“This is a unique place.” He stops to study a smaller version of the view from Longfellow Bridge I’d painted for Cillian. “You did this?”
In this version, the colors are almost neon—a sky and city made of light and color. I’d done it as a test before deciding to go in another direction.
“Yeah. Best view in the city.” An arrow of longing lances straight through me.
“Wow,” David breathes. “I . . . wow.”
“Not bad for a pointless hobby,” I snipe. Without extending the invitation to join me, I take a seat on the couch, leaving him standing awkwardly with his duffel bag still in hand.
“I didn't...I never meant it like that, and you know it.” There’s that cutting tone I remember so well. “At least...I wish you knew.” He wilts into the chair, letting his bag settle beside his feet. “I should’ve made sure you knew. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
I try to blink away my shock, force the image of the man I knew to mesh with this version. One who bought a—no doubtexpensive—plane ticket and who apologizes for things like misunderstandings.
“But that?” He gestures to the painting. “That’s not pointless. Someone would pay good money for that.”
My head spins again. Annoyed because what someone would pay for it was always the point with him. Things couldn’t just be worth something for the beauty of it.
“Make me an offer,” I say cooly.
David meets my eyes, and like flipping a switch, that charming smile of his transforms him, softening all his hard edges. “Whatever it costs to break your lease.”
“What?”
“Name the price, and I’ll pay it.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am.” He’s so still, I’m not sure he’s breathing. “Whatever it takes to get you home.”
Home. As if what we shared had ever felt like a home.
“Jesus Christ.” I get up from the couch. Despite it being barely noon and my rules around drinking when emotions are heightened, I suddenly need a drink to get me through this.
He follows me to the kitchen. “Is it so hard to believe that I want you home? That I’d do anything to?—”
I laugh bitterly, cutting him off. A half-empty bottle of white from Thanksgiving is conveniently in the door of the fridge. I flick the cap off and take a deep drink before answering. “Yes. It is.”
He looks genuinely hurt. “Why?”
I take another drink. “Because you don’t make unreasonable decisions, David.” I spit his name like it tastes bitter. “And according to you, that’s what I am. Unreasonable. A hurricane. A disaster.”
He pulls the bottle from my hands and finishes the remainder.
“So you want me to believe—”I begin.
“I was an ass!” he blurts. “I am an ass. And I'm here because I recognize that.” We both cringe as he sets the bottle on the counter with a little too much force. “Won't you at least hear me out? I came all this way.”
“I didn’t ask you to,” I practically growl. “In fact, I asked you to give me space, and instead you’ve found literally every way you could to?—”
“I was desperate, Toni!” His voice cracks on my name. “I...you left, and this blackhole opened in my life. All I could think was, ‘she should be here.’” Tears roll down his cheeks. “I just want to talk, please. Please, Toni.”
I finally look at him. Really look at him. This is the man I spent three years of my life with. Hell, I thought I'd spend the rest of my life with him. He flew across the country to beg for a conversation in my kitchen.
David, who was, if I was honest with myself, easy to be with. And if I was even more honest, some part of me missed that, missed his predictable plans, his routines, and his cut-and-dry manner. Again, that bittersweet nostalgia softens my resolve.
“You want some coffee?” I ask.
CHAPTER 31
