Page 50 of First in Line

“That’s nice of you.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“How are they doing?”

“They’re okay. They often ask about you.”

“Oh …”

“I didn’t have much to tell them until recently. My mom’s glad we’re talking again. She always liked you. You were the daughter she never had.”

Evie smiles sheepishly. “My mom liked you, too. Actually, she had this on her fridge when I went earlier.”

She reaches into the back pocket of her jeans and pulls out a Polaroid photo that she hands me. When I look, I immediately recognize our outfits. “Homecoming…”

“My first school dance.”

“Our first real date. The evening this whole thing started,” I recall, motioning at the plates between us.

“Up until that point, it was the best night of my life.”

“Mine too. But then we had many best nights together, didn’t we?”

She nods, mindlessly playing with a piece of red velvet cake with her spoon. When I motion to hand her the picture back, she shakes her head.

“You can keep it. I don’t… I don’t think it’s appropriate for me to have it. With Nathan and everything.”

I want to argue that her marrying someone else doesn’t mean she should erase our past. But getting to have this picture, like a keepsake, sounds better than her shoving it into a box somewhere and never letting it see the light of day again—as she’s doing with her wedding ring. So, I say nothing and carefully slip it into my pocket.

We eat as much as we can, drink most of our milkshakes, then ask the waitress to bag it all up.

The ride back to the garage, to her car, is quiet. This might be the last time we do something like this. She’ll have her lawyer file the papers soon, which means we’ve shared our last dinner.

I step out once we’re parked and walk around to open her door. Then, I follow her to her car, not ready to let go yet. She puts the bag with the leftovers in the backseat, then stands by the driver’s door.

“Thank you for the throwback dinner, Jax.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for agreeing to it.”

“Of course.”

With the garage closed, there’s nothing but the streetlight fifty feet away. We’re in semi-darkness, which gives the impression that we’re alone, cut off from the rest of the world.

Apparently, she’s as reluctant as I am to put an end to this evening, because she makes no move to get into her car.

“Will you be watching me in Miami?” I ask to delay the moment a little longer.

“Probably. It’s an easy time zone, so my friends and I might gather in that sports bar again and watch you win yet another race.”

“I’ll try not to be bored during the third quarter.”

“I’ll let you know if I notice.”

Her hands are fidgeting together, which she always does when she’s nervous. I can feel it too—the tension between us. But mine doesn’t show like hers. It sits heavily in the back of my throat instead. And my palms become more clammy by the second. Years. I haven’t had sweaty palms in fucking years.

When she gazes up at me, I recognize the expression in those pretty eyes. Despite the darkness, I see the longing, the need, the want. This is bad. This is really fucking bad.

I should have answered when she first sent the divorce papers. I should have signed them and been done with this. It would have been so much better than seeing her and remembering why I was so damn in love with her, only to lose her again, this time to another man.