His brows knit together. “Wait—”
I finish the rest of my wine before he can stop me, the glass clinking as I set it down. “We were together for three years. It felt like the next step.”
He already looks like he regrets asking.
“And then,” I do my best to keep my voice steady, “he fell in love with someone else.”
The table goes quiet for a beat. Not awkward—real.
“I’m okay talking about it,” I add, gentler now, because his face has gone careful. “It’s been a few years. It sucked but you have to move on.”
He nods slowly. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” I deflect, reaching for a fry. “Me too. But I’m good.”
He watches me like he’s checking that I mean it.
I do.
The music swells somewhere behind us, laughter floating on the warm air. I glance at him, smiling a bit.
“My turn,” I say.
He exhales, half a laugh, half ready to accept the challenge.
Ourfrieshavebeenlong gone. Birdie brought us some fresh bread with cherry apple butter when she brought our glasses of wine—kind of like she knew we’d need something to soak this up. Cherry Pit really only serves bar food during the summer—they’re so busy that a full menu hasn’t ever done them any good.
I can’t stop looking at Colson’s mouth. His lips. The way they seem to almost pull into a full smile. How he presses them together when I ask him questions.
A TV in the corner starts playing the NBA Finals. Game seven, winner takes it all. I catch myself watching for half a second too long, and he notices, turning to see what pulled my attention. When he looks back at me, it’s like he’s wrestling with something. His fingers curl around the stem of his glass, then loosen. Then tighten again.
He moves like someone who hasn’t quite landed yet. Like the ground shifted recently and he’s still figuring out where to place his weight.
I don’t want to watch him bleed over something he can’t control. Not tonight.
“So,” I start carefully, softly enough that it doesn’t feel like a trap. “Ready for the next adventure?”
He blinks, surprised. Not defensive; more like he’s been caught.
The game roars behind us, the room reacting in waves, but our table stays quiet. He looks down at his hands like they might have an answer for him, trying to hide the flinch.
“The next adventure? What do you have in mind?”
I stand from the table. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
His eyes lift to mine, searching. Something tender settles there, something grateful and a little stunned, like he didn’t expect me to meet him right where he is.
I wave him to follow as we walk outside, the warm summer air wrapping around us. The sun hangs low, stretching everything long and gold, like it’s not ready to call it a day yet. Kind of the perfect parallel when it comes to me.
I don’t want to go home—not yet.
The wine has settled into me in a pleasant, lazy way—warming my chest, loosening the edges of my thoughts. Everything feels a little softer, a little brighter. It’s almost like this June night is leaning in instead of closing down.
We walk through the crowds, nothing too busy but enough to remind me the tourists are still around. Sandals scuff on pavement, laughter spills out of open patios. Someone weaves a little too confidently down the sidewalk, arms wide like they own the night.
Colson stays close without touching, his presence steady at my side. I can feel him even when I’m not looking, like my body’s keeping track for me.
The lake flashes between buildings, dark now but still catching the last of the daylight. I match my pace to his without thinking. It feels like we’ve slipped into something familiar without either of us noticing when it happened.
