with energy. I wanted to ring bells or fire cannons, not go up tamely to my quiet apartment. Toni was out with Fiadh tonight, and Reeti was at the temple for some celebration. I couldn’t even replay my triumph for them until they got home.
“Will you be all right?” Tim asked as I sat there like a lump.
“I’m fine. I’m great.” Impulsively, I touched his forearm. The expensive wool of his jacket prickled my fingertips. “Thank you. For everything.”
He glanced down at my hand. Back at my face. He was wearing his contacts tonight, his eyes lambent in the dashboard’s glow. “It was nothing. You did it all. I was merely there.”
“My squire.”
He smiled, just a little. “Yes.”
The moment crackled between us. I slid my hand from his arm, reluctant to lose that small connection. My skin tingled with static. “Do you want—”
“I suppose—” he said at the same time. He broke off. “Sorry.”
“No.” I waved my hand. “You go on.”
“You haven’t eaten. As your squire, I believe it’s my duty to, er, provision you.”
“Have dinner together, you mean?”
“If you’d like.”
I beamed, suffused with relief that I didn’t need to leave him, that I didn’t have to come down from this high. “I’d love to.”
—
I perched on a barstool in Tim’s kitchen, watching him make grilled cheese as carefully and methodically as he did everything else, slathering even slices of homemade bread with butter, grating a mixture of Gruyère and cheddar, heating it slowly in a cast iron pan until the edges were brown and crispy.
He cut the sandwich on the diagonal, the way I did for Toni, and set both halves on a plate in front of me.
