Robbie chuckles across the table for two. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it.” I dab my mouth with a napkin. “You know, I’ve gotten used to this new culinary persona you’ve got going on.”
“Have you?” he asks as he dips a breadstick in his sauce.
“Yeah, do you deliver? Because I’ve got a lot of work to do next week and since you’re temporary unemployed, I thought…”
“I’ll get you a menu,” he jokes.
“Excellent.”
I take a victory sip from my glass, finishing it. Robbie gazes at me across the table, his bright eyes flickering in the soft candlelight between us. I look away before it becomes something, but it might also be too late for that.
This is something.
Maybe not a date per se…
But something.
Robbie places his fork down and flexes his right hand twice before reaching for his napkin.
I look at it, curious. “So, what’s up with that?” I ask.
“With that?” he asks.
“Your wound,” I say, tapping my palm.
He glances at it and chuckles. “Oh, this old thing?”
“Yeah, that old thing.” I sit back, a foolish attempt at putting distance between myself and my delicious plate. “As I recall, you put a nail through your hand.”
“Well, hey—” He points a stiff finger at me. “It wasn’t my fault.”
I raise a teasing brow. “So you said.”
“Some new guy at work was goofing off with a nail gun and my hand ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. I told you all of this before.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t believe it.”
“Do you believe it now?” he asks.
I think on it. “Yeah, I do.” I watch as he flexes it again. “Does it still hurt? I’ve noticed you do that sometimes.”
“Not really,” he answers. “It can feel tight, though. Another year and it’ll just be a scar, or so I hope.”
I shudder, remembering everything. “Man, I couldn’t sleep for days after watching them yank it out.”
“You didn’t have to stick around and watch,” he says.
“I know, but I was morbidly curious.” I shrug. “And there was no way I was leaving you alone with that nurse.”
“Why?” He smirks. “You weren’t… jealous, were you?”
“Uh, no. She was being very unprofessional. I was just doing my duty as your emergency contact and acting in your best interests.”
“Hm…” he hums. “I didn’t realize the duty of the emergency contact was to whine, bitch, and moan about being an emergency contact.”
“I was tired. And if I wasn’t getting laid, you sure as shit wasn’t, either.”
“Fair enough.” He laughs as he looks at his palm again. “Actually, the going in and yanking out parts didn’t hurt as much as you’d expect. The weeks after without painkillers, though. That was unpleasant.”
I squint. “No, the doctor prescribed you something. I saw her.”
“Yeah, but I threw it out.”
My breath catches. “You went through all of that without painkillers?”
He nods. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was three months sober at the time,” he says.
“Surely it doesn’t count, though, right? You didn’t choose to shoot a nail through your hand. It wasn’t your fault.”
“You’re right. It wouldn’t have counted against me, but I…” He takes a breath. “I didn’t want to remind myself what it was like to feel numb. I thought it would be too tempting, so I powered through without. I don’t regret it.”
I look down as a gray rock settles in my stomach.
“What’s wrong, Mel?” he asks across the table.
“Nothing,” I say, pausing. “I’m… I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For not believing you,” I say. “For not being there for you.”
“I got by,” he says with a shrug.
“But it could have been easier. You didn’t have to do that alone. I wasn’t there when you were in pain and I am sorry.”
Robbie smiles. “It’s okay, Mel,” he says. “I forgive you.”
My hand twitches toward my fork, but I leave it be, my appetite suddenly dissolving.
Robbie reaches across the table. I look up as he sets a white box next to my plate. It’s small, rectangular shaped, and held together by an adorable red ribbon.
“What’s this?” I ask, my lips twitching into a smile.
“It’s a surprise,” he says. “An early Christmas gift.”
“I thought the spaghetti was the surprise.”
He shakes his head once. “Open it.”
I snatch it up, never not excited to open a gift. The ribbon feels like velvet in my hands as I pull it loose and set it down on the table. Robbie sits back, calm yet excited. I stretch the moment, waiting until I just can’t stand it anymore before sliding the lid off.
A silver key sits inside, nestled in a bit of white foam.
“It’s a key,” I say.
“It’s my key,” Robbie says. “A key to my place, I mean. This place. I figure since you’re spending more and more time here, you might as well take my spare.”
I nod slowly. “Uh-huh.”
“And after the holidays, you can come here and work if you get too stir-crazy in your condo. I’m out most weekdays now, so it’ll be quiet. You can sprawl out, get comfortable, and sprint until I get home. Then… I don’t know.” He gestures at the table. “We can have dinner, chat about my day or what you wrote, whatever.”
I set the box on the table. “Sounds like you want me to move in with you, Rob.”
“No.” He exhales. “Obviously, that’s not what this is. We’ve been having a good time together lately. A real good time. And I don’t see that changing soon. Do you?”
I look at him as my mouth closes. A lot will change, actually. Soon, my entire life will be different. A different condo in a different city. A completely different life.
A life without him.
When are you leaving?” Robbie asks.
I nearly flinch. “What?”
He abandons his napkin on the table as he sits back. “New York, right?”
“How did…” I sigh, easily assuming the obvious. “Dad told you when he dropped off the boxes.”
“Were you going to tell me if he didn’t?” he asks.
“Of course, but I didn’t want to make a thing out of it until after New
