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He released me and picked up my coat from the chair, holding it open for me to slip my arms inside. He smoothed his hands over my shoulders then shrugged into his own jacket. Stepping forward, he gently pulled my hand through the crook of his arm and led me across the lobby to the doors.
As we walked, I slid my hand down the inside of his forearm and linked my fingers through his like I used to. He dipped his chin to look at me. His face regained the tightness I’d come to expect from him. It didn’t soften even as he held my gaze and wrapped his fingers around mine.
In the car, he claimed my hand once more and held it on the seat between us. At the restaurant, he chose the chair beside me, butting his knee up against mine under the table. He didn’t miss an opportunity to touch me, and my dry, parched soul soaked it up.
The restaurant he chose was far from fancy, but the low lighting and the spacing of the tables and booths gave us a modicum of privacy. Music drifted through the speakers, wait staff bustled back and forth, and the low murmur of dozens of conversations coalesced to a steady hum, intermittently interrupted by the occasional burst of laughter.
“This place has the best meatballs. You still love meatballs?” Vander asked, his eyebrows arched in question.
“I do!” I exclaimed.
We chatted easily about old friends until our order came. I wanted to keep him talking, fascinated by the workings of his mouth, the myriad expressions drifting over his handsome face, relearning his mannerisms anew.
The meatballs were as delicious as he promised. “I can’t believe you remembered that I love meatballs!”
His expression sobered. “I remember everything, Ruby-mine.”
He looked surprised momentarily, perhaps at the endearment that slipped past his lips before resignation filled his eyes. He sighed as he sat back and met my eyes.
“It’s never been anyone else.”
I stared back at him. “You married.” I hadn’t meant it to sound as accusatory as it did.
He nodded and sat back in his chair. He met my eyes dead on. “I had to move on.”
I looked away. I felt sick. The old anger at my mental hijacking resurfaced for a split second. “I don’t want to talk about her,” I admitted, barely repressing my shudder. “Whoever she is.”
He leaned towards me. “You really haven’t looked me up all these years?” He asked, his eyebrows raised.
“Not since the last time,” I winced. I shook my head to rid myself of the picture in my head, amazed at the power the image still held. How could a decade old memory still cause so much pain?
He looked away and sighed before turning back to me. His eyes were sad and slightly wary. “I have a son, Ruby.”
I swallowed hard. My voice sounded raspy when I asked, “How old?”
His eyes assessed me quickly before he answered. “He’s two.” His voice changed, and a genuine smile lit his features.
He didn’t offer more, and I waited a beat before asking. I wondered if I could handle it, but I wanted to see more of that smile, more of the old Vander that I remembered.
“Did you name him after your dad?” I teased with a small smile.
“I did,” he admitted, laughing dryly. “Although I had to fight to get it.”
I feigned shock, my fingers touching my chest delicately. “You married…xeni?”
He laughed outright. “Yeah, I married a foreigner. She was a mistake, but he is not.”
We grinned at each other; we’d always snickered over the idiosyncrasies of our shared heritage. It bound us together in the beginning. His smile warmed me, making my next question easy.
“You going to show me a picture of Georgie?”
“You want to see?” He checked, his eyes wary but hopeful.
“I do,” I replied firmly.
I realized I did want to see his child, more than anything I’d ever wanted in my life, next only to my desire to have his child. I pushed that thought away, deep into the dark recesses of my heart. It was easy to do after all this time.
He unlocked his cell, opened his photo app, and handed me his phone.
