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Her brow dips. “Of course you’re not. Why would you be? Even without everything you’ve achieved, your mom was just amazing.”

“She still is.” I reach for my drink again, glad I’d ordered a beer. I was gonna stick with water after the wine episode, but then Clara walked into the restaurant wearing that thin gray sweaterdress. Curves. Cleavage. Shapely legs. I needed something to quench my sudden thirst.

But with Clara it’s more than how she looks. It’s how she carries herself. How she talks. Sure, there’s attraction in those rosy cheeks, deep-blue eyes, and the soft bow of her mouth. But it’s also in how she moves. The way laughter shoots from her like a spurt of honey, golden and sweet. It’s the sass she gives and how in the quiet moments she just . . . is.

I must be soft in the head—or maybe these are old memories. We’ve barely spent any time together. I can’t know who she is now. I didn’t really know who she was then.

“She must be so proud of you.” I give a casual shrug as Clara adds, “I hope she’s happy.”

“She should be. I just sent her on vacation. A cruise around the Bahamas.” A timely coincidence.

“Nice.” Her smile . . . does nothing for me. Especially when I force myself to think how a cactus to the balls might feel. “Will you tell her about us?” She dips the bread in the oil, avoiding my eyes.

“Yeah. The truth, though.”

“Good,” she whispers, not seeming to notice olive oil dripping on the snowy tablecloth. “It’s nice here.” She glances around the restaurant that’s a mixture of exposed brick and old wood. The food is great, the wines are amazing (so I’ve heard), and there’s not a checkered tablecloth in sight. “The building has a good feel.”

“It does.” I’m not looking at the wine flush on her cheek or the way her dark hair shines in the ambient light. “The gnocchi comes highly recommended.” By Max. He’ll forgive me for this. Eventually. “Now, how about that all-important narrative?”

“We’re married.” She taps the cheap ring on her fourth finger. “Isn’t that the whole narrative?”

“That’s the headline.” A little like the Bloomberg one. Table Founder Troy Templeton’s Sudden Marriage Adds New Optics to Newly Public Fintech. “We need the paragraph under the headline. The meat of the story.”

“So we reconnected recently?” she suggests as my mind plays a quick montage of all the ways I’d like to reconnect with Clara. It’s official. I have reentered my teenage stage.

“How? How did we reconnect?”

“We just ran into each other by chance. At your place of employment.”

“And no one is gonna question why or how?”

Her brow furrows. “I’m not ashamed of waitressing, but you’re right. If anyone finds out that’s what I was doing there, it’s going to blow up your narrative.”

“For what it’s worth, I think it was brave of you to strike out on your own.”

“Strike out. Yes, let’s go with that.” Before I can say anything else, she moves the conversation on. “We can keep it vague, say we just bumped into each other and discovered there was still a spark.”

“It was an incendiary first meeting.”

She tilts her chin high, like she does when she’s uncomfortable.

“Not my finest moment,” I add.

“Your reaction was understandable,” Clara murmurs. Maybe but I’m not proud of it.

“So we, what? Met, sparked, and decided not to waste any more time?”

“You fell in love!” she says as though I’m missing the point. “Madly, hopelessly, and irrevocably. You couldn’t stand to live another minute without me by your side, so you proposed.”

She makes spirit fingers with her left hand. Gonna have to buy her another ring. That one is fooling no one.

“So I proposed and you agreed. Because you’re crazy for me.”

“I said yes. Impulsive. Romantic. Questionable.” Her blue eyes sparkle. “Almost on brand for me.”

“Less so now, I think.” I swipe up my menu and stare at it.

“That will be the meds. They slow my brain down to almost acceptable levels.”