“It sounds... nice.”
He nods, his eyes glinting with something close to regret.
“I just wanted a place the kids might actually want to come to. Even if it’s only once in a while.”
I want to ask why he didn’t just move back into our old house. If he plans to sell it, or what it looks like now that it’s empty. But I don’t ask, because it’s no longer my place to know.
He hesitates, then stands.
“I won’t take up more of your time. I’ll come by early tomorrow to pick up Alicia.”
He starts to walk away, pauses for a heartbeat, and without turning back, murmurs, “Goodbye, Cecily.”
“Goodbye, Colin.”
I stand in front of the mirror, smoothing the cream-colored fabric over my hips.
The dress feels like quiet confidence. Soft and fluid, yet cut with precision. The cross-over bodice seems to know every line of my body. On my feet, a pair of taupe strappy heels ground the look. It’s subtle and sophisticated.
I turn slightly to the side, studying the reflection, wondering if maybe I should change into something simpler. Pants, maybe, and a blouse.
But the weather is too pleasant today. So I stay with this dress—the one Felicity gave me for my birthday—and it fits like it was always meant to.
A glance at the clock tells me I don’t have much time left. Alexander had called yesterday, his voice low and grounded through the phone, to say he was back in New York and wanted to know if our lunch was confirmed. I’d smiled before answering; of course it hadn’t changed.
He’d offered to pick me up, but I declined. That would’ve felt... too much like a date. And this was just lunch. Between friends. Friends who were only beginning to know each other.
I grab my bag and head out.
The drive is smooth, almost soothing. The city feels slower today.
The restaurant he chose isn’t far—not from my house, and not from the building he took me to that day in December. When I pull into the lot, I slow to a stop, the hum of the engine fading as I shift into park.
Through the windshield, I see him.
Alexander.
Standing near the entrance, sunlight brushing over his broad shoulders like a halo. The gray suit he’s wearing is tailored so perfectly to his tall frame that it could’ve been sketched onto him. His shirt is crisp white, the contrast on his sun-kissed skin almost devastating.
For a heartbeat, I stay where I am, fingers clinging to the steering wheel, watching him adjust his cufflink—a calm, measured motion that feels impossibly intimate for something so ordinary.
He runs a hand over his neatly trimmed beard. Then he looks up. When his ember eyes meet mine through the glass, he starts walking toward me.
I draw in a breath. Grab my purse from the passenger seat. By the time I unbuckle my seatbelt, he’s already there, opening the door, his hand extended to me.
“Alexander,” I whisper.
He helps me out. The moment our fingers touch, I feel a shiver run through me.
When I’m standing, he closes the door, his gaze never leaving my face.
And then—like it’s the most natural thing in the world—he lifts my hand, brushes his lips over my skin, and lets a smile touch his mouth.
“Ciao, bella[I],” he murmurs, his voice rough and unhurried, with a warm quality that rolls through you rather than around you.
It’s only a greeting. But my pulse forgets how to behave.
Chapter 02
