Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Impressed by the restaurant Maeve had chosen, Debra sat across from Lucille, acutely aware of how surreal the whole evening felt.
Candlelight flickered softly between them, reflected in the polished cutlery and wine glasses already half-finished, and the ambiance around them created the kind of intimacy that only existed when a place knew exactly what it was meant for.
A first date.
Her first official date in decades.
For the last hour or so, Debra had been hyper-aware of herself—the way she sat, the way she laughed…
even the way she spoke—as though she would somehow get it wrong.
But now, as the evening settled and her shoulders eased, she made a decision not to spend what remained of the night trapped inside her own head. She owed herself more than that.
Lucille was lovely. Genuinely so. She had a warm, open smile, kind, trusting eyes, and the sort of humour Debra found herself relaxing into rather than bracing against. She laughed with her whole face, her head tipped back without apology, utterly unconcerned with who could be watching. It was refreshing.
But more than anything, Lucille didn’t treat Debra as though she was fragile.
“So you moved to the city after the divorce?” Lucille asked, idly twirling her wine glass by the stem.
“Yes. I needed a fresh start.”
Lucille’s expression softened in that particular way—recognition without pity. The look of someone who had walked similar ground and survived it. “That takes courage. Rebuilding on your own.”
Debra smiled, choosing optimism over honesty. “It felt lonely at first, but it was worth it.” It had been lonely, it still was in ways she didn’t always like to admit, but Debra didn’t want to linger on any of that tonight.
The server appeared, placing two plates between them. The scent of rosemary and lemon butter rose immediately, mingling with roasted tomatoes and warm pasta. Debra’s stomach gave an unmistakable growl, and she laughed, her cheeks warming as Lucille’s eyes lit up.
“I like a woman with an appetite,” Lucille said with a wink.
It should have made Debra blush. It should have grounded her fully in the moment. Instead, her mind betrayed her and flashed to Billie’s voice, low and intimate, as she murmured, “Tell me what you want” against her throat.
God. Not now.
Debra forced her attention back to the table, to the woman sitting across from her.
Lucille was talking about Italy now, about travelling again, and the freedom.
The late trains and how standing alone in foreign cities left her feeling entirely her own person again.
Debra listened, smiling between mouthfuls and nodding at the right moments, enjoying the steadiness of it all.
The wine helped, but so did Lucille’s calm presence.
And yet, every now and then, like a tide she couldn’t quite hold back, her thoughts drifted. To that dim museum corridor. To the urgency in Billie’s breath. To the way Billie had looked at her, not casually and not carelessly, but as though she was something rare.
Stop it, Debra scolded herself, spearing a piece of chicken a little more firmly than necessary.
Billie had made her choice, and now Debra was making hers.
This evening mattered.
“Can I ask you something?” Lucille said suddenly, leaning in just enough to make it feel personal rather than invasive.
Debra set her fork down. “Of course.”
“Do you feel ready for this? Dating again, I mean.”
Debra considered it, then nodded. “Ready enough. I’ve realised that life doesn’t wait for us to feel perfect.”
Lucille smiled and lifted her glass. “To imperfect beginnings.”
They clinked glasses, and something settled deep in Debra’s chest. She did like Lucille, and she’d enjoyed the evening. She could imagine another date, another conversation, perhaps even another attempt at something real.
But when Lucille laughed at a joke Debra made—that open, full-bodied laugh—Billie’s absence struck her suddenly.
Debra took another sip of wine and steadied herself, willing the ache away.
Tonight, she wasn’t going to look back. She couldn’t afford to. She was going to allow herself the chance to move forward, one beginning at a time, even if a part of her still knew exactly who had left the deepest mark.
Billie knew something was wrong the moment she stepped inside the restaurant. It wasn’t anything obvious—the place was exactly as it should be, with its low lighting and muted conversation threading through the space. She’d chosen it for that very reason. Neutral ground and somewhere quiet.
Yet her body reacted before her mind could catch up. That vice-like grip low in her chest and that hitch in her breath that she couldn’t quite mask. Then came the unmistakable, deeply familiar sense of recognition—one that had nothing to do with logic and everything to do with instinct.
Billie stopped just inside the door.
She had learned to trust that feeling over the years. To listen when something in her shifted or when the atmosphere suddenly felt different. Tonight, it was so loud that she couldn’t ignore it, no matter how much she wanted to.
She slowly scanned the room.
It took her less than three seconds to find Debra.
She was seated near the window, the candlelight catching her hair as she angled her body towards a woman sitting opposite her.
She was laughing. Not politely and not because it was expected of her, but fully, with her head tipped back in a way Billie had never seen from her before.
It was as though Debra had relaxed and forgotten herself completely. It was…beautiful to witness.
Still, seeing her laugh so freely was what hurt. This wasn’t the woman Billie had met all those weeks ago. There were no signs of the careful composure Debra wore when she was being brave. This was total ease and comfort, and Billie knew it came from feeling safe enough to take up space.
God, I wish that was me.
And then Billie saw the other woman’s hand. Her fingers rested lightly over the back of Debra’s. Not in a grip and certainly not in a claiming way; they were just…there. Tracing slow, absent lines over her skin, as though the touch was something neither of them needed to think about.
Billie’s heart clenched at the sight.
This was it. This was what moving forward looked like. It wasn’t dramatic or cruel. It was just human, and devastating in its ordinariness.
Billie considered turning around and slipping back out into the evening, the door closing behind her before Debra could possibly know she’d ever been there.
She was very good at leaving after all. She’d made a life out of it, really.
Clean exits and no mess, but then Debra looked up, and their eyes met across the room.
The shift was instant. The surprise flared first, and then came the recognition.
What Billie hadn’t expected was the emotion welling in her own throat as Debra’s lips parted and her body turned towards her without conscious thought.
Like Billie, Debra had felt her presence before she’d seen her.
And that just made this all the more painful.
Billie straightened and inconspicuously cleared her throat. If Debra was moving on, then Billie wouldn’t be the woman who ruined that moment by disappearing. She’d told herself she was doing the right thing by stepping back; she would see it through now.
She smoothed her hands down the front of her overcoat, squared her shoulders, and crossed the room with the same grace she brought into every space.
None of these people looking at her would have guessed that she was falling apart inside, or that each step felt like it was taking her further away from something she hadn’t realised she’d already lost.
She stopped at the edge of the table.
“Debra.” God, she hoped her voice was steady enough to pass. “I didn’t realise you ate here.”
Up close, seeing Debra was worse.
She looked radiant and relaxed. There was colour in her cheeks, and there was an ease to her posture that Billie had never been able to coax from her.
Debra looked…chosen. Wanted. She looked exactly like someone who had been laughing all night and hadn’t had to think about who she was or how she was being perceived.
It warmed Billie to see her that way, but it also crushed her a little more, too.
“B-Billie.” Debra rose to her feet. There was hesitation there, but the shock on Debra’s face was more prominent. “I…I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”
“I’m meeting a client.” The words came easily, slotting into place the way they always did. But the truth that she hadn’t trusted herself to be alone stayed where it belonged. There was no client. Just a lonely dinner for one. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“No,” Debra said as she smiled and shook her head. “Not at all.”
Debra’s date stood and offered a polite smile, as well as her hand. “Lucille.”
“Billie.” She shook it, hoping she could keep all of this professional and controlled. “Nice to meet you.”
Lucille switched her gaze between them, a hint of curiosity in her eyes. “Are you a friend of Debra’s?”
Billie glanced at Debra, then turned her attention back to Lucille. “Something like that. I’m…her tailor.”
Debra didn’t contradict her, and she didn’t explain. The fact that she hadn’t done so didn’t make any of this any better. Somehow, the acceptance of it all hurt more than any correction could have.
“I won’t keep you,” Billie said, already stepping back, the decision made before she could allow herself to reconsider. “I just wanted to say hello.” She eyed Debra one final time, aware that her mask had slipped and something real had inched through. “It was good to see you. Take care.”
A shadow of guilt, maybe regret, passed across Debra’s eyes. Or perhaps it was simply the ache of someone standing on the opposite side of a choice that had already been made for them. “Yes. You, too.”