“But I can’t,” she said gently. “Not right now. Not when I don’t have clarity. Not when I don’t know what I want.”
He looked back up, silver-blue eyes searching hers. “The cop won, huh?”
Vivien let out a short, sad laugh. “This wasn’t a contest.”
“Felt like one sometimes.”
She reached out and touched his arm. “It was never about picking the shinier object. You and Peter are…very different men. You make me feel different things.”
Danny nodded slowly. “I knew that from the beginning. Still hurts a little, though.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m glad I met you. And I’ll use the heck out of this loft.”
Vivien laughed. “You better.”
A warm silence passed between them. Then Danny reached for her. “Friends?”
“Friends,” she echoed, though her heart ached a little as they hugged.
They stood, smiling at each other, and changed the subject to small talk about the room, the furnishings, and a promise of a rousing game of pool someday.
But they both knew that would never happen, Vivien thought as she walked down the stairs. After saying a warm goodbye, she stepped outside, the Florida heat wrapping around her like a real hug, not one from someone she liked but didn’t…need.
Satisfied, she climbed into her SUV and turned on the ignition, knowing where she was going next. She and Peter had plans to meet at The Back Porch for dinner—and it was time to give him her decision.
Vivien was early enoughto snag one of the waterfront tables at the very small and desirable section that was the original “back porch” and gave the restaurant its name. With the massive windows wide open, she could feel the salt air and enjoy an unobstructed view of the water and waves.
Sunset was an hour or two away and by the time that white sand and blue water turned fiery orange, she would have to make her decision with Peter.
Sipping a white wine, she felt the restaurant shift from a quiet cocktail hour to the first light rush of dinner patrons, checking her watch to see that Peter would be here in about five minutes.
Her shoulders tensed as she imagined how she’d tell him that, yes, she wanted him to stay and pursue a relationship with her.
That was what she wanted…wasn’t it?
With no answer, she stared out into the beautiful waning light, the kind that made Destin shimmer like a postcard. The yellow sun still filtered through the restaurant windows, warming the ancient wood floors and lacquer-covered tables that had served thousands of tourists over the years.
Including, she mused, two young families who’d summered together for seven years. They’d eaten here at least three times every summer. Maybe more. Maybe right at this very table, with Peter looking so cute and smiling and calling her “champ” and Eli annoying her and sliding glances at Tessa.
Was that what was really at the heart of her feelings for Peter? Nostalgia?
No, it couldn’t be. She didn’t feel nostalgic when he wrapped her in his arms. She felt loved.
Glancing at her phone, she frowned at the time. Fifteen minutes late? Not like Peter McCarthy.
He showed up early. He held doors. He called when he said he would. He came to her beach parties when no one else did.
Yet he was late and there were no missed texts to explain or apologize.
“Another wine?” The server’s voice brought her out of her thoughts.
Although a second glass sounded good, she wanted her wits for this conversation—even if she wasn’t sure what she was going to say.
“Just ice water this round, thank you. My friend should be here soon. I’m sorry to take the table if there’s a wait.”
“It’s fine,” the man said. “You just relax.”
