Page 46 of Everlasting Vows

Her response to my declaration is a simple hum at the back of her throat. “Rose has also secured the advanced plants we need. She’ll manage the planting once Theo has finished his work and you’ve finished the stone walkway.” She tilts her glass toward me. “You’re doing a great job with that, by the way. It looks stunning.”

At least I’m getting something right. She loves the fire pit too. I rub the fresh calluses on my palm with my thumb. “Thanks. I found some lights I think will work with our vision.” I drag out my phone, ignoring the plethora of messages. Tonight is about reconnecting with my wife. Work can wait until Monday. I navigate to the website and the lights I’m considering, then pass the phone across the table. Our fingers make contact momentarily, and I relish her brief touch like a sun-starved prisoner of war soaking up any warmth.

The server stops at our table with our appetizer, and I watch my wife’s eyes light up at the cherry bruschetta placed on the table between us. “Enjoy,” he says with a flourish of his hand, then steps away from our table before we can thank him.

I push the platter closer to Abbi so she can grab the first piece of toasted sourdough. She wastes no time taking the first bite, and I delight in watching her eyes close and absorbing the moan that climbs up her throat. She chews and swallows, then peels her eyes open, finding mine locked on her. She smiles shyly as she nudges the platter closer to me. “You must have some. It’s divine.”

I pinch the toasted bread between my fingers and lift the bruschetta to my mouth. At the first bite, my tastebuds zing with the tartness of the cherries and the honey-sweetened ricotta. A low groan makes its way from my gut and rumbles over my lips. Abbi watches me intently while a small smile plays on her lips, as if she’s thrilled at my response … as if she prepared the appetizer herself. The tastes are simple, yet decadent. They remind me that I came from a simple background, where food was basic … enough to fill our stomachs and keep them full for as long as possible, while Abbi came from a household where she often dined in fancy restaurants and enjoyed decadent food much like this. And while this restaurant is far from being Michelin-star rated, it’s certainly more than I ever could have afforded in the early days of our relationship.

I glance around us, young and old, couples and friendship groups enjoying a meal together. Laughter and chatter fill the air around us, and yet tension fills my body. I don’t feel—have never felt—like I belong in an establishment like this one. I’m shunted back to being the poor kid who lost his father when he was eleven and then pretty much lost his mother because she had to work two shitty jobs to keep a roof over our heads and basic food on the table.

“When we were younger, I would see people eating fancy food in amazing restaurants like this one and wish I could afford to take you to one.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can temper them, and by Abbi’s wide, startled eyes, I can tell she’s as surprised as I am by my words. “I swore I’d work hard to be able to afford the nice things you deserved.” I swallow my pride. There’s no going back now. I don’t think I’ve ever shared my financial insecurity with Abbi. I shake my head as a derisive huff leaves my lips, and I wave my hand around the restaurant. “I may be able to afford to take you to nice restaurants and buy fancy food now, but I’ve lost you in the process.”

Her startled eyes soften, and I watch her throat bob before she drops her gaze from mine. The smile that touched her lips a few moments ago has slipped, and her shoulders slowly climb toward her ears. I’ve made her uncomfortable. Something I excel at lately. I didn’t intend to talk about this until further into our meal, hopefully when we were more relaxed with a couple of drinks under our belts. But I’ve started now. It’s what Harry says I need to do, so I plow on.

“You wanted for nothing growing up. A fancy car, fashionable clothes, a beautiful home with a hotel-worthy swimming pool. I knew I wasn’t good enough for you, and your parents reminded me any chance they got.” Her brows scrunch together at the mention of her parents. “I knew I couldn’t give you all of those things, but I was determined to work hard so I could give you everything you deserved and more.” Abbi’s hand slides across the table and methodically uncurls each of my fisted fingers to slip hers in between. I welcome the small show of support and continue. “We never used to be as poor as we were when I met you. Dad held a decent job, and Mom worked part-time while we were in school. We couldn’t afford extravagant things, but we got by, and I never felt like I was missing out.” I swallow the sawdust in my throat and follow it with a swig from my beer.

The reminder of losing Dad is always a deep ache that won’t go away. Even all these years later, his absence hurts when I think of all we lost as a family, what his death led to. “Hudson and I did our best to pick up some of the slack, taking on odd jobs, but we were kids. Our options were limited.”

“I remember how impressed I was that you held down the paper route and mowed the lawns of all your neighbors, as well as kept up with your schoolwork and football practice,” Abbi says, a touch of awe in her voice. “I’ve always known you had a strong work ethic.” She smiles softly, squeezing my fingers. We watch each other quietly for a few moments while I try to sort through my thoughts.

The server interrupts, his brows drawn tight and lips pursed. “Is there a problem with your appetizer?”

Abbi and I both look down at the platter, and embarrassed laughs leave both our lips. She’s the first to look back up at the waiter. “No. Uh … we’re sorry; we got caught up talking. Can we please have a few more minutes?” She shoots him her winning smile, the one I fell head over heels for, and I know she’s going to get what she wants when the tension falls from his features.

“Of course. Take your time. I’ll tell the chef to hold your mains for a little longer.”

“Thank you so much.” She looks across at me, something unreadable on her face. “We appreciate your patience.”

He tilts his head a little. “Certainly, ma’am.”

Once he’s gone, Abbi returns her attention my way while nudging the appetizer toward me. I take a piece of cherry bruschetta, gesturing for her to do the same. “You still have an incredible work ethic, Nix. It’s something I admire about you.”

I laugh derisively. “Yeah, look where it’s gotten me. Almost divorced.” I shake my head, suddenly not hungry as my stomach folds in on itself at the painful reminder.

16

ABBI

His words slice me down the middle, causing acute pain.

How do I make him understand?

I place my cherry bruschetta on my plate, my appetite suddenly gone, and reach for Nix’s hand again. I can’t stop the guilt swelling up like a wave that I’ve caused this man so much distress. Tangling my fingers with his, I squeeze lightly, encouraging him to look up at me.

“I feel so guilty.” I look down at the half-eaten food in front of me. “This is all my fault. You’re hurt because of me, and I didn’t anticipate what asking for a divorce would do to you. I figured you were mostly out of our marriage, so you wouldn’t care. And I’m so sorry I’ve hurt you … caused you any pain at all.” I lick my suddenly dry lips; my mouth feels as dry as the Mojave. “I-I-I just knew I couldn’t go on the way we were. I didn’t think it would hurt you this much.” A tear drops onto my plate, and I hear the scrape of furniture across wood. Nix’s knee jostles against mine, and his large hand slides across the top of my back.

“Abs,” he whispers on a broken breath. “As much as this has hurt me, I never want you to apologize for asking for what you needed. None of this is your fault.”

I peer up into his eyes, and the anguish and desolation I see there squeeze my heart. I shake my head in disagreement, but he’s not having it. He squeezes the back of my neck, dragging me closer, then kisses my temple tenderly. “I have to take some of the blame, at least.”

“No, you don’t,” he breathes. “I was so caught up in my head that I wasn’t good enough for you. That I couldn’t provide you with the life you deserved—that I lost sight of what should have been my most important focus. You. Not material shit. Spending time with you. Loving you. Taking you on date nights and sharing movie marathons on the couch. Stealing kisses and touches. Sharing a drink as we watch the sunset or coffee as we watch the sunrise.” He drops his forehead to mine. “I forgot. I forgot to show you how much I love you.”

Tears burst like a dam over my lashes, trailing down my cheeks, and I press my lips softly against my husband’s, almost unsure if my affection is welcome through our shared pain. He doesn’t pull away, and my shoulders drop in relief that he’s not going to deny me this small comfort. We press softly against each other in delicate touches as everything around us falls away; we could be in a void for all I care as our lips brush and caress. My eyes drop closed, and I lean into Nix as his skillful fingers massage my nape beneath my hair. We share small, light kisses of apology and regret, full of whispers of promises to try harder and do better. We linger, breaths mingling and hearts mending. Our kisses turn to light pecks, and Nix kisses the apples of my cheeks, the tip of my nose, my eyelids, and then rests his lips against my forehead. It’s as if he doesn’t want to pull away, and in all honesty, I don’t want him to either.

“I think we should try to eat this food before the server comes back,” I whisper.

He kisses me once more, then pulls away with a half-smile. “I guess we should. We don’t want to piss him off.”