Chapter 24
Kayla
“Kayla, have you ever thought about marriage?” Todd’s voice pulls me sharply out of my daydream and back to the present.
Last week, I saw a man near my house who could have been Roman’s twin, but he was gone before I could get a closer look.
But the encounter opened the door I’ve kept shut for the past two years, and I can’t stop thinking about my ex-husband.
Wondering about where he is now, what he’s doing, who he’s with.
Wondering if he’s moved on like I have. Now I’m frantically replaying the last several minutes of conversation in my head, trying to figure out what I missed.
“In general or with someone specific?” I ask, trying to buy myself time. My voice comes out at a higher pitch than I intended.
Todd’s face flushes a deep red, spreading up from his collar to the tips of his ears. “Yes,” he stammers. “I mean both. I mean—“ He stops, takes a deep breath, and then looks me directly in the eyes. “Specific. With me. Marriage with me. To me. You. Married to me.”
I’ve just taken a sip of wine when he says this, and I promptly choke on it.
The liquid burns as it goes down the wrong way, and I cough, grabbing my napkin to cover my mouth and wipe my streaming eyes.
The couple at the next table glances over, the woman’s eyebrows raised, a concerned expression on her face.
Todd half-rises from his seat, concern replacing nervousness.
“Are you okay?” he asks, reaching across to pat my back awkwardly.
I nod, still coughing. “Fine,” I manage. “Just… was that a proposal?”
Todd doesn’t answer, just continues patting my back. When I can breathe properly again, I lower the napkin and stare at him as he sits down again. His face is still flushed, and he keeps fidgeting with his tie, straightening it even though it’s perfectly straight already.
“Todd, we’ve only been dating for seven months,” I finally say, wondering where this came from. We haven’t even really talked about moving in together yet.
“Well, yes,” he concedes, “but have you ever felt anything so right that you knew there was no reason to wait any longer?”
The question takes me right back to those heady early days with Roman. When he proposed, there wasn’t candlelight or flowers, or romance. He didn’t go down on one knee. There wasn’t even a ring. We were on his bike, flying down the open road, the wind in our faces and my arms around his waist.
“Marry me, Sunshine,” he’d called back, and I’d responded “Yes!” wrapping my arms tighter around him, so happy I thought my heart would burst. I’d known, with a certainty I’ve never felt before or since, that there was no reason to wait. That he was it for me.
I push the memory away, swallowing hard against the sudden lump in my throat. “Yes,” I admit quietly. “Once.”
Todd’s face lights up, but before he can speak, I continue. “And it ended really, really badly. I’m not in any hurry to do that again.”
His smile falters, but he recovers quickly. “But we have so much in common, Kayla. We want the same things in life. We fit together perfectly.” He leans forward, earnestness radiating from him. “My family loves you. My mother hasn’t stopped talking about you since the Fourth of July party.”
He’s rambling now, words spilling out in an uncharacteristic rush.
“She really loves you. Told me to ‘lock you down’ after you left that day.” He laughs nervously.
“Of course, she really loved the food you brought too, so I’m sure she’s hoping you’ll keep coming around with that, at the very least. She’s always hated cooking and having someone else… ”
I feel like I’ve stumbled into the Twilight Zone, listening to my usually level-headed boyfriend babble about all the reasons he feels we should get married after less than a year of dating. Reaching across the table, I place my hand over his, stopping his flow of words.
“Todd,” I say gently, “I’m not going to marry you just because your mother liked my potato salad.”
He stops cold, blinking at me as if he’s just waking up. “Right. Of course.” He looks down at our joined hands, then back at my face. “I’m sorry. That was really badly done. I’ve just never proposed to anyone before.”
I can’t stop the laugh that escapes me then. “I can tell.”
He smiles ruefully, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “I’ll work on improving for next time.”
“You’ll have a long time to practice before I’m ready,” I tell him, emphasizing the words “long time.”
He nods, accepting this without argument. That’s the thing about Todd; he never pushes, never demands. He simply accepts and adjusts. It should be refreshing after Roman’s intensity, his refusal to ever back down. So why does part of me miss the fire?
We finish our dinner in relative comfort, the momentary awkwardness fading as we slip back into our usual rhythm. By the time dessert arrives, we’re both laughing again, the proposal momentarily set aside.
Outside the restaurant, Todd stops beside his car, jingling his keys nervously. “Do you want to spend the night at my place?” he asks. “I’ll make you breakfast in the morning.”
I hesitate, feeling a strange reluctance that has nothing to do with Todd and everything to do with the thoughts of Roman that have been creeping in all evening. “I have an early morning tomorrow,” I say finally. “I think I just need to rest.”
Todd nods, accepting this with his usual grace. “See you tomorrow, then.” He leans in and kisses me goodnight, his lips warm and gentle against mine. It’s a nice kiss. Pleasant. Safe.
I feel a twinge of guilt as I drive home.
If Todd is thinking about marriage, that means his feelings have progressed much faster than mine.
Because I’m not thinking that far ahead.
I’ve done my best to move on, to build a new life.
But the truth is, despite everything, I still can‘t imagine being married to anyone but Roman. The thought sends another wave of guilt crashing through me. It’s not fair to Todd.
He deserves someone who can give him their whole heart, not someone still carrying around the shattered pieces of a love they can’t seem to let go of.
My house comes into view as I round the corner, a small Craftsman with a front yard I’ve spent countless hours transforming into a garden paradise.
Pride swells in my chest at the sight of it.
I saved for the down payment myself and bought it on my own.
No one else’s name on the mortgage. Just mine.
I’ve built a life here in Billings that I’m proud of.
I’ve thrived at my new job, made lifelong friends at the community pottery studio that I have a membership at, dated.
I no longer live in the shadows, no longer feel small and unimportant.
I’ve created a space where I’m valued, where my voice matters.
So why do I feel so restless? Why does it sometimes seem like something vital is missing, like I’m only living half a life despite all I’ve accomplished?
I push the thoughts away as I pull into my driveway and cut the engine. Tonight has been confusing enough without adding existential angst to the mix. All I want now is to kick off these heels, pour a glass of wine, and curl up with my cats.
The house is dark as I unlock the front door and step inside, flicking on the entryway light. I hang up my wrap and purse before calling out, “Mochi! Charlie! You would not believe the day I’ve had.”
Neither cat appears to greet me, which is unusual. Typically, they’re both winding around my ankles the moment I walk through the door, demanding dinner with indignant meows even though I know for a fact that their automatic feeder dispensed food at 6 PM sharp.
I kick off my heels with a sigh of relief. As I do, I hear something from the back of the house, a sharp sound, like glass breaking or something being knocked over. My heart jumps into my throat, but then Mochi comes tearing out of the kitchen, his white fur coated in what looks like… flour?
“What did you get into now?” I mutter, heading toward the kitchen to assess the damage. Mochi is notorious for jumping onto counters and knocking things over. Last week it was a vase of flowers. The week before, a bag of potting soil and a potted plant I’d carelessly left on the kitchen table.
I’m halfway down the hallway when a large man in a ski mask falls backward out of the kitchen doorway, landing flat on his back at my feet. I scream, stumbling backward, my mind not quite processing what I’m seeing. A man. In my house. In a mask.
Fight or flight kicks in, and I turn to run toward the front door, toward my phone, toward safety.
But before I can take more than two steps, strong arms wrap around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides.
I thrash wildly, kicking backward, trying to remember the self-defense moves from the class I took after moving to Billings. But the grip holding me is like iron.
“Sunshine, it’s me,” a voice whispers in my ear, low and urgent. A voice I would know anywhere, even after all this time.
I stop struggling immediately, though my heart continues to race. When I go still, the arms release me, and I turn slowly, already knowing who I’ll see.
“Roman?” His name comes out as a question, though there’s no doubt in my mind. He looks the same as he did the last time I saw him at the courthouse two years ago, maybe a bit more weathered, a few more lines around his eyes, but still undeniably, heartbreakingly Roman.
He’s wearing all black, his hair longer than I remember, falling over his forehead in a way that makes my fingers itch to brush it back. His blue eyes scan my face hungrily, as if searching for something.
“Sorry about this,” he says, gesturing to the unconscious man on my hallway floor. “You came home from your date sooner than I expected.”
I gape at him, my brain struggling to catch up with what’s happening. There’s a man unconscious in my hallway. Roman is in my house. Roman knew I was on a date. Roman has been watching me? None of this makes any sense.
“What are you doing here?” I demand, finding my voice at last. I point to the masked man. “And what is he doing here? What’s going on?”
Roman rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says, looking almost sheepish. “I guess I should explain what’s going on.”
“You think?” I say, surprised by the steadiness of my voice. “Start talking, Roman. Now.”