Chapter 12
EBBA
The diner is empty except for us. I guess even in Vegas people eventually go to sleep.
“We’re going to be dead tired tomorrow … well, today.”
Fisher chuckles. “Nothing is planned until the evening so I’m sure we can manage to sleep in.”
I know he’s not implying that we’ll be sleeping together, but a shiver runs down my spine all the same.
I don’t know what’s happening between us tonight.
Maybe I’m just tired and my defenses are down, or maybe I’m not as angry anymore as I thought I was.
Whatever the reason, I’m enjoying being out with him tonight.
“What can I get you guys?” The waitress asks as she stops by our table, tapping her pen against her pad. She pops her gum, waiting.
Fisher cocks his head to the side, letting me order. “We’ll split the cheeseburger and fries meal, two Cokes, and a chocolate malt to split too, please.”
Popping her gum again, she scribbles everything down. “You got it.”
When she walks off, Fisher picks up the ketchup bottle from the other end of the table and slides it back and forth from hand to hand.
“You never could sit still,” I say, the words rolling out before I can stop them.
He chuckles. “When I was a kid, my mom always said I had enough energy to power ten other people.”
I smile at the mention of his mom. “How is she?” I always loved his parents.
“She’s good. She asks about you all the time.”
I wince. “I’m sorry.”
Fisher puts the ketchup bottle back where it belongs, offering our waitress a smile when she sets down our Cokes and straws.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says, sticking the straw in his cup and proceeding to play with the wrapper. “I like that she still cares about you.”
A feeling I can’t find words to describe swoops in my belly.
With a sigh, he shoves his fingers through his hair and adjust his glasses.
“I know you probably don’t want to talk about this, but I just want to say how fucking sorry I am that I didn’t get to the hospital in time.
I…” He shakes his head. “By the time I saw your texts and got there you were already gone and then…”
“I wouldn’t talk to you,” I finish for him.
“Yeah.” He takes a sip of the soda. “I don’t blame you. I never did.”
“I didn’t handle things the best way,” I admit, albeit reluctantly.
“You were hurting.”
I hate that he’s being understanding, that he’s giving me an out for my shitty behavior.
I’ve harbored hatred toward him for way too long.
Especially when he never stopped reaching out his hand to make sure I was okay.
I was the one who put up walls and shut him out and for the first time since it happened, I’m wondering why.
I was angry at him for not being at the hospital with me, but he was doing his job. It wasn’t like he was ignoring me for no reason. But at the time, my emotions were all over the place and blaming him was easier than being logical about the situation.
“Yeah,” I sigh, playing with my own straw wrapper just to have something to do. “But you were too.”
He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue, and my eyes track the movement. My thighs squeeze together, remembering the kiss in his hotel room. It was unexpected to say the least, but I’m not mad about it like I probably should be.
Sliding his glasses further up his nose, he leans in conspiratorially. “Let’s agree to move on as much as we can. I’ve missed you.” The last three words are whispered like a confession he’s not fully confident he wants me to hear.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I admit. I’ve tried to pretend that I don’t notice him, that I don’t still think about him, but it’s impossible.
“Yeah?” He sounds surprised.
“Yeah,” I echo with a small smile. I’m tired of holding onto things that were out of my control and frankly out of his too.
His eyes are earnest when he asks, “Do you think we could maybe be friends again?”
I rip the paper into small pieces. “I think so.”
The smile he offers me is so big, so blinding that I have to clasp my hands together, so I don’t shield my eyes from it.
I forgot how the full wattage of his smile impacts me, the swoop low in my belly and the flutter of my heartbeat.
It’s been years since I’ve looked at him with clear eyes and not through the fogged-up lens of past mistakes and I forgot how devastatingly handsome he is.
“Here’s that burger and fries, guys.”
I jolt backwards as the waitress sets the plate down on the table between us along with another empty plate. I hadn’t realized I was leaning so close to Fisher and my skin heats with embarrassment.
“Thanks so much,” he says. “Could we get some extra napkins?”
“No problem,” she replies. “I’ll be back with your milkshake, too.”
Unrolling his utensils, he cuts the burger in half and splits it and the fries between the two plates before sliding one across to me.
“This smells like heaven.” I pop a fry in my mouth and groan. “Don’t get me wrong, dinner was great, but nothing beats a diner cheeseburger and fries.”
“Agreed,” he says. When we smile at each other it feels like a secret. “Remember that time in New York. It was early just like this, and you were craving fries because your period started and you were cramping so bad you couldn’t sleep.”
My heart squeezes at the memory. It was a horrible period, and I had snuck over to Fisher’s room so I could cuddle him.
He took the best care of me—running out to buy a heating pad since mine had stopped working and rubbing my lower back since it hurt so bad.
The second I mentioned I wanted fries he was up and yanking on his clothes and going to find some despite the hour.
I swallow down the memories and clear my throat. “I remember.”
“One chocolate malt and two straws. Oh, and your napkins. Any refills?” The waitress gestures to our cups.
“I’m good. Thank you,” I reply.
“I’m fine as well.”
“I’ll be back to check on you in a few.”
Fisher unwraps the straws and sticks them in, sliding the old-fashioned glass in my direction for the first sip. It’s so familiar that for a moment I feel like we’re in our early twenties and blissfully head over heels in love.
I take a sip and close my eyes, savoring the flavor. “Delicious. Your turn.” I push the glass his way.
He stirs the whipped cream into the milkshake and takes a sip. “Do you think it’s better than the one I made you?”
My face heats beneath his scrutiny. “I’m not sure. That one was fantastic,” I admit.
He beams at the praise, and it does something to my heart.
It would be so easy to deny, but I never stopped caring about Fisher Grant. No matter how hard I tried, he carved his name into my heart in a way that I can never repair.
He smiles like he knows exactly what I’m thinking, and I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. “For the record, I never stopped loving you.”
That piece of my heart that’s still very much his wakes up from its dormant state and comes to life.