I laughed, surprised, and almost disappointed too. Somehow, that didn’t fit what I knew about him. Everything else he did was so intentional. “That’s honest.” I touched his forearm, felt his muscles clench, responding to my touch. Smiling to myself at his reaction, I bent my head closer to read, “I saw her clear. Though on the earth a sprinkling of snowdrops shone.” “Oh. We learned that poem together, didn’t we? In primaryschool? We recited it for days, walking up and down the river path. What’s that poem called?”
32
Tim
Itraced the linesof the old poem etched into my forearm.I saw her clear. Though on the earth a sprinkling of snowdrops shone.
“I remember,” she said. “It’s about spring arriving in Gloucestershire.”
I tensed, then tried to ease the flex of my arm. Elaborating on this might ruin our night.
“That was the first time I realized that picturing a scene, rather than trying to read it off the page, worked better for me. I’d run them in my mind like a movie or a story I’d retell later,” I said.
Her face went dreamy as though she was picturing me making those little movies in my mind, oblivious to me feelinglike I was on a knife’s edge. “Oh, I love thinking you do that, Tim.”
That was Tabitha. When she wasn’t bloody annoyed, usually directed at me, she was a romantic, wanting to imagine there was something creative about you. I was pretty sure I wasn’t creative.
“When did you get that one?” she asked, referring to the line of the poem.
I could gloss over my answer. She’d be none the wiser, but I wanted to start being more honest, and this was a good start.
“It was that summer. You know, when we were twenty-five. It reminded me of the two weeks we spent together.”
Her face was suddenly guarded. What had I expected? I’d been fooling myself that she’d feel all misty and swoony and nostalgic. Had I ruined everything?
Her lips pressed into a line. She slipped her hand out from under mine and placed it protectively inside her other one on her lap. “How does it remind you of the time we spent together?”
I had to go forward now, tell her honestly, but my body was rigid with tension.
“You’ll always remind me of summer, but whatever the season, I think of you.” There, I’d said it. It was a relief, but I tensed again, waiting for her reaction.
She stared at me, the words sinking in. Her chest lifted rapidly in shallow breaths, and then she dropped her face into her hands.
Fuck.Would we ever get past this? When she raised her head again, her eyes were glassy with an accusatory glare that spoke of our bad history.
“I fell for that once before,” she said. “You said beautiful things to me then too. But in the end, you didn’t show up.”
The waiter appeared. “Pardon me, sir, madam—I don’t want to rush you, but would you like to order? It’s been a busy evening, and I’d hate for you to miss your desired meal.”
“Sorry, could we have more time?” I asked him.
“Sir, I apologize, but we need your order because of your late arrival.”
Oh God, this was excruciating.
“Tabs?”
She kept her head down, and her shoulders quivered. “No, thank you. Nothing for me.”
No, no, no. As soon as the waiter swept off, she’d leave. Go home and never want to meet like this again.
“Nothing, madam?” the waiter checked, clearly concerned. “The Cornish hen is excellent tonight. We can’t tempt you?”
Even though she was obviously upset, Tabitha tipped her face up to him. She was miserable, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to be rude to the waiter.
“Just the salad,” she said with a pained smile. The waiter presented her with a face that said,And?“Just the salad, thanks.”
Her hand was on her purse, and her eyes were on the door. She wasn’t going to stay long enough to even taste the salad.Fuck. How did this happen?
