"She's..." Dean looked down at his hands. "She's everything good about the world. She teaches fifth grade, and she loves those kids like they're her own. She cries at nature documentaries because she thinks the world is beautiful. She leaves cookies for neighbors who are having bad days."
June nodded approvingly. "Sounds like a keeper."
Dean closed his eyes. It was almost physically painful to talk about Fiona. The wonderful woman who’d once loved him. “I miss her so much. It’s in my bones. I walk past a bakery andthink of her. I hear a song on the radio and want to tell her about it. It’s pathetic.”
“It is pathetic,” June agreed with a knowing smile. “It’s love.”
Dean gave a broken laugh, but it caught somewhere in his throat. “I ruined everything. She gave me this... bright, beautiful life, and I made her feel small in it.”
Russell leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “You didn’t just make her feel small. You crossed a line. That’s betrayal.”
Dean nodded. “I know.”
June sipped her wine. “And yet here you are. Eating my lasagna and acting like it’s over.”
Russell shot her a look. “June.”
Dean shifted uncomfortably. “She doesn’t owe me a second chance.”
“No, she doesn’t,” June agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you can’tworkfor one anyway.” She gave him a shrewd look. “Assuming that’s something you want.”
"I want her back so badly I can barely breathe," he whispered. “But what I did was unforgivable.”
That silenced the table for a moment.
June set down her wineglass with a soft clink against the table.
"The person who gets to decide what's forgivable," June continued, "isFiona. Not you. Not Russell. Not some imaginary jury of people who think they know better."
Dean felt the tantalizing hope rise in him like a tide—overwhelming, desperate, the kind of need that could make a man do foolish things. What if June was right? What if there was still a chance?
CHAPTER 43
Fiona
"Wait, wait, wait,"Emma said, nearly choking on her wine. "He did what?"
Marcy was trying to look casual, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. "He recorded the game. Said dinner was more important."
Fiona set down her mug of tea, blinking. "Travis voluntarily missed live sports?"
"Delayed it by a few hours so we could have a proper dinner together." Marcy's cheeks were pink, but whether from the wine or the memory, Fiona couldn't tell.
Emma tilted her head. "Wow, it took you guys the whole broadcast to have dinner?”
Marcy coughed on her drink and blushed.
"Oh my God," Emma burst out laughing. "Marcy!"
"What?" Marcy tried for innocent and failed spectacularly. "We had a very... productive evening."
Fiona felt a complicated knot form in her stomach. Happy for Marcy, yes. But also something else. Something that felt uncomfortably like envy.
"He's been different lately," Marcy continued, swirling her wine. "More attentive. Actually listens when I talk instead of just waiting for his turn to speak. I don't know what got into him, but I'm not complaining."
Emma raised her glass. "To whatever or whoever knocked some sense into Travis." She paused. “And Milo, come to think of it.”
They clinked glasses, but Fiona's mind was elsewhere.
