Chapter 11
Stephanie let the Vermentino rest on her tongue a moment longer than she needed to.
The wine tasted bright and cool, lemon cutting cleanly through the slow heat of the short-rib ragu that still clung to the edges of her plate.
Every swallow made the courtyard feel a little softer, the fairy lights overhead blurring into gentle gold against the coral walls.
The air carried rosemary from the bread they had torn apart together, warm yeast, and the faint sweetness of bougainvillea that climbed the whitewashed arch behind Casey.
It should have felt romantic. It did feel romantic, in a way that made her stomach pull tight with something she could not name.
She had chosen the green blouse because it was the first thing that did not scream tourist. The fabric moved against her skin whenever she shifted, a quiet reminder that she was trying. Chinos. A touch of mascara. All of it for a dinner that was supposed to be about meeting someone new.
Across from her, Casey looked at ease in the dim light.
Tan pants loose around her ankles, black halter top leaving a warm strip of sun-browned skin visible above the waistband.
Stephanie’s gaze kept drifting there before she caught herself.
The sixteen years between them should have made the evening feel strange. It didn’t.
The table they had been given was tucked into the far corner of the courtyard, the kind of spot that felt intentionally reserved for those who knew to ask.
The fountain’s water trickled over smooth stone just beside them, the sound soft enough to blur the edges of the other diners’ conversations into a gentle hum.
Above, the fairy lights wove through the branches of a massive poinciana, their glow warm against the darkening sky, like someone had strung up the stars and left them swaying lightly in the breeze.
“Oh, there’s Nico,” Casey said.
Stephanie turned her head just enough to see the man Casey had indicated as Nico moving through the courtyard with a fluid, unhurried confidence. He navigated the staggered tables as if he owned the rhythm of the room, his path a series of easy adjustments that never broke his stride.
Dark hair, thick and well-cut, caught the soft glow of the fairy lights when he turned his head.
Broad shoulders filled out his linen shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly to just below his elbows.
There, on the inside of his left wrist, the black ink of a compass tattoo flashed in a sharp gesture as he greeted someone he knew.
His laugh rolled out, low and warm and comfortable, and it seemed to land in the space between the fountain’s trickle and the murmur of other diners, making the air itself feel a degree warmer.
Women at nearby tables touched their hair unconsciously, and men seemed to draw themselves up a little straighter in their chairs.
He was, Stephanie registered with a distant sort of clarity, the kind of handsome that was undeniable, the kind that should have done something to the tempo of a person’s pulse. It was objective fact, as solid as the stone fountain beside her.
It did nothing to hers.
The realization struck her suddenly. Nothing. Not the smallest tug. Not even the polite flicker she had sometimes managed with Gary on good days. Now she sat here staring at a man who looked like he had been designed to make hearts race and felt only a distant, appreciative nothing.
The thought pressed harder. Her marriage had ended without shouting, just a slow polite fading, and here she was at forty-six, unable to summon even pretend interest in someone who should have been perfect on paper.
Kind. Successful. Movie-star handsome. The emptiness felt vast. Like something essential had always been missing, and the divorce had only exposed it.
“Well?” Casey asked, leaning forward a little. The halter top shifted against her skin and Stephanie’s eyes followed before she could stop them.
“He’s handsome,” Stephanie said. The words came out thin. She stabbed another forkful of her dinner even though her appetite had vanished, the rich sauce suddenly too heavy. Her throat felt tight.
She had spent decades telling herself she was normal. That passion was for movies and people younger than her. That her steady, unremarkable life in Charleston had been enough.
Gary had never made her stomach flip either.
Not really. Not the way certain memories from next door kept doing lately, memories she shoved down every time they rose.
The curve of Casey’s shoulder breaking the surface of the pool.
The sound of her laugh drifting up on warm night air.
The way her hand had rested on the tile inches from Stephanie’s own that first evening they swam together.
“Isn’t he?” Casey laughed, and the sound settled in Stephanie’s chest. “Even I like to look at him. Wait till you hear his accent. Should I wave him over?”
“No.” The word left her too quickly. She softened it by taking another bite, chewing while her pulse beat loud in her ears. The fountain sounded louder now. The fairy lights too bright. “No. Let’s just… see what happens.”
She kept her eyes on her plate, tracing the faint veins in the handmade pasta as if they might tell her what to do next.
Part of her wanted Casey to insist. To call him over and force the moment so she could prove this indifference was temporary, a side effect of wine or divorce or six weeks away from her real life.
Another part, quieter and far more frightening, hoped the night would simply stay like this.
Just the two of them at the best table while the warm Key West dark pressed close and Casey’s laugh kept landing only on her.
That hope felt dangerous. Selfish. Like proof that something inside her had already changed without asking permission.
Her chest rose unevenly under the green blouse. She reached for her wine again, needing the cool crispness against the heat climbing her face. Nothing was wrong with the man across the room. The problem sat squarely inside her and had probably always been there.
Casey’s fingers turned the stem of her own glass slowly, the small movement pulling at something low in Stephanie’s stomach.
She took another swallow of wine, letting the sharpness ground her. The taste felt sharper now, almost too sharp, and she wondered why her heart would not settle.