“Maybe because we got divorced?” I say, still trying to process.
“There was no one else,” he says simply. “Just you.”
My stomach twists, my pulse hammering. “But there was Susan.”
“We had drinks. That’s it. I take clients and coworkers out sometimes, but I was never interested in anything more.”
I don’t know what to do with this information. I don’t know how to process it. “Tell me not to read into this,” I whisper, though I’m already spiraling.
He lets out a slow breath. “I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“You’ve been celibate this whole damn time?” My voice comes out higher than I expect.
“Haven’t you?” he counters.
“Yeah, but I’m Jules.”
“And I’m Corbin.” He shakes his head, amused.
I blink. “There was never anyone else?”
“Never,” he says firmly. “I spent two years trying to get over you and failed. Miserably.”
I push the sushi container aside and crawl closer, pressing my palm to his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath. He cups my cheek, his thumb stroking over my skin.
“Are you serious right now?” I momentarily forget to breathe.
He kisses me softly. “Dead serious.”
“There was…” My throat tightens.
“Only ever you.”
I don’t know whether to cry, scream, or kiss him senseless.
So, I do the only thing that feels right.
I pull him down and kiss him until the rest of the world falls away.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Corbin
I pull open the bottom drawer of my bedside table and take a slow, sobering breath. I haven’t touched this drawer in two years. Not since the day Jules left her engagement ring on the kitchen counter and walked out the door without so much as a goodbye.
I remember standing there, staring at that ring like it was some kind of final verdict. Like everything we’d built—the life, the marriage, the dreams—was sealed inside that small circle of gold. I didn’t know what to do with it. So, I took off mine, too, and placed them together in the back of this drawer, as if leaving them side by side would somehow hold onto the idea of us.
It felt wrong to separate them. Still does. But it felt worse to throw them away. Like letting go of hope entirely.
Maybe, deep down, I thought we’d figure it out. Maybe I believed there was still a chance to find our way back to each other. And now… now, I think we just might be on that path.
I pick up the rings, rolling them between my fingers. Hers, delicate and stunning, an emerald-cut diamond set in warm yellow gold, catching the light even in this dim room. Mine, a simple gold band, solid and weighty, like the promises we once made.
Jules had a wedding band too. Small diamonds all the way around. But she didn’t leave that one behind. I’ve always wondered why. Did she keep it because she couldn’t let it go? Did she need the money? Or maybe, like me, she just wasn’t ready to give up completely.
I’m not naive. I know we’re not there yet, there’s still so much to work out between us. But since Friday—since that date five days ago—she’s all I think about.
We’ve been texting every day, all day, like we’re in college again. Like we’re starting over. And in a way, we are. It feels new and familiar all at once. Like coming home and stepping into a different house. One that holds the same foundation but has been gutted and rebuilt stronger.
