"This was a good idea. I'm glad we're here," he says.
"Me too."
The conversation is stilted at first. We talk about work. He talks about one of the board members at Ancre who's beendriving him crazy. I tell him about how Jamie and I are trying to get into an exclusive boutique in Santa Barbara. The words come slowly, like we're both searching for safe topics.
After the third glass of wine is behind us, something shifts. Asher reaches across the table and takes my hand. His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist. "I know I've been distant," he says. "I know I haven't been the husband you deserve."
I don't know what to say to that. It's true, but hearing him admit it out loud makes my chest tighten.
"I want to fix this," he continues. "I want us to be us again."
"I want that too."
And I do. I didn’t marry him because I hated him. Quite the opposite.
We finish the bottle. Asher orders another glass for each of us. By the time we leave the restaurant, I'm tipsy and warm and leaning into him as we walk back to the inn. He has his arm around my waist. I have my head on his shoulder. We're laughing about something stupid, something I can't even remember five minutes later. When we get back to the room, he kisses me.
It's not tentative or careful. It's the kind of kiss that reminds me of how things were before. His hands are in my hair. My back is against the door. I'm pulling at his shirt, trying to get it off, and he's doing the same with mine.
We stumble toward the bed. He pushes me down onto the mattress and climbs on top of me. His mouth is on my neck, my collarbone, the hollow of my throat. I arch into him, my hands sliding down his back. But then he stops.
He pulls back and looks at me. His eyes are glassy from the wine. He blinks slowly, like he's trying to focus. "Shit. I've got the spins," he says.
I turn onto my side and look at him. He looks blitzed.
"Are you alright?”
"Yeah. Just drunker than I thought. Sorry, babe. I need to drop my anchor and close my eyes for a second."
Within minutes, he's asleep. I lie there next to him, still half-dressed, and feel the hope from earlier start to drain away. I tell myself it's fine. We drank too much. We're both exhausted. Tomorrow will be better. I get up and change into pajamas. I brush my teeth. I climb back into bed and pull the covers over both of us.
At least we didn’t get a call saying we were needed at home.
I wake up at three in the morning. The room is dark except for a sliver of light coming from under the bathroom door. I reach over to Asher's side of the bed, but he's not there. His phone isn't on the nightstand either. I sit up and listen. I can hear his voice. Quiet. Muffled by the door. But unmistakably his. My stomach drops. I know who he's talking to. I don't need to see the screen to know it's Devon.
I lie back down and stare at the ceiling. My jaw is clenched so tight it hurts. I want to get up and throw the door open and demand to know why he can't go one fucking night without checking in on her. But I don't. Because I'm so tired of fighting. I'm so tired of being the one who has to beg for his attention.
So I stay in bed. I watch the clock on the nightstand. The minutes tick by. Five. Ten. Fifteen. Finally, the bathroom door opens. Asher walks out, his phone in his hand. He sets it on the nightstand and climbs back into bed. I keep my eyes closed. I keep my breathing steady. I pretend to be asleep.
He lies down next to me. He doesn't touch me. He doesn't say anything. After a few minutes, I hear his breathing slow. He'sasleep again. I open my eyes and stare at the dark ceiling. And I don't fall back asleep.
The next morning, we go down to breakfast at eight. The inn serves it in a small dining room on the first floor. There are only a few other guests. We sit at a table by the window. The view of the water is beautiful. The sun is just starting to burn off the morning fog.
Asher orders coffee and eggs. I order the same. We're both quiet. The hangover from last night is sitting heavy between us. Wine can be a real killer.
My phone rings while we're waiting for our food. I glance at the screen. It's Jamie. "I should take this," I say.
Asher nods.
I step outside onto the porch and answer. "Hey."
"Julie, thank God." Jamie's voice is frantic. "We have a huge problem."
My stomach tightens. "What happened?"
"Both the Napa spa order manifest and the detailed sheet we had of the supplies needed for it are gone.”
"What do you mean it's gone?"
