“The worst part is that I didn’t see it coming,” I admit, staring into my wine glass. “I thought everything was great. I had this whole future mapped out—marriage, career path, eventual kids.And then suddenly…” I trail off, not wanting to get too deep into it.
“Sometimes the things we think we want aren’t what we need,” Weston says, surprising me.
I look up at him. “That’s … actually profound.”
He shrugs. “I have my moments. They’re rare, but they happen.”
Something about his modesty, the way he downplays his own wisdom, touches me. The restaurant’s ambient noise seems to fade as our eyes meet across the table.
“Honestly, I’m not sure I even know who I am without Cal…” I hear myself saying. “It’s so weird how you can have a whole identity wrapped up in someone else.”
I don’t mean to confess all this, not out loud. But when I risk another glance at Weston, he hasn’t looked away. In fact, he’s leaning forward, elbows on the table, as if he’s genuinely invested in whatever I’m about to confess.
And now that this idea has been articulated, it claws its way through the air, desperate to be heard. “For so long, I was just ‘Brit and Cal.’ I let my hobbies slip away—painting, spending time with friends. It was always about …us. I prioritized him, and in the process, I lost myself. I traded late-night talks with my friends for quiet evenings where I barely spoke.”
Weston’s expression softens. “That sounds hard.”
“Honestly, I didn’t really realize it until now,” I admit. “But I feel like I’m starting over…”
“Maybe this is your chance to rediscover what makes you … you,” Weston offers gently. “You get to decide who you want to be next.”
I lean back in my chair, my thoughts swirling as his words sink in. I take a sip of the Montepulciano and then gaze at Weston, his features softened by the warm glow of candlelight. There’s akindness in his eyes that makes me feel safe, understood, in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
“I hadn’t thought about it that way,” I admit. “But … maybe it’s a chance to become … who I’m truly meant to be.”
Weston smiles, a genuine warmth that reaches his eyes. “You have a blank canvas in front of you, Brittany. And now, you get to paint your own masterpiece.”
I giggle at that, feeling lighter than I have all day as we finish up our meals.
“So, what about you?” I ask as I finish off my fettuccine. “Parker mentioned you’re on a mission to find ‘the one,’” I say, making air quotes.
Weston groans, covering his face with his hand. “I swear it’s not as desperate as he makes it sound. I just … I don’t know. I like the idea of having someone to share my life with.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” I say softly.
“Tell that to Parker.” He snorts. “He thinks I’m pathetic.”
“Parker thinks everyone is pathetic,” I remind him. “It’s his default setting.”
“True.” He laughs. “It doesn’t help that pretty much everyone I know, aside from your brother, is in a committed relationship. It’s hard not to want that, too, you know?”
“Totally.” I nod. “I mean, I honestly thought I would have kids by now.”
“Tell me about it. Now I’m gonna be an old dad. Or worse, just a funcle for all my friends’ kids.”
I raise a brow. “Afuncle?”
“A fun uncle.”
“Oh my gosh.” I laugh at that. “Youwould be afunclefor sure, but I get what you’re saying. You want to be a dad.”
“Yeah. A fun one.” He smirks.
We both chuckle and reach for the breadbasket simultaneously, our fingers brushing over a piece of focaccia.There’s a brief pause, a moment where neither of us moves, before Weston pulls back slightly.
“You take it,” he offers.
“We could share,” I suggest, breaking it in half without thinking.
