His laugh breaks some of the lingering awkwardness, and I relax as I stir cream and sugar into my coffee.
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He plucks the spoon from my hand and uses it in his own mug. “How are you feeling today? Up for more exploring?”
It’s comforting that he’s trying to get us back to the way we were before the kiss. He’s not holding my choices against me…which only makes me like him more.
I take a gulp of my coffee, scalding my tongue, but at least it burns away the yearning. “I’m meeting Janelle for brunch,” I answer. Then, not wanting him to think I’m pushing him away, I blurt, “Maybe after?”
He nods and leans against the counter. “Yeah, absolutely.My schedule’s empty until I start training again after the new year.”
“Must be nice.” I sigh, all the work I need to do pressing at the edge of my thoughts. “It’s going to be hell for me until Christmas, but I’ll get a break between then and the first week of January.”
“Speaking of Christmas,” he prompts, “do you have any plans? Did you want to go home?”
I grimace, reminded of the last chat I had with my mother. We haven’t spoken since Thanksgiving other than a few check-in texts, mostly her making sure I’m still alive. “Is it bad if I say not really?”
Thomas shakes his head. “I have no interest in spending Christmas with my family this year either. Not after what Andrew and my father pulled.”
Can’t blame him there. “And I’m sure your mother would hound us about the wedding anyway. Probably best if we avoid them and do our own thing.”
It’ll be my first holiday season in five years without Étienne, so things are already going to be strange. Might as well shake it up more by not going home and spending it with my pretend husband. Besides, it wouldn’t take much to make it better than last Christmas when Étienne took me to visit his family.
I spent the entire holiday excluded from conversations or straight-up laughed at every time I attempted to speak French. He pacified me by saying it was all in good fun, that I really wasn’t missing out on much, and he promised we wouldn’t have to visit again for years. I could handle a few days of that, couldn’t I?
“What do you want for Christmas, anyway?” Thomas asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I shrug and take another sip. “Nothing I can think of.” I can buy everything I want, so who needs gifts?
“Wrong answer,” he shoots back. “What do you want for Christmas, Stella?”
“For you to let me drink my coffee in peace.”
“No chance. Try again.”
I groan, knowing he’s not going to give up. “I don’t know…Maybe a vacation? An actual one with sun and warmth, where I can turn my phone off and not have to worry about work for a while.”
He nods, considering. “You know, Joshua and Amara are going to the Maldives for the holidays. We could tag along with them.”
His suggestion gets a quick and emphatic “Absolutely the fuck not” before I can even think to temper my response.
Thomas’s brow shoots up, and I know I’m going to have to explain.
I grimace. “I was supposed to go there on my honeymoon.”
Understanding passes over his face. “I see.” The conversation lulls for a moment before he says, “You don’t talk about Étienne much.”
I don’t, and every time he’s come up I’ve changed the subject. I want to say it’s because I’m not ready or that I’m still processing the trauma, but it’s neither of those things. I just don’t want to be judged.
“Because there’s no need,” I brush off.
But Thomas decides to press on the bruise. “Why not?”
He does it in such a gentle way, but it still hurts. I consider lying, but I don’t see the point. He did say he wanted to know me, so…fine. I’ll finally answer the question I avoided that night in the Cotswolds. Maybe it will scare him off enough thatneither of us will have to worry about anything complicating our divorce plans.
“Because I feel stupid for staying as long as I did,” I tell him, and as much as the words scratch my throat as they come out, there’s a freedom in saying them aloud. “For overlooking everything that was wrong in our relationship.”
Thomas is quiet again, simply staring at me, but there’s no hint of the judgment I feared in his eyes. Again, he’s so tender when he questions, “Why do you feel that way?”
I take a breath, daring myself to be completely honest—to let my worst parts be seen. “Because, deep down, I knew he didn’t want to be with me far before our wedding day. And I still stayed.”
