Cash’s big thigh was warm against mine as he took another sip of his beer. It was a strange sensation to be sitting next to another man while Frankie stood in front of me, his hands shredding up paper straws nervously.
But every minute it was getting easier.
Cash and I had. . . just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. We’d gotten the timing wrong. I didn’t think two serious people would work.
And I had been in love, completely and totally, with Frankie, had been in love since the first day I saw him, at a college surfing competition.
I was hanging around the edges, digging my toes in the sand, Cash and a few other friends with me, and Cash was trying to convince me to go out with him again.
“I just think we’re too alike,” I laughed. “Both of us are too serious, too stubborn.”
But of course he still tried to convince me, his dark eyes looking intently into mine.
Cash was telling me about how he had plans, big plans, to leave the coast and make it big in the city when someone surfing caught my eye.
This man was athletic and trim, shaggy brown hair with blonde highlights, his body tanned and glistening, his eyes concentrating on the wave, and he rode it to the last possible moment, falling into the water with a joyful whoop that went right down to my toes.
He was so beautiful and I wanted him so badly.
It had been a dream that he’d ever looked my way.
But that dream was over, even though he was standing right in front of me begging for a second chance.
“I’m not—going to just give up,” Frankie said between gritted teeth. “I’m going to fight for us, Jillian.”
“Booo, hissss,” Ronnie called out. “Your acting sucks.”
“I’m not acting!” Frankie yelled back.
My nails tapped lightly on my mug. I was trying to pace myself, because I had a tendency to get veryoutgoingwhen I drank and I didn’t want to do anything too silly.
Like run my hand up Cash’s strong forearm.
But the bright bubbles of Tuppy’s home-brewed ale were making me feel bubbly, too.
“Give it up, Frankie,” I said. “It’s over. Our marriage. A mug of Tuppy’s ale is more reliable than you.”
Suddenly it all seemed so ridiculous that the only thing I could do was snicker.
There was a big picture of Frankie and I above the bar, from a year or two ago. It was in the middle of summer and I had golden tints in my hair, while Frankie still had a smear of sand on his forehead. We looked like two fools in love.
I got up and walked over to the picture, taking it off the wall and turning it around in my hands.
That was how it had always been. Frankie and Jillian, bringing egg salad sandwiches and Jell-O to the sandcastle building competition. Frankie and Jillian at the surfing exhibition, Frankie cracking jokes as the MC in between riding the waves, me taking tickets and laughing at every joke, louder than everyone.
“Look at us,” Frankie said, coming up behind me, his voice cracking. “Look at how happy we were.”
I cocked my head as I contemplated the picture. The cluster of diamonds on my finger sparkled in the sunlight.
We looked like the perfect couple.
Frankie’s hands were on either side of me, bracing himself on the bar as he murmured in my ear.
“I want that again. I’ve always wanted that. I’m so sorry for hurting you.”
I said nothing and he made a low noise, bending down to my ear.
“Please. I love you so much. I fucked up so bad, I’m so sorry.”
