“You don’t look too shabby yourself,” I tell him. He looks hot actually; dark pressed pants, and a checkered shirt, open at the collar. His golden hair is slicked back, and he’s clean shaven, as usual.
He inches closer to me and pulls me into his arms. He kisses me sweetly on the temple. “Too bad Anna is already here, we could have a little fun,” he says playfully.
I smile.Yes, we could.
“I know. Darn her,” I joke. “We should get going.”
He sighs loudly. “Yes, let’s go.” He kisses me again. “To be continued… I guess.”
My scallops look delicious and I can’t wait to have a taste. His steak is so bloody, it turns my stomach a little. We’re both drinking red, and I already feel the buzz; the heat on my insides, and the blush on my cheeks. We’re talking about the old days — we’ve promised ourselves that we wouldn't talk about the kids or the house tonight.
As we dig into our meals, the conversation moves to his work; the signings, his latest release, and the new book he’s currently working on. Our conversations typically center on him — it’s just the way it is. I don’t have much to offer most of the time. “So I’m painting the Golden Gate Bridge,”I’ll say, “from that photo I took when we were there.” He’ll nod and ask me to show it to him when I’m done. Conversation done.
“So I made a new artist friend on Instagram,” I say casually between bites. I don’t know why I’ve decided to mention Eli. Maybe I’m just trying to make conversation, or perhaps I’m feeling a bit guilty. “Paints amazing watercolors,” I add.
“That’s nice,” he says cutting into his steak. “But I bet she’s nowhere as good as you.”
I smile — he’s always complimenting my work. When we have new friends over, he’s the first to show them my new pieces on the walls.
I laugh a little. “You’d be surprised.”
“So what have you been working on?” he asks.
I’m doing a still life series, scenes of downtown,” I explain, “Alleyways, doors and windows, and the like. I love the architectural details on that street… so beautiful.”
He grins. “So that must be why you practically live there,” he teases. He’s right — it’s where I meet my friends for coffee, it’s where I take my walks, where I shop. I love the quaint little stores — they’re so much more interesting than those big box stores which keep popping up everywhere.
This is nice.
We’re having a nice conversation, and John looks so handsome tonight. It’s times like these when I can remember us, years ago, when we first fell in love. Before kids, work… life. I see the man I fell in love with. If truth be told, I haven’t seen him much lately.
But unfortunately, things take a turn when we get to talking about Maeve’s wedding.
“She has us wearing butter yellow dresses, can you believe it?” I’m saying over dessert.
John laughs. “But I bet you still look great in it. I can’t wait to see you in it.”
I smile. “Actually, the color kind of suits me. It’s not that bad, but it’s one of those strapless numbers, and I just know I’ll be worried all night about nip slip.”
He laughs out loud. “Oh, we should all be so lucky.”
“That’s the problem with having D cups… you can’t wear those little numbers.”
He cocks a brow, and a playful smile slowly traces his lips. “Hell, I’m certainly not complaining.”
I blush a little, and I know I’m being silly. But it’s nice that my husband still manages to make me blush, even after all these years.
“So anyway, the wedding is the third weekend of September,” I say, reaching for my almost empty glass of red.
His face falls. “Oh, damn, Gabbie.”
“Damn what?!”
“I have a signing that weekend,” he tells me. “In New York.”
Of course he does. He always does. I feel my blood heating slowly to a boil, and my cheeks flush. He can’t be doing this to me. I don’t ask for much — the least he could do is be there for me once in a while. Now, I’ll be alone at the wedding. Well, at least I’ll have the kids.
“I’m so sorry, Gabbie,” he says. “This event was planned ages ago.”
