THREE
KAT
By the time the waiter refills my wine glass for the second time, I’m ninety percent sure Vince and I have forgotten how to date.
The restaurant is gorgeous, and the food is incredible, but the conversation is struggling harder than the straps of my dress.
We have a year of dates under our belt, but it feels like we're cosplaying as a couple who know what they’re doing.
I glance up at Vince, the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the swirling colors of ink covering his forearms–a rose spans the back of his left hand that rests on my thigh under the table.
Not once has it ever been this…awkward. Even the day we met felt so fluid and natural.
I remember the last time we went out, Vince and Ollie had me in stitches when she…Holy shit.
Ollie.
I wrack my brain, trying to remember the last time we were on an actual date—just the two of us.
I think back.
And back.
And…nothing.
Vince and I have been together for a year, and his best friend is etched into every memory I have with him. Even the night we met has Ollie’s laughter attached to it.
Like a punch to the gut, it dawns on me that the only time we ever spend without Ollie is when we’re either getting ready to go see her or having just come home from seeing her.
Ollie Ashburn is like white noise. I never noticed how deeply her presence is woven into every breath we take, but once she’s gone, her absence is deafening and impossible to ignore. I can’t help but wonder if Vince feels it too. The way the air between us feels heavier.
“This place is beautiful,” Vince says, his voice a little too bright as he glances around at the other couples.
I nod, taking a heavy sip of wine, trying so hard to pretend I don’t notice the absence of her. “Yeah, it is. Ollie would hate it.”
Oh my god. I’m pathetic.
Vince snorts, genuine and pure. His hand tightens slightly on my thigh, his thumb tracing idle circles against my skin.
“She would fucking hate this place,” he agrees with a smile, but his smile fades slowly, replaced by something more contemplative.
A silence stretches, filled by the clink of silverware from other tables and the low hum of conversations that aren’t ours.
I should say something. Anything. But my tongue feels too thick, my thoughts too loud, so I just go for it. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
I’m practically holding my breath. Unsure if I’m just crossed a line or maybe–hopefully–erased it altogether. Wishful thinking.
Slowly, he nods his head like he’s afraid to speak his mind.
“I never really noticed how much time we spend with her,” I say.
Vince’s thumb freezes mid-circle on my thigh. His dark eyes flicker to mine. There’s something unreadable in his gaze thatmakes my pulse stutter–like he’s searching for something he’s not sure he wants to find.
“I’m sorry, Kat,” he finally says, his voice rough. “It wouldn’t be the first time it was an issue. I feel like an asshole for letting all this time pass without really talking with you about Ollie.”
“Oh?” I ask, a lump forming in my throat. Does he know? No. He can’t possibly know how I feel about her…can he?
“Every relationship has crashed and burned because of Ollie. No–” he corrects himself, shaking his head. “Because ofmyinability to distance myself from her.”
