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“No problem,” Zeke says with a smile. “It was good to meet you, Katie.”
“Kate,” I correct him. “I prefer Kate.”
“Kate it is.” Zeke nods before he turns his attention to a man at the end of the bar waving his hand in the air.
Gage crosses his arms over his chest. He’s not wearing a Tin Anchor shirt. He’s dressed in a black sweater and dark jeans.
His jaw is peppered with a five o’clock shadow.
I may not want to admit it, but he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
“I wish I could turn the clock back, Katie.” His green eyes lock on my face. “I’d give anything to make that happen.”
“You can’t.” I push the glass of water back at him. I don’t want anything from this man, especially a trip down memory lane.
“You deserved better,” he admits on a low sigh. “I regret the way I handled things.”
“You regret the way you handled things?” I question back.
That’s a hell of a lot different than regretting breaking my heart.
“I do.” He scrubs his hand over the back of his neck. “I panicked and took off.”
Panicked because you realized that you didn’t love me and that meant you couldn’t marry me.
I’ve suspected as much since the day he broke off our engagement. Why else does a man leave a woman right before he’s supposed to marry her?
My family and friends back in California all tried to convince me it wasn’t about me. They twisted the situation into something it wasn’t by assuring me that he left because of his immaturity or the fear born from loving me too much.
If Gage loved me as much as he said he did, he would have been standing at the end of the aisle waiting to exchange vows with me.
“We don’t need to do this.” I take a step away from the bar. “It’s history now. Why it happened doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters.” He runs his hands through his hair.
It’s shorter now than it was back then. I used to tug on the back of it when his face was between my thighs.
Gage’s mouth took me places that I haven’t been since. His cock made the journey even more unforgettable.
I’ve had a handful of lovers since I moved to Manhattan, but there’s nothing about any of them that I can remember.
My gaze stalls on his left wrist.
I blink twice to be sure I’m not seeing things.
He’s wearing the bracelet.
I made that bracelet for his twenty-third birthday. I bought the stone beads from a craft supply store and looped them together with fishing line I found in the garage at my parents’ place.
He told me he loved it when he opened it. He swore he’d never take it off his wrist.
I rub at my forehead. Emotion is clouding my vision.
“I need to go,” I whisper into the air around me.
I can’t breathe. None of this makes any sense. He left me. Why the hell is he still holding onto things that symbolize the love we once shared?
“Katie, please,” he pleads in a low tone. “I want to talk to you.”
