“For you to know that you can tell me anything,” he replies, eliciting another sigh from me. Looks like I’m really going to have to pay the toll to get a ride on this ferry.
“I guess you could say that’s what ultimately came between us, wanting different things,” I beginafter a while.
“Like what?”
“Like, I wanted to have a baby so badly that I was willing to try anything, and he wanted me to be satisfied with the life we had, mostly because we’d always done everything his way.”
And even though it’s already more than I’ve voiced aloud to anyone else before, Rowan looks so captivated by my story that the words continue tumbling out of me.
“He got tired of hearing me beg him to run tests and consider fertility treatments. He said I’d lost sight of the point of our marriage, but I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want to share something so important with me. I grew more and more resentful every time he refused to give me this one thing, the thing I wanted most. He wouldn’t even consider adoption. He refused to argue with me about any of it, and eventually, he just started ignoring me altogether,” I explain. “But the baby stuff wasn’t the problem in itself. It was past time we acknowledged that we were both unhappy. We’d gotten together so young and grown apart over the years, and I think he’d fallen out of love with me a long time ago. Maybe he never really loved me in the first place.”
“And you still loved him?” Rowan asks, his tone laced with concern and empathy.
“I cared about him and our marriage, but he was right. I’d become so obsessed with getting pregnant that I drove him away. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so desperate for a baby if he hadn’t always poured himself into his career. And maybe I didn’t love him as much as I thought I did, anyway, since I made him feel like he wasn’t enough,” I explain, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “In hindsight, I think we’d both become lonely. But the girlfriend he had lined up as soon as I agreed to our separation must have solved that problem for him, especially since she came pre-equipped with a bonus kid.”
“I’m sorry,” he says again as he reaches out to swipe at a tear on my cheek.
I’ve always been too embarrassed to cry in front of anyone, not only because it’s another thing that makes me too much for most people to handle, but it doesn’t fit in with my tough-as-nailspersona. But Rowan doesn’t seem bothered by my emotional side. I don’t think he minds that I cry too easily and laugh too loudly or that I don’t have much of a filter, and he makes me feel like I don’t need to pretend I’m so indestructible, at least not for him. I guess it’s too bad my husband couldn’t manage to do what this stranger has within a few hours of meeting me, or maybe I’d still be married.
My body rises and falls with Rowan’s breathing, and I instinctively lean down and press a kiss to his chest. “Thank you,” I whisper, though I’m not sure what I’m grateful for. Maybe he’s given me the push I needed to open up and let those feelings out, or maybe it’s the safe space he’s provided. Either way, I’ve never felt more seen than I do right now. Not pitied, chastised, or ashamed—simply acknowledged and understood.
“Thank you for trusting me with that,” he says softly. “I won’t pretend to know the first thing about marriage, but I’m certain you’ve been harder on yourself than you deserve. And I can’t imagine anyone stupid enough to take your love for granted.”
I huff. “Says the man I’ve been practically throwing myself at all night.”
He furrows his brow before he rises to sit and pulls me up to straddle his lap. Then he curls a finger beneath my chin and lifts my face to gaze into my eyes.
“My hesitation to spend the night with you is all my problem. I’m the one lacking the confidence for that kind of intimacy, especially with someone as beautiful and funny and sexy as you are.”
I gulp. “Or maybe I’ve been coming off as so desperate that you feel sorry for me.”
“Have you already forgotten the part when we met because you had to jam an EpiPen into my leg? Or the imminent threat of gastrointestinal distress and erectile dysfunction ever since?” he asks incredulously. “Do you really think I’m still here becauseIfeel sorry foryou?”
I giggle, grateful for his reassurance. “You are pretty dorky for someone so hot, although they do say the sexiest people have the worst tummy troubles.”
He tries to force a serious look, but the corners of his mouth are still turned up. “Then I guess I am dangerous after all.”
I stare at him, squinting my eyes. “Are you wearing contacts?”
“Yes,” he answers hesitantly.
“Do you always wear them?”
He shrugs. “They’re dailies, so I usually trade them out for my glasses before bed.”
“I knew it!” I fire back. “You’re even hotter and nerdier when you wear your slutty little glasses, aren’t you?”
He tilts his head back to laugh. “I’ve never been under the impression that my nerdiness is hot or that my glasses are slutty, but?—”
“What do they look like?” I demand. “Are they square, round, big, small, plastic or wire?”
“Uh, they’re just plain glasses. Round, medium-sized, wire-rimmed …”
“Slutty!” I declare with a grin, and he smiles back as he shifts his position beneath me and moves his hands down to grip my hips.
“I don’t think they’re particularly promiscuous, but maybe you’d like to see them sometime so you can decide for yourself?” he asks, his thumbs rubbing circles over my skin and making me shiver.
“Rowan,” I breathe his name, fighting the near instant effects of his touch. “I can’t …” But I have to stop and bite my lip to keep myself from moaning when he uses his hands to steer my hips.
