He rubs his hands together while my brain makes sure that I’m actually awake, not dreaming.
“I’m serious, Sadie. You’re like… the light that makes everything make more sense.”
Something warm settles in my chest. “I believe you.”
My phone rings then, sharp and out of place.
Colson winces. “Who leaves their ringer on?”
“I know, I know, all elder millennials everywhere are screaming,” I groan, grabbing it automatically—and freezing.
Nick.
The name sits on the screen and hasn’t lost its power. It stops ringing. No voicemail.
Then it rings again. This time, I leave it on the table, Colson reading the caller ID.
He watches me carefully. “Everything okay?”
I exhale, silencing it. “Yeah. If it wasn’t, he’d leave a message. Or text.”
He nods slowly. “You can answer it if you want.”
“I absolutely don’t want to do that. That man wasted years of my life. He doesn’t get tonight.” I smile and reach for Colson’s hand over the table.
There’s a drawn-out pause before Colson asks, “Does he call a lot? Like, are you guys friendly?”
I start laughing before I answer, “No. No way. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him or anything like that, but he isn’t someone I could be friends with. After everything.”
Colson waits. We’ve covered the fact that I was engaged to someone named Nick, but that’s basically it. Not because I have anything to hide; more like it was a waste of my time.
I stare at the table for a second.
“Nick was supposed to be the guy who didn’t hurt me. He came into my life when I needed something. It was the one thing that felt like the universe gifted me for… take away the basketball career, but give me the love of my life.” I sigh then press my lips together, trying to buy a little time. I hate talking about this, only because the honest version makes me feel a bit pathetic.
“He called it off because he was in love with someone else,” I reveal, my voice steady even if my chest tightens. “Someone he’d been friends with almost his whole life.”
Colson’s jaw sets, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“When we first started dating, I asked him straight up if he loved her. It was maybe the third time we had all hung out and they had this… weird pull to each other. And he told me over and over that it wasn’t like that.”
I look up at Colson now, who answers. “But it was.” He reaches across the table, his hand covering mine—warm, solid, grounding.
“I’m really sorry,” he says quietly.
“Don’t apologize for things not in your control.” My voice is quieter than I mean.
“But I am sorry that happened to you. I can’t imagine thinking you’re going to marry someone and then it’s like… no… no thanks.”
“Yeah, it hit me harder than almost anything. For some reason, it felt like it was my fault. Like I couldn’t see it sooner.”
He tenses. “No fucking way was any of that your fault. I don’t know what he did to make you feel that way, but from here, it looks like you have the wonderful ability to look for, and believe in, the best in people. Sometimes they let you down.”
“And sometimes they don’t,” I finish, leaning over the table, reaching far enough to kiss him. It’s slow and sweet. The type of kiss that feels like the best hug, one that makes you feel safe and planted.
I sit back in my chair as Birdie brings us drink refills. She sets the glasses down with a knowing smile, the ice clinking. “Looks like you two figured out the salsa situation,” she teases.
Colson laughs, slipping his hand back to mine under the table. “I’ve been humbled.”
