“Amazing. That’s my verdict.” He’s pointing to the dessert.
I swat his leg before I realize we’re not on swatting terms yet. Especially at this dark, quiet hour as crickets chirp, the silence of the small-town evening enrobing us.
His eyes lock with mine, and his voice is thoughtful as he asks, “Do you ever think about how hard it is to meet someone you truly connect with?”
In a heartbeat, the tension in me unwinds and floats away, rising to the sky, turning into stardust.
So it wasn’t a great date.
That makes me ridiculously happy, even though it shouldn’t make me feel anything at all.
He takes another spoonful of the ice cream, and I do the same, our utensils clinking inside the pint.
“So the date wasn’t great?”
He shrugs. “It was fine. She’s interesting and lively, though there’s no need for a second. But I realized it’s hard to click on a lot of levels.” His eyes find mine, like he’s eager for my opinion as he asks, “Don’t you think?”
Chocolate melts on my tongue as I turn the question over in my mind. “I suppose that’s true.”
“It should be easier. There are, what, eight billion people on this planet? But still, what are the chances that you’ll run into the right person for you?”
“The person you get along with.”
“Someone you laugh with,” he adds.
“Someone you respect.” It’s like we’re finishing each other’s sentences.
“And support.” He digs the spoon in again and takes a bite, the metal sliding past his lips.
“Someone you want to kiss,” I say, trying to mask my wondering about how his lips might taste right now. A little cold, a lot sweet.
All delicious.
“Someone you want to sleep with,” he adds, and maybe he’s not masking his thoughts either. Our gazes seem to linger for dizzying seconds—seconds that thrum through my veins. But then he returns to philosophical mode, holding an arm out wide and sighing. “And just like that, the choice gets narrower and narrower.”
“And even narrower still,” I add, following the contemplative direction of this conversation as I scoop another bite of the decadent ice cream. “Because you also have to meet the right person in the right place at the right time. Who wants the same things you do.”
“That’s the hardest part of all, isn’t it?” His eyes align with mine, and my stomach jumps. It flips. It handsprings.
His brown eyes are intense, and it feels like a whole new level of eye contact that we’re engaging in after his date that clearly went belly-up. He’s not giving me sex eyes. There’s something more in them. A connection perhaps.
“And that’s how nearly eight billion funnels down to maybe, just maybe, one. If you’re lucky,” I say, a little melancholy.
He takes a beat and sets the spoon down on the swing. “Did you want the same things as Vince?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so. But I also don’t think we had a chance to figure that out once we had a kid. Before then, yes. In college we wanted to have fun, to party, to have sex, to study a little bit, and to have a good time.”
“Sounds like college,” he says dryly. “Or so I’m told.”
“You didn’t go to any parties in college?”
He pats his chest. “Geek here. I didn’t get invited.”
I nudge him with my elbow, probably something else I shouldn’t do. “You don’t have to get invited. You just go.”
“Gee, thanks for the tip. That’s super helpful now.”
I laugh then dive deeper into his question about Vince. “I suppose we were compatible at the time in other ways. We were career-oriented. I had this vision that once I graduated, I was going to be the CEO of a business or something. I don’t even know what I wanted the business to be, but I thought I would be some badass chick running a consulting company. Funny thing is, I didn’t even really know what consulting was—I just imagined that was what I would do. Then Wednesday came along, and that changed everything.”
He arches a brow in a question. “It changed what you wanted to do with your life?”
I draw a deep breath. “I think so.” I feel vulnerable admitting this, but also comfortable saying it to him. Liam makes me feel safe, like it’s okay to open up, like he doesn’t judge. He doesn’t drift off during conversations like Vince did—he was barely there at times. “I wanted to raise her. I wanted that more than anything, and Vince made it possible. He wound up getting a job as a project manager at a tech company, and he did well enough so I could be home with her,” I say, memories of those early years flashing before me. “He liked to play golf with his buddies on the weekend and hang out with the guys, and I wanted to raise my little girl and go to mommy groups, and I did that. I loved it, and I’m glad I did. I’m glad I had the chance, even though it was exhausting.”
