Like all the pain, the betrayal, the messy past could exist beside us instead of between us.
God, I missed him. Not just his touch, or his naughty smirk, or the way he took up all the space in a room. I missed the way he made me feel.
Seen. Heard.
Understood.
Even when he didn’t agree with me, he made space for me. He ruined my business, but only to save it tenfold.
My opinions. He didn’t mind the age gap, the financial gap, or any of the gaps I believed were between us.
My grief. Oh, how he let me hurt him, so I could feel better for a moment.
My dreams. I found myself because he was there all the way, just giving me nudges.
How did we get here? Why did we get here? Even under the weight of his betrayal, his love tips the scale.
I should be proud of him for walking away.
For respecting my boundaries. For not trying to fix it all with a charming smirk and a hungry kiss.
It was noble. And selfless. It was all I ever wanted from him.
And it felt like being gutted with a velvet knife.
Because if he’d reached for me… if he’d said come back, or even just I’m not done—
I don’t know that I would’ve had the strength to resist.
And maybe he knows that.
Maybe he is protecting me from the same storm he brought to my doorstep once already.
Or maybe he’s changed. Grown. Loved me enough not to risk breaking me again.
I should be grateful.
But all I feel is the ache of absence—sharper now, because for a second, it felt like he’d never really left.
I’m rooted to my seat. A part of me wants to stop him. To force him to try harder. To allow myself to trust again.
But it’s not that easy. This man felt like home at one point, but you can’t build one without a solid foundation.
The server comes over with a bottle of wine and a clean glass. He pours some for me to taste and presents the label. It’s my favorite Zinfandel from Napa Valley. Not the Italian Primitivo, but—
I frown. “I didn’t order anything.” I shake my head, hoping that will translate my words into Italian.
He smiles and steps to the side. “From the gentleman at the bar.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake? Can’t a girl grieve in peace?
My gaze meets the pale blue eyes I know so well.Xander gives me that boyish smile that got me into this mess.
Slowly, he saunters over to me. There it is—that familiar swagger, half confidence, half defiance, like the world can throw its worst at him and he’ll still come out grinning.
His jacket is slung over one shoulder, shirtsleeves rolled up just enough to show the veins in his forearms. I swallow, my heart fluttering like it never got the memo that it’s supposed to be over this.
The tilt of his head is pure Xander: amused, reckless, unreadable.
