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“It was the last time I saw you drink champagne from the bottle.”
“It was the last time I did it.” She took another swig and then handed him the bottle.
He set the champagne aside and rested his elbows on his knees, watching the water on the surface of the pool ripple in the evening breeze. “I should have talked to you before I bought it.”
He sensed more than saw her shake her head. “I should’ve accepted it for what it was. A gift. Instead I accused you of making choices for me.”
“That evening didn’t go the way I wanted,” he said, remembering what came next. She’d been the one to point out that if they couldn’t relate on a basic level they were better off apart. He’d asked her if she cared to clarify that, and she’d said divorce wasn’t out of the question.
“I told you that night I’d be better off without you.” She winced.
“No, you didn’t. You said we’d be better off apart. Where we couldn’t hurt each other any longer. That was my opportunity to promise you I wouldn’t hurt you again. Instead, I refused to back down.”
He’d agreed with her. Said that if she wanted a divorce, that was fine by him. He’d been hurt, his pride bruised. His ego had taken a beating. “I thought I couldn’t please you.”
“In your defense, I can be difficult,” she said now, but with a kind smile.
“You were being you. Which is exactly why I fell in love with you in the first place.” He reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. As he’d realized previously, vulnerability wasn’t his strong suit—or hers. The inability for them to let their guard down with each other was probably to blame for their splitting more than anything. “It’d be so easy to lean in and kiss you.”
She licked her lips and dipped her chin. Not a nod exactly, but she leaned the slightest bit closer and peered up at him. Tenderly, he stroked her jaw with his thumb. Once he saw his future in those deep brown eyes. Now he only saw his past.
A past littered with failure and regret. A past he couldn’t undo.
“But I promised no funny stuff,” he murmured.
Time to stop doing what he wanted, or what he decided was right for her. Gia had gone on not one date but two in order to put distance between them. It was time for him to stop pushing so damn hard.
Pulling his hand away, he stood. She watched him, longing emanating from her like heat off the desert floor. Then she armored up.
“Drive safe.” She plucked up the bottle as she stood. “Thank you for the champagne.”
That’s my girl.
“You’re welcome.”
He walked inside and she followed, abandoning the bottle in the kitchen to see him to the door. He fought the urge to turn and kiss her one last time. That would’ve felt too final. Like admitting he couldn’t live without her.
And he could.
He’d been doing it for years.
