“If you’re going to charge me to let me go, I warn you, I didn’t bring any cash tonight. You might have to hold me forever.”
I relaxed into the embrace, laughing softly. “I’m feeling pretty deprived; don’t tempt me.” With a last second of firm pressure, I released her and stepped back. Residual tingles spread through my body.
Step one complete. Time for step two.
“Please, come in. Can I get you a bottle of wine?” I asked. Shit. That hadn’t come out right.
Tamra smiled mischievously. “A bottle, huh? You’re pulling out all the stops. I’d love a glass though.”
That tilt of her bright red lips was destroying my brain synapses. Words were hard. I swallowed, imagining those cherry red lips along the edge of a glass or wrapped around something warmer. I wasn’t smooth at the best of times, but at this rate, a functional MRI would show the pleasure centers of my brain lit up like fireworks if she so much as laughed. I’d been reduced to the conversational skills of a toddler. Mine. Now.
Tamra followed me into the kitchen, where I poured each of us a glass and focused on the golden liquid. I couldn’t rush this. Tamra deserved my time. She deserved my attention. I met her warm brown gaze as I handed her the glass.
“What’s for dinner? The fatted calf? A pork shoulder roasted in the tears of my enemies?”
She caught me as I was taking a sip, and I snorted wine, the sting in my sinuses making my eyes water. Coughing to clear my airway gave me time to think about my response. “Wrong script. How about a very manly, ‘I’m sorry’ quiche Lorraine, or in this case a quiche Tamra, with an ‘hugs and kisses’ salad, followed by cupcakes with heart-shaped messages for dessert?”
Her eyes widened. “Too much?” I asked innocently.
It was too much. But I didn’t want to risk her missing my point.
She squinted one eye at me. “Really?”
I hadn’t spent most of the day in the kitchen for nothing. Again, “wooing the shit.” I nodded. “Truth. Are you hungry? I chose these dishes so we could eat whenever you’re ready in case you want to relax first.”
She shook her head. “I’m not hungry, but now I am dying of curiosity to find out what a hugs and kisses salad is.”
I stroked my chin. “Then my evil plan is working. I want to make sure you stick around long enough to hear me out.”
She was silent, and the awkwardness lingered. Tamra shifted in her seat and took a sip of her wine before her gaze met mine. “When Jimmy came to see me, he claimed you’ve spent a lot of time working on changing. Tell me more about what’s new with you.”
I took a deep breath. Woo. The shit. I showed her my new organization tools and alarms. The habit tracker I’d diligently filled out, each day showing my writing time and other activities. I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or only being polite. Tamra wasn’t saying much at all. When I finished, she was quiet. Her dark curls rioted around her head like a bevy of question marks. My stomach sank. I hadn’t convinced her. “What do you think? Is it enough that you’ll give me another chance?”
“Another chance at being my wedding date?” Her head tilted. “I’m all out of family weddings,” she said.
My gut clenched and I blurted out, “What about yours?”
“That one’s not happening anytime soon,” she said gently.
Right. Too fast. But not a no.
“So, you’re telling me there’s a chance? Nope. Don’t answer that. I want to enjoy the possibility.” I cleared my throat, plowing ahead, “I know I wasn’t a good friend to you, and all of this may look more like theater than reality.” I gestured to my work planner and schedule. “I believed the only way to prove that you were constantly in my thoughts was to publish our book, but I also wanted to make sure you knew how sincerely I missed having you in my life.”
I moved to the drawer of my desk, pulling out a large document-sized envelope and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
Making it weird since the nineties. That was me. I took a deep breath and nodded at the envelope. “Proof. You don’t have to read it now, but I’m hoping you’ll take it with you tonight. There’s an apology letter. You know, in case I screwed this up in person. It’s been known to happen.” I cleared my throat again, shifting my weight. “I’m going to step into the kitchen and put together our plates. Can I get you another glass?”
She nodded and handed me hers, then stood glancing down at the envelope in her hands. I couldn’t watch. I moved into the kitchen to focus on dinner. I meticulously cut her a slice of quiche, careful not to ruin the “I’m sorry” spelled out in the crust on her piece. Next, I artfully arranged carrot matchsticks and radish rounds in an XOXO pattern over the top of her mixed greens salad. If I was going over the top, then I was doing it in style. My goal was to erase all doubt in Tamra’s mind about her importance in my life.
I glanced up. Tamra still sat on the couch, reading the my daily editing plan. Most people wouldn’t find the equivalent of weeks of timecards romantic. Maybe it helped that every day was filled with doodles and notes of things I’d wished I could have told her about, interspersed with the proof that I’d changed. Found balance. Missed
