Page 82 of More Than My Hometown

“Let’s go sit down,” she whispers. “We need to talk.”

We need to talk. The last four words any man ever wants to hear.

I take the platter, gesturing for her to lead the way. I don’t care how much of a hitch there is in my giddyup, as she puts it; I can carry our dinner to the table. More than that, concentrating on not dropping the food through the pain is a good distraction from the fact that the woman I called my wife in my head a few hours ago just told me we need to talk.

Settling ourselves at the table, we’re both silent as we make our plates, nothing but the clinking of utensils filling the air. Every inch of me is screaming to know what is going on. To ask if everything is okay. If we’re okay. To reach across this table, haul her into me, and hold her, all while promising her that whatever it is, I’ll make it okay.

“I also got a call this afternoon,” she says, breaking the silence. Her voice is small, like she doesn’t know how to say this. So I simply nod, giving her the space to do what she needs to. “From InterCon MediTrust.”

“And you weren’t expecting that?”

“Not with a placement offer.”

I drop my fork, and the clang of it hitting the plate reverberates through the apartment, bouncing off the walls and seeming to echo off into space, making it almost deafening for a second.

A placement offer…

“Reykjavík.”

Reykjavík. Her dream city.

My heart stops. Right along with my breath, all the oxygen sucked out of the room with that one word. The only word that has that power. That could turn our world upside down like this.

“It’s a standard twelve-month contract,” she continues when I don’t say anything. “I wouldn’t have to be there until October, but I do have to give them my decision by the twenty-first. And…I…”

Closing her eyes, she sighs, her whole body deflating. I reach across the table, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze, letting her know I’m here. She squeezes back, looking up at me, her eyes filled with tears.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Her voice cracks as she chokes back a small sob, instantly shattering my heart.

“That’s the one you’ve been waiting for,” I comment, still trying to wrap my mind around it.

The northern lights. The glass igloos. The Blue Lagoon. Volcanoes, waterfalls…all the things she rambled on about.

“You’re what I’ve been waiting for,” she counters. “What about our future?”

I shrug, because I honestly don’t know how to answer that. My gut reaction is that we’d make it work. That we’d figure out a way. It’s only a year. But that’s what everyone says. That’s how all the stories start. And almost none of them end well.

She sobs again, pulling her hand back to swipe at her tears. “Your life is here. The Booby Trap, Hayes, your family. This new partnership with Auburn. You can’t leave that.”

I nod. My whole life is in this town. By design. Poor design—admittedly—now that I look back on it.

“I could stay. I have my second interview at Tifton Regional tomorrow, and I think I have a really good shot at that position. Actually, I know I do. And even if I don’t get it, it’s not like Landon and my dad would ever fire me. And⁠—”

“And you’d always regret it. Always wish you’d taken it. It’d be the one that got away.”

Tears prick the corner of my eyes and I slam them shut. Now she’s gonna be my one that got away. Again.

“I want our future, Ewan. You and me. The sex tent. Family camping trips and Sunday dinners with your brothers and Willa. I want to watch you make The Booby Trap bigger and better than anyone ever imagined.”

“I want that too.”

“But I…it’s just…”

“I get it.”

I don’t. Not fully. There isn’t an equivalent in my life for me to compare this to. That’s not what’s important though. Not even close.