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“Dine her, kiss her, and down the line wed her,” he replies without missing a beat.
Georgie tips her head back and laughs. “My God, Rhys. Still cheesy as a chicken parmesan.”
I emerge from the bedroom. Funny, I don’t feel the usual butterflies that accompany a date. I chalk it up to Rhys being Rhys. My Rhys. My safety net. Not everything needs to be electric and exciting. A relationship can also be stable and comfort—. Nope, not gonna say that word. Not even in my head.
I gather the roses into my hands. “Thanks for these.”
“Well, I got them for your momma, but since I see your parents aren’t here . . .” He winks. “I’ll just have to give them to the most beautiful woman in Tennessee.”
We get into his car and drive south to Nashville. I don’t ask where we’re going. I’m guessing it’s an Italian restaurant named Bella where we had our first date.
Turns out I’m not wrong. An hour later, we are in Bella, and we’re even being seated at the same table.
When the waitress arrives to take our order, Rhys and I glance at each other from over the rim of our menus and share a conspiratorial grin.
“I’ll have the meatballs,” I say.
“Calzone for me, and the best wine on the menu.” Rhys hands her our menus back. We both ordered exactly what we did the first time we were here, minus the wine. And the time after that.
“We used to come here every anniversary and order the same thing, remember?” Rhys turns his attention to me, taking a sip of his wine.
I nod. “It became such a thing for us I was almost superstitious about it. Even when I wanted to order other things on the menu, it seemed wrong. Because what we had worked so well.”
I’m not just talking about Italian food right now.
Rhys reaches across the table and takes my palm into his over the red-and-white-checked tablecloth. “I like how this place works. I like that the menu, the tablecloth, the staff doesn’t change, and neither do we.”
I’ve changed, I think. I’ve changed a lot. That’s the problem.
“And just think.” Rhys looks around himself, at the brick walls, at the candlelit tables, at the giant pizza trays splayed on tables. “We can come here next anniversary, say, after we’re engaged. And then again, when you are pregnant. Year after year. Baby after baby. We’ll bring our kids here. Our . . . our grandkids!” His eyes light up animatedly. “This could be our thing. A tradition. That’s why I brought you here.” He stares at me with eyes so fierce, so hopeful, I want to cry. “To remind you what we had was good, and real, and worth it. We can still get it back, if you’re willing to try.”
Instead of feeling giddy, all I feel is dread. I’ve done this before. I’ve seen this movie. And I’m starting to suspect there was more to the breakup with Rhys than my Juilliard dream.
“I don’t know,” I admit quietly. My hand slips from under his, just as the waitress approaches to refill our wineglasses. I tuck my hands between my thighs, looking down. When she leaves, I continue. “There is a part of me that wanted to give us a second chance ever since Paul died. I think, in a way, you always symbolized to me the qualities a good man should have. I know you’d never cheat on me, never lie to me, never put yourself before anyone else. And those things are still true . . .” I suck in a deep breath. “But Rhys, you are wrong. We have changed. I got a taste of the big city, and now I’m addicted. I went after my dream . . . and you went after yours.”
I look around myself, realizing that Rhys never wanted the life I wished for myself. He’s always been happy here. And why shouldn’t he be?
“And these lives of ours.” I lift my eyes to look at him, and his expression makes my heart break. He knows what’s coming, and he is bracing himself for it. Every muscle in his face taut. “They’re not meant to be together. I realize that now, in this restaurant. I don’t want to know where I’ll be next year. Or in five years. Or in a decade. I want to go where my job takes me. I want life to surprise me. It might not be the most rational thing in the world . . . but it’s what I want.”
He swallows, about to say something, when the waitress interrupts us again, this time bringing our dishes. I look down at my meatballs, and all I can think is that I should’ve ordered pizza. And that says it all. Things don’t feel right with Rhys. Maybe they hadn’t for a while, even before I left Mulberry Creek.
