It was a good question. Peter wasn’t sure he knew the answer. To remind him that every relationship he’d ever had since he was eighteen had ended with a whimper because no woman compared to Gaby? What was the point in reminding him of that, when Gaby was only here for a few more days and nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever come of any of this?
He pushed back on that unhappy thought and squeezed her hand again. “Because maybe we both just needed a reminder of who we used to be.”
It was the best he could come up with. What he’d said didn’t make much sense but that didn’t seem to stop the thoughtful look in Gaby’s eyes.
“A reminder of who we used to be,” she echoed, a small smile at her lips. “I like that. You’re a poet, Peter.”
He laughed, then drank some wine and thought about how ask the question he really wanted to ask.
“Have you been in love many times since we were together, Gaby?”
His mind conjured images of her travelling the world and having sweetly passionate affairs with suave and accomplished men who fell at her feet. He imagined whirlwind romances and lovers scattered across the globe from Paris to Rome, New York to Los Angeles, and any number of exciting and exotic locations in between.
Gaby had said he was her first love, but, unlike him, her life of travel and adventure must surely mean she’d fallen in love over and over again since they’d known each other.
When he looked up from his wine glass, he braced himself to feel foolish for admitting his own truth only to have Gaby describe the many beautiful love affairs she must have enjoyed over the past fifteen years.
But what he saw in her expression surprised him. Stunned him, actually.
“I don’t think I’ve been completely in love again,” she said. “Not like we were.”
“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
“No. It’s the truth. But I don’t think I realised it until just now.”
Their eyes stayed locked and the pub and the people around them seemed to vanish. Peter kept Gaby’s hand tucked inside his across the table, the touch of her skin the only physical thing anchoring him to the world as his mind whirred.
“Spend this weekend with me, Gaby,” he said before he could think himself out of it. “I need more time with you. We could walk up Blackberry Hill and along the riverbank and do all the things we used to do.”
Her cheeks coloured. “Allthe things?”
He tried not to smile and failed. “That’s up to you.”
She laughed softly and sipped some wine. “I’m leaving in a few days, Peter. You know that don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“We don’t have an entire summer ahead of us like we did fifteen years ago.”
“I know. And I’m sorry for it. But we have this weekend. Why not take it?”
Another long beat passed as she scoured his face. He could almost see her mind working. “I’m supposed to be spending time with my aunt.”
“And you’ll do that, too. We’ll make it work.”
He saw her waver, feared she might come to her senses before he closed the deal.
“Don’t overthink it, Gaby. We’re just two people remembering what used to be.”
“That’s what scares me.”
Another look traded between them. Peter wondered if they should both back away from this, blame their intensity on the wine and call it a night before things went any further.
But that was impossible.
“There’s nothing to be scared of, I promise,” he said. “We’ll have fun. And the honest truth is that I want to spend more time with you before you go, Gaby. I’ll regret it forever otherwise.”
He worried he’d overplayed his hand with the guilt trip. When she smiled, he breathed a sigh a relief.
