He took in a breath and all I could imagine was him saying no to me.
“Look,” I blurted out. “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to. I just thought—”
“I can’t do lunch,” he said, cutting me off.
I knew it. He was calling to try to let me down gently.
“But I could bring a takeaway over to your place if that works for you. Your dad said you’d moved back there now Wilson has been arrested. Tonight even.”
“Tonight?” Even though it was only six, I was already in my jammies.
“You probably have plans tonight already. We could do—”
“Tonight is good.”
He sighed with what sounded like relief. “Good.”
“Good,” I replied.
“An hour?”
“Perfect.”
We hung up and I clutched the phone to my chest. An hour wasn’t long. The sooner the better. The only problem was, I hadn’t quite figured out one last piece of the puzzle. But I had to carpe the diem. I wasn’t going to turn down a date with my husband.
Thirty-Six
Tristan
Dates never made me sweaty. I’d never had even the slightest hint of nerves when I’d taken a woman out before, but walking up to Parker’s building, takeaway in one hand and everything else I needed in the other, the beads of sweat gathered at my hairline like they were teenage girls waiting for a Justin Bieber concert.
I let myself in using my Amazon key fob and took the stairs up to Parker’s flat two at a time. I’d had my phone in my hand when I’d received her message earlier. I’d been trying to work out whether I should message her, call her, or just drop by. When my phone buzzed with her message, I took it as a sign and dialed her number. No time like the present. I’d been without her for far too long. It was time to make this right. I had no idea why she’d invited me to lunch or what she’d planned to say to me, but it was a chink of daylight in the dark, and I wasn’t willing to waste it.
When she opened the door, I swept my gaze down her body. It was so good to see her. Being this close to her felt like home, like the last thirty-four years had lasted just a flash and the few months with Parker had taken up most of my life. She was home. She was where I belonged. “No cow pajamas?”
She grinned up at me. “I changed.”
“You look beautiful.” She wore the red blouse from our first date and matching lipstick. She was perfect. Just like she always was. It didn’t matter what she wore.
“So do you,” she replied.
I glanced down at myself. I just had on jeans and a t-shirt. Just like I almost always did.
“Come in,” she said, holding the door open. “What kind of food did you bring?”
“Mexican. Is that okay?”
“More than. I have some wine—”
“You do the wine and I’ll set out the food and bring it through.” I didn’t want her to see me prepare what I had planned.
She shrugged, took a bottle of wine from the fridge, together with two wine glasses, and headed back into the living room. There was a small dining table pushed up against the far wall.
I set all the Mexican food out on a tray with some dishes and even remembered the serving spoons. Then I pulled out a bowl, tore open the packet of chocolate-covered raisins, and poured them in.
I grabbed the tray and met Parker at the table.
“I chose red. I hope that’s okay,” she said. Normally she wouldn’t ask, because she didn’t need to. I didn’t care about the color wine we drank. I just cared that I was here. With her.
“Great.”
We took our seats and began sharing out the food between us. Food was really the last thing on my mind. We were here together. That’s all that mattered.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
“I’m glad to be here. I was about to call you when you messaged.”
“You were?” She seemed genuinely surprised, as if she couldn’t fathom what I might have to say to her. I hoped that wasn’t a bad sign. I didn’t care. I was here, determined to allay any concerns or fears she might have about taking me back.
“I was. I miss you.” My heart began to thunder in my chest. I put down my cutlery and just looked at her. “I missed you a lot.”
She nodded and put her cutlery down too. The food had just been a device to get us to this moment. What mattered were our words. Our feelings.
“I know I hurt you,” I said. “I know you don’t like that I kept things from you. And I know you’re upset because I said I wouldn’t do anything differently in respect of your dad. And I know I should have told you about monitoring your emails.” I wanted her to understand that I had been listening, even though we didn’t agree on what I’d done. “I just went into automatic mode and did whatever I needed to do to catch that little fucker, but I’m sorry.”