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“What?” she asked.
I shrugged. “We didn't work out.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m an asshole.”
She snorted a laugh. “Gonna need a little more than that, Tyler.”
I hated this part of the story of my life. No one outside of my ex, Jackson, and Mark knew the entire story of how I got to where I was now.
“This isn’t an interrogation, Tyler. If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”
I don’t know what compelled me to want to tell Marisa about how I fucked up a perfectly good marriage, but there was something about her that made me want to come clean about everything. It wasn’t the right time to tell her everything though. Everything I’d been through and done wasn’t something to get into over coffee.
“Suffice it to say, I was a mess and a royal pain in the ass.”
She sucked in a fake breath of surprise, her brown eyes going wide on her pretty face. “No.” She smiled as she bumped my hip with hers. “You? I just can’t see you being a royal pain in the ass.”
“Yeah, well, I can be.” I knew she was goading me, but I still appreciated her humor.
She laughed. “I’m not surprised by that.”
“Ha-ha. Anyway, I didn’t make things easy. For her. Or for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“She was the perfect wife. Devoted. Tried to help me. Supported me. Was there for me every single day. But I was completely inconsolable.”
“Ah,” she said.
We fell silent as we continued walking. A seagull was sitting on a wall. I threw a bit of my muffin to it.
“I’ll tell you the whole story one day.”
She popped a chunk of her bear claw into her mouth. “Okay,” she said after she swallowed.
I didn’t know if she believed me or not. I would tell her the whole tiring tale one day when the timing was better. “It’s a lot more involved and a pretty crappy story,” I tried to explain. “I don’t want to ruin our time together rehashing the past.”
She pressed her lips together, holding her tongue. The nod of her head said she understood. Her soulful, watching eyes said she wanted to know more.
I led us to a bench and sat down, patting the space next to me in invitation. She took a seat. We were turned toward one another, our knees touching.
“It’s a beautiful day. We’re at the beach. I'm eating a blueberry muffin”—I held up my cup—“drinking a vanilla latte. I'm on a date with a gorgeous gal. I'm a lucky guy.”
“Who said this was a date?”
“I did.”
Her laugh-snort made me grin. “You’re crazy,” she said.
“No, I’m just really happy.”
“Hmm . . .”
“What?”
“I can't decide if you're overly optimistic or . . .”
