Relief hits so hard I have to lock my jaw to keep it from showing too much.
“One date,” I repeat, keeping my voice level.
“Do you need me to make reservations somewhere? What time do you want to go?” Becca asks, and my heart aches even more.
This woman has been running too many aspects of our lives, even having to plan out our dates. I should have taken better care of her, treated her like the damn queen she is. Fuck.
“No, I got it handled.” I assure her.
She looks at me skeptically.
“I mean it. You won’t need to worry about one thing. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.” I reach for her and stop short, waiting for permission to touch her.
She doesn’t pull away. That’s all I get, but it’s enough.
I lean in, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her forehead. Not where I want to be, but where I’m allowed to be.
And I walk away before I can push for more than she’s ready to give. Because for the first time since I screwed this all up, I think I might actually have a chance of earning my wife back.
25
BECCA
Icouldn’t focus at work all day, anticipating tonight’s date with Sam. We’ve shared many dinners before, but this time feels different—like an uncharted territory of connection.
When I asked what to wear, he shrugged with a casual “Whatever you want.”
Unhelpful. Eventually, he revealed we’re heading somewhere new, so I’ve decided to dress up, just in case.
I open the tiny closet in the cabin and pull out a dress I almost forgo, one I bought for a charity gala we never attended. Sam had come home late that night after a long day working, and though he offered to still go, exhaustion was etched into his face. I assured him it was okay, but the disappointment lingered.
At 6:59 p.m., Sam pulls into the driveway—punctual, as always. He meets my eyes from the window, and my heart skips a beat. He steps out with a bouquet of wildflowers—sunlight daisies and lavender—from our garden.
A surge of warmth floods me.I miss my garden, our home.
Sam shoots me a glance and a knowing smirk.He's nervous too. Damn.
I pull the door open, and his scent—earthy, fresh rain—fills the space between us as he leans in for a kiss on my cheek. My skin tingles long after I walk away to get a vase for the flowers.
“I love that dress on you, baby, is it new?” Sam asks.
I find myself breathless. “No, I haven’t worn it out yet,” I say, avoiding the memory.
He doesn’t let me deflect. He comes close, places his hand lightly at the small of my back, and says, “Was this for an event or date I canceled?”
I nod, not trusting my voice.
He hums thoughtfully. “I’m sorry I put work first too often. Trying to grow the business, proving myself to who knows what or whom, got in the way of us.”
I meet his gaze over my shoulder. He’s looking at me that way again—soft and vulnerable—and the old ache returns.
“I know you did.” I turn slowly to face him, and my voice wavers. “I never said anything because I believed in our plan. I thought it was temporary.”
Sam steps closer, closing the gap between us. His breath brushes my lips. “It was a great plan … until I ruined it.” He cups my face with one hand, stroking my cheek. I lean into his palm. “I know I fucked up,” he whispers. “But I promise I’m changing. You’ll never be second again.”
I swallow hard, blinking back tears. When he kisses me, slow and reverent, my resistance crumbles. For one intoxicating moment, I just let it happen. I forgot how much I missed the way he kisses me, like I am all he desires in the world. Then I remember, I have to be careful too.
“Okay … so, where are we going tonight?” I force a smile, eyes still partly closed.
