“You loved that tie,” he insists.
“I tolerated that tie,” I retort.
He chuckles, and the sound wraps around me like a memory of an easier version of us.
Dinner is shockingly nice. Surprisingly peaceful. Unexpectedly romantic.
We talk about the kids.
He tells me about a surgery he did this week — a complex mitral valve repair on a man in his fifties.
“The leaflet was more damaged than the imaging suggested.” His hands move unconsciously in the air, as if he’s still holding the instruments. “I thought I’d have to convert to a replacement, but when I opened him up…” His eyes go distant in that surgeon’s way, which I still find mesmerizing. “The tissue was salvageable. Barely. It took an extra hour, but he’s awake, extubated, and complaining about hospital food, so I’d say that was a win.”
I smile into my wine. “I always knew you’d figure out how to boss around a heart.”
He taps his napkin against the table. “I don’t boss it around. I negotiate.”
“Uh-huh.”
When he asks about my week, I tell him about the pharmaceutical case that’s been eating up my days.
“The billable hours keep bloating.” I take a sip of the wine. “Opposing counsel keeps asking for extensions they don’t need, sending revised drafts at eleven o’clock at night, just to claim more hours.”
Rhys sets his fork down. “That sounds infuriating.”
“It is.” I smirk. “But also…weirdly fun? I know that sounds terrible. But I like the strategy of it. The chess game. The part where I can predict what they’ll do next.”
His lips tilt into that soft, proud smile he doesn’t realize he gives. “I love it when you talk about work.”
The compliment lands deep, in a place I honestly thought had gone numb. “You do?”
“Yeah.” He leans back in his chair, and there’s quiet affection in his eyes. “I know I’ve said things that make you think otherwise, but I know that you’re the smartest person in most of the rooms you’re in.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “I didn’t even go to university, Rhys.”
“Like that guarantees smarts!” He takes a deep breath and exhales. “Do you regret not finishing law school?”
That surprises me. “Sometimes,” I say honestly.
“Would you like to go back?”
I send him a flat, unimpressed stare. “Because I have so much time?”
“No, Jayne, I didn’t mean it like that. I honestly want to know.”
I wait for my old faithful friend,bitterness, to claw up my throat, but it doesn’t come. Rhys is genuinely interested in my answer, and that calls to me.
“Yes, I would like to go back and get my JD.” I spear a cauliflower floret. “But I don’t regret becoming a paralegal. I’ve learned a lot, and at the time, it was the best option for us.”
“I know I don’t say it enough, Jayne, but without you I’d never have amounted to much.”
Is this man reading my mind?I don’t think I’ve felt this seen by himeverbefore.
“I mean it,” he adds.
I can’t keep the smile off my face. “Thank you.”
We share dessert, a chocolate espresso and mascarpone torte served with an espresso crème anglaise. It’s delicious and decadent. I have it with a Banyuls, La Tour Vieille Reserva, while Rhys orders a double espresso.
