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They come back carrying enough food to survive a small apocalypse.

Paper trays cover the table. Arancine, fried dough, pizza, grilled meat, things I recognize and things I absolutely don't. Something covered in pistachios and something else dripping cheese onto the paper beneath it.

I stare at the mountain of food.

“You trying to kill me with food, Grumpy?”

A half-smile appears on his face.

“Got everything you like.”

He starts putting the trays in the middle of the table, but I stop him.

“You remember what I like?”

Jude shrugs like that's the most normal thing in the world. “Yeah.”

I don't know why that does something warm to my chest, so I grab an arancina and decide not to investigate.

We dig in, and before long, limoncello spritzes somehow find their way to our table while a local group begins performing on the beach.

The music changes first, becoming faster and lighter as people move closer to the stage. Men and women dressed in traditional clothes begin to dance, their skirts spinning around their ankles, feet moving impossibly fast against the sand while hands clap along with the rhythm.

I don't know enough about the Sicilian tarantella to understand every movement or what it's supposed to mean. I only know the Calabrian one. But watching them here, beneath thousands of lights with the sea behind them and half the town clapping along, I can't help thinking it represents this island perfectly.

Loud, colorful, passionate and completely unapologetic about taking up space.

“Another limoncello spritz!” Lexy holds her empty glass out for more, and I burst out laughing.

Dex looks at his wife. “You letting your hair down tonight, Tinker?”

She throws both arms around him. “Yes. But you'll take care of me, Pan, right?”

Dex's entire face softens. The way he loves his wife is beautiful.

He kisses the tip of her nose. “Always, Tinker.”

Something closes around my heart.

Hard.

I look away.

Will I ever have that again?

The thought comes before I can stop it, and I don't think I will.

But that's okay. Isn't it?

I had it. I had a man who loved me completely. I had mornings and nights and stupid fights and inside jokes and arms around me in bed. I had love, more than some people ever get, and I can be grateful for that.

Right?

Somehow, that thought doesn't make me feel any better.

I pick up my cocktail and finish what's left in the glass.

When I put it down, I feel someone watching me.