"I don't think so. There's work to be done to get past the betrayal as you see it. And that stuff said nothing."
"This will?"
"It's different. I guess you'll have to see."
"I guess I will."
I gesture with my hand and lead her through the sitting room to the table and chairs on my terrace.
Lyndall put fairy lights through the flowers and bushes there, and the backyard is also alight.
"It's beautiful. And different. What's your plan here?"
I don't answer.
She half smiles. "Mysterious. But..."
I bite my tongue because she's struggling for her words, and the last thing I need is to give them to her. No matter how much I want to.
Lola takes a shaking breath. "But I don't need another manipulation or a band-aid for the fact I'm finding it hard to trust you."
Isn't there some fucking song about how the truth hurts?
"I'm not asking you to magically forgive me, Lola. To me, I did the right thing for the wrong reasons, I guess." I take a breath. "No. I might have done it from a well-meaning place, but I was in the wrong, and you're well within your rights to be upset with me."
For a moment, silence reigns between us.
"Are you just saying that?" Lola smooths a hand along the edge of the crisp white linen they've put on the outdoor table where I sometimes sit with the computer and drink coffee in the morning.
I think about her words.
"No. It'd be easier to try to make you see my point ofview. Or even wait things out on my end. But that's not right."
"Is that what the flowers and lingerie were?"
I half-grin. "You forget the chocolates. But, yeah, maybe, in a way. I hope you can find it in you to see it wasn't anything more than impatience."
"Not a diabolical plan?"
I toy with the water glass. "No, just short-sighted impatience."
"And I should just believe you?"
Fuck it. I'm here. I open the doors for her.
"I care, Lola."
When she goes to speak, I shake my head. "And I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I lied. I'm sorry I invaded your privacy and violated your trust. And I hope one day you'll see that."
She sits there, not saying a thing as the waiter comes in and tells us the menu, asking if there's anything she'd like changed for her. Her, not me. Because this is all about her.
When she says no, he brings in the starter and drinks.
Clearly, he brought them up with him, or the other one is waiting in the sitting room.
I accept the wine and ask for a whiskey to be brought up.
"Just water for me, please." Lola probably wants a clear head.
