Then she gathered her knees to her chest and sobbed.
22.
Seventeen years ago
When Aubrey’s father finally met her boyfriend, it was by accident.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when she finished her shift at the bowling alley. Twenty minutes later, she met Nick at the Mexican place on Main Street for their weekly date.
They always ate at the tiny two-person table near the window. Outside, steelworkers and their wives strolled by, some holding hands, some swinging children between them, some existing in the comfortable, easy silence of people who’d loved each other for decades and had already said most of what they needed to say.
Watching them always left warm footprints across Aubrey’s heart. How would she and Nick look, in twenty years? Would they stop and kiss on street corners? Walk with their pinkies brushing? Would they glance up every so often, trade one of those knowing smiles that carried the depth of years?
The possibilities were endless, and she loved guessing. She especially loved that they would have twenty years to find out.
Today, they ordered their usual—guacamole, tacos, and virgin margaritas. Nick stacked an absurd amount of green dip ontoeach chip while Aubrey repeatedly darted in with one of her own to halve his load.
He pouted. “Hey. How am I supposed to get all big and burly if you keep stealing my food?”
“Big and burly?” She swallowed her chip, then propped her chin on a fist. “Sorry, but I don’t think that’s in your future. I can’t even picture it.”
In truth, hewasgaining weight, now that he could buy himself food, but the past month had softened the hollows of his cheeks only slightly.
Nick scooped up half the remaining guacamole and crammed it into his mouth. “Just wait. Someday I’ll pick you up and throw you over my shoulder.”
She giggled. “How caveman of you.”
“Yeah, well, isn’t that what girls are into? Don’t the guys in those romance novels pick women up all the time?”
“Who knows? I don’t do books, remember?”
“Mmm. Right.” Another chip vanished. “Maybe I’ll just pin you down, instead. Make you listen while I readWar and Peace.”
She snickered. “That’syour plan? To be a muscly caveman who holds his girlfriend hostage and force-feeds her Russian literature?”
“Yeah, why not?”
His smile mirrored hers, and the perfection of the moment engulfed her. She settled back, watching while he ate enough to fill a black hole. In truth, she’d only thieved his guacamole because she knew they’d order another round. And another. On Tuesdays, they always ran up the bill, then waddled out the door groaning. Because Wednesday through Monday, every spare penny went toward saving for New York.
Today belonged to them, though, so they ate and laughed and leaned over the tabletop to steal kisses when nobody was looking. They stole kisses when peoplewerelooking, too.Then, after paying the tab, they emerged into the sultry afternoon, their palms locked together.
Hand-holders, probably, she thought.Even in twenty years.
In the grassy square, they took shelter from the July sun within the shadows of the bandstand. Aubrey backed Nick against a stone column and kissed him, relishing the flavors of lime and salt.
He groaned as she twined her fingers in his spiral curls. She didn’t care that he’d come straight from work, that sweat had dried in streaks on his sunbaked skin or that coal dust smudged his clothes. Nothing existed except the way he pulled her against him, the fingers he splayed against the small of her back. She angled her head to give him deeper access. She could do this for hours. Weeks.
A lifetime.
A nearby snigger shattered the moment. “Man, are those two still at it? You’d think they would’ve given up by now.”
Nick stiffened. Aubrey whipped her head around.
A row of six onlookers leaned against the far balustrade. Among them was Gina Abramo, whose lush black hair hung loose, brushing her equally lush rear end. Gallant stood beside her, a casual arm slung around her waist. “Hey, MacLean.”
Aubrey’s eyes narrowed, but he sounded friendly, unlike whoever had first spoken.
Gallant’s best friend, Brent Reinholdt, smiled nastily. One front tooth gleamed whiter than its neighbors, reminding Aubrey of the first basketball game she’d ever cheered. Brent had fought with an opposing player and lost the original against the guy’s kneecap.
