"I'll keep it short," I promised. "Karl—that's my husband's name—and I were having problems, like you and Maria. Then one day he told me he wasn't happy and wanted a divorce."
"Was there someone else?"
I shook my head, stabbing a prawn with my fork. "He just didn't want me anymore."
The truth had been brutally painful to digest. I'm not sure which was worse: losing your spouse because of someone else or losing them because they didn't want you.
"I'm sorry. He was a fool."
"You think so?" I asked, appreciative of his attempt to make me feel better.
"I know so," he said with surprising intensity, his eyes never leaving mine.
The spark—whatever you want to call it—returned. Stronger. More of a charge reaching across the table.
It didn't help that he looked extra appealing tonight in his casual clothes, the sleeves of the Henley shoved up to his elbows to showcase strong forearms covered in fine hairs. He'd had a haircut too, revealing more of his distinguishing gray hairs.
I glanced down at my plate to regain my bearings. "Karl remarried, and Blossom has two younger sisters. She's not very close with them because of the distance and the age difference, but she has continued to have a good relationship with her father, which I appreciate. I was worried our split would mean losing her relationship with him, but that never happened."
After we finished dinner, I helped Jamison clean up and wash the dishes. Then we lingered outside for a bit, our arms resting on the metal railing as we overlooked the city. We talkedsome more and shared stories about our marriages. Not as a way to complain or bash our exes, but to point out the mistakes that were made and how we had bounced back from them.
He told me that he and Maria got along much better now, proof—in his opinion—they never should have married in the first place. I admitted my relationship with Karl hadn't improved since our divorce, and we were simply cordial to each other.
We exchanged funny workplace stories and admitted we couldn't imagine doing any other work than what we did on a daily basis.
"Is that your car down there?" Jamison asked, pointing into the parking lot.
"Yes, that's Orange Julius."
"You named your car?"
"I had to. There's so much history riding on those tires, it's practically part of the family. Both of my parents were teachers. My mother taught math and my father was an art teacher, so we always had the summers free, and the year I turned thirteen, they took us on our first road trip. From then on, we traveled the whole summer, every year. We slept and ate in the bus. The first time I saw the Pacific Ocean was from the back of that bus."
"Were your parents hippies?" Jamison asked, looking handsome with a soft smile on his face.
"Hippie adjacent. My middle name is Flower, by the way."
"You're kidding."
"No," I shook my head, laughing. "Tallulah Flower Washington."
"It suits you."
"You think so?"
His eyes skimmed my appearance, and heat coated my skin.
"Definitely."
We eventually moved into the living room, where Jamison pushed the coffee table out of the way to make room for us to dance.
"We might as well get comfortable," he said, removing his shoes.
"Oh, I like this." I slipped off my sandals.
"I figured you would."
I rested my hands on my hips. "What does that mean?"
