"It was three hundred pages."
"Cody.” I lift my brows. “That's a book."
He glares at me.
And I laugh.
For a few minutes, it is simply just us like it always was. Our relationship was always easy, fun, and enjoyable. We have two years of real history, and that doesn't disappear because of what I know now. The candles burn lower. The wine does what wine does. The room feels warmer than it should.
This is what makes it hard.
Not the performance. The parts that don't require performing.
He refills my glass without asking because he always has. He remembers that I don't like the bread from the basket, but I’ll eat it because I like the butter. He pushes the butter dish toward me without me saying anything. He tells the story about Julian at a bonfire in September and pauses at the inside joke I know he’s about to tell. He points at me like yes, exactly what I’m thinking. And we laugh. My cheeks burn from laughing so hard.
I love him.
It’s so ridiculous, but I can’t help it. I observe his smile, the ease he feels around me, and I know he loves me, too.
Even if my chest feels heavy and terrible, it’s true.
This is complicated. I want to hold him accountable for what he did –– whatever it was exactly. I have no proof that it even happened. The videos of him flash in my mind, and I quickly push the thoughts away, continuing the conversation like I’m totally fine. But I’m not, so I pick up my wine glass, and I drink.
Not the way I loved him before. Not the uncomplicated way. The complicated way. The way that accounts for what he is and what he did, and still arrives at love anyway, and I don't know what to do with that, so I pick up my wine glass, and I drink.
After dinner, he leads me to the sitting room where he builds a fire in the fireplace. He adds the wood and lights it. His grandfather taught him the trick to it, and he’s lit one for me nearly every night I’ve come here. I sit on the couch, watching him, and think about how many times I've watched him do exactly this.
He sits beside me when he’s satisfied with it, and then he pulls me in. My back rests against his chest, his arms are around me, and his chin finds the space at my temple like muscle memory.
I look at the fire, feeling the width of him. He’s big and wide, but not like Theo.
I cut that thought loose completely, swallowing it down.
"Remember the first time you came here?" he says.
That’s something that’ll get rid of the thought. "Yes. Your dad made that terrible risotto."
"It was not terrible."
"It was." I smile, remembering that night as if it were yesterday.
"He was nervous."
"Judge Ravenshaw does not get nervous."
"He was nervous about you." His arms tighten slightly. "So was I."
I turn to look at him. "You were nervous about me?"
"You were the mayor's daughter." He looks at me with admiration. "And you were the most composed person I'd ever met, and I had no idea what you actually thought of me."
"I thought you were the most beautiful person I'd ever seen," I say. "Which annoyed me."
He smiles. "Yeah?"
I nod, flicking my eyebrow up. My lips fall into a smirk. "Deeply."
He leans down and kisses me.
