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Just her presence soothes me. Which is the exact opposite effect she should have on me. The truth is, I need this connection. With all the other things in my life changing, she feels like home, and it’s as enraging as it is baffling. I don’t want to lash out at her and tell her not to touch me. I want to fold her tiny hand into my own and lead her to our table. I want to sit on the same side as her and allow my hand to roam up her thigh while no one else sees. I want to take her home and hold her and fall asleep in her arms like we did for three perfect nights.
I straighten my shoulders, knowing none of those things can occur. “I’m fine. Let’s sit down.”
Without looking back at her, I follow the hostess. We reach the corner table which has several candles to provide a romantic glow. I want to ask for a table with a little more light, but then I’d have to stare at Grace’s every angle. At least in the dim lighting it will be harder to read her expressions.
I pause, waiting for her to slip into the bench seating, and then sit across from her. At the tables around us couples sit in the center of the booths, their legs likely touching, as they look out onto the crowd. Not us. We sit directly across from one another so that not an inch of our bodies can interact.
“It’s a beautiful restaurant,” Grace says cautiously, her voice quiet and a bit shaky. Good, the kiss affected her as much as it did me. I’m not sure why that gives me reassurance, but it does. “Do you come here often?”
I look at the wine menu, keeping my eyes anywhere but on her. “No,” I say in a clipped tone. “Before this week I spent most of my time in Tennessee where our distillery is.”
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to go to Nashville. My girlfriends suggested it for a bachelorette party, but we ended up going to the Bahamas.”
I look up at her. “Your bachelorette party?”
Grace’s shoulders sag. “No.”
“Where did you go for yours?” This isn’t information I need. And yet I want to know everything about her life.
“Uh, Steven didn’t believe in overnight bachelor and bachelorette parties. Said there was too much room for things to go wrong.”
She mumbles something sarcastically under her breath which I can’t quite make out.
Steven. So that’s the husband’s name. Steven Kensington. He sounds like a complete ass.
“Seems a bit ironic seeing as now he sends you to Florida to do whatever you want. Or out on dates with other men,” I say pointedly, lifting my eyebrow to hers in disapproval.
She laughs softly. “Yeah, he’s not all that concerned about my whereabouts anymore.”
Shocked by the first honest admission she’s given me since she disappeared from my bed, I stare at her face. There is a sadness about her that I had previously seen as standoffishness. As uncaring. It wasn’t that though.
Before I have a chance to react to this revelation, the waiter arrives and pours water into our glasses.I keep my eyes on Grace, studying her and trying to figure out what is really going on with her marriage. She looks in every direction but mine.
“What can I get you to drink?” the waiter asks as he stands waiting, clearly not giving me the time I need with Grace.
“Red wine work?” I ask.
She nods, and I select a bottle of Pinot Noir, remembering it’s what she drank in Florida.
“So, Cash, give me an example of what a normal week looks like for you.”
Thrown off by the change in topic, and not quite ready to move on from discussing her marriage, I stare at her blankly. “What?”
Grace pushes her hair behind her ear, and I stare at her hand. The wedding bands are missing. She catches where my eyes are focused and puts her hands down in her lap. “Whoever you pick to spend your life with should be someone who is compatible with your lifestyle. Is this how you spend your evenings? Fancy restaurants where you can be spotted by Boston columnists?”
She doesn’t sound judgmental, but my back goes stiff anyway. She knows precisely why I picked this restaurant.
“I’m taking over as CEO of one of the biggest companies in New England. It’s important that I’m seen right now.”
Grace shrugs. “No judgment here. It’s precisely what you should be doing. I would have suggested this spot if you hadn’t. I’m just asking what you want long-term. Is this the lifestyle you want? Different restaurants each night of the week? Late Saturday mornings spent in bed making love? An afternoon walk in the Common perhaps, followed by whatever event you have to attend in the evening?”
She paints a life I never imagined and yet one I see so vividly with her. She’s coloring outside the lines, and I want to live along the edges.
I exhale a long breath of air and think of the life I always imagined. “Actually, I always pictured myself in Tennessee—managing the distillery, handling sales, and raising my kids in a large house on a farm. Riding horses on a Saturday, little league games, too many tiny bodies in bed to make love on a Saturday morning but Saturday nights would be solely for my wife. Red wine by the fire and hours in bed.”
Grace’s eyes flutter closed, and she hums as if the idea doesn’t sound wrong at all. The waiter arrives with our bottle and pours her a sip to try. She swirls the liquid around in the glass, meets my eyes, and takes a sip. I swear if a look could communicate a sentiment, hers just told me that she sees that life and she wants it too.
And for a moment I consider what I could do to make it happen. How far I would go to remove any obstacles to make her mine.
