He shook his head. “No way. That movie is older than you are.”
“No, seriously. My freshman year of college, the TV I had was a crap hand-me-down, and by second semester, it wouldn’t change channels anymore, so I was stuck at the mercy of the TV gods for what I got to watch. I swear, for a month straight, When Harry Met Sally came on every day. I hated it at first, but it was background noise while I studied, and eventually, I’d memorized the entire thing. When my TV finally died, I missed it.” Smiling, I leaned in close. “Harry Burns especially. The way that man used humor to hide his sadness pulled every single one of my heart strings. Anyway…I bought the DVD and the movie became the soundtrack of my college years. You ever seen it?”
“Actually, yeah. Although Billy Crystal didn’t do anything to my heart strings.”
I laughed. “Well, it’s clear whoever created the questions tonight has never seen it. Harry and Sally weren’t fated lovers. They were friends who fell in love. Thus proving the debate that men and women can’t just stay friends.” I slanted my head and thought about Mark and Aaron. “Present company excluded.”
Bowen propped his elbow on the table and lifted a finger. “Wait, wait, wait. You don’t think they were fated lovers?”
“Psh, no. They had to grow on each other. She hated him at first.” I pursed my lips and tapped them with my fingertip. “Sounds like somebody else we know, huh?”
“I never hated you, and she didn’t hate him, either.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. That car ride, where her friend just so happens to set them up on an eighteen-hour road trip together when they’d never even met before? The airport? The bookstore? There is no way all of that happened by coincidence.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at him. “Holy hell, Bowen Michaels. This might be more surprising than the truck. Do you believe in fate?”
He nodded, firm and confident. “Absolutely I do.”
“What? How?”
“What do you mean how? Fate is about predestination and the development of events beyond a person’s control.” His handsome face was so serious that I didn’t want to laugh at him. But I was barely holding it back.
“So let me get this straight. You believe your entire life has already been determined. If that’s the case, what’s the point in living?”
“Just because there’s a path doesn’t mean you have to walk it. Was I destined to be an accountant? I don’t know. I’m happy though. In some other life, could I have been more successful in a different career? Possibly. I guess what I’m saying is this goes back to the whole somebody versus someone thing. Somebody is a person you found. Someone is a person fate picked for you. Let me guess, you don’t believe in soul mates, either?”
My jaw fell open. No way. Of all people. After everything he’d been through, there was no way this levelheaded, pragmatic man was about to tell me he believed in soul mates too. And not because I thought the entire idea was beyond ludicrous—which I did—but mainly because he had been engaged before. Planned a life with a woman. Was going to spend forever with a woman. Did that make Sally his soul mate? Shit. That was even her name. Sally.
More so, if Sally was his soul mate, then what did that make me?
Mozzarella sticks.
A ball of fire formed in my chest. What the hell was my problem? Why did I keep getting hit by a wave of jealousy every time we talked about his ex? The woman wasn’t even alive. How could I possibly be bitter that he’d once been in love with her?
Oh, right. Because I was in love with him now. In the present. And the mere idea that I didn’t have all of him was a dagger in my heart.
It should be known that green was not my color.
Exhibit A: “So do you think the plane crash was fated?” I snapped.
I shouldn’t have asked it. It was childish, spoken out of some seriously misplaced resentment. And the guilt when he flinched was more painful than any therapy I’d done since the crash itself.
I slapped a hand over my face as if I could hide. “Don’t answer that. Oh, God, do not answer that. I am a horrible human being. You officially get to keep both the nachos. I’ll upgrade the pitcher of beer for you too. Fuck, what is wrong with me tonight?”
He tugged at my wrist, trying to pry my hands away. “Babe, stop. It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. That was a really shitty thing to say.”
The legs of his stool scraped across the floor, and I felt his thighs close in around the outside of mine. With his hand on the back of my head, he guided my forehead to rest on his shoulder. It was a half-assed barstool hug—and still more than I deserved.
