17. Madison
— ? —
Madison
“You’re wearing underwear that matches, right?”
“Emery,” I said, turning from the mirror.
“I’m serious.” She was sprawled across my bed with a glass of wine, watching me hold up two dresses. “First date in however many years, you cannot show up in sad divorced lady underwear.”
“Nobody’s seeing my underwear tonight,” I said.
“That’s what I said the night I met Raymond.” She pointed at the green dress in my left hand. “That one. The other makes you look like you’re trying out for a funeral.”
I held the green one against myself and studied my reflection. Simple silk, deep cut, nothing like the designer pieces I used to wear with Ford. I’d bought it last week without asking anyone’s opinion.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Like I might throw up.”
“Good nervous or bad nervous?”
“Haven’t decided yet.” I stepped into the dress and turned so she could zip me. “It’s been so long since I’ve done this. I keep trying to remember how it works and my brain just blanks.”
“It’s not complicated,” she said, pulling the zipper up slowly.
“You show up, you eat food, you have a conversation. If he’s boring you make an excuse and leave early.
If he’s interesting you stay for dessert.
” She finished the zip and turned me around to face her.
“And if he’s really interesting, you let him walk you to your car and see what happens. ”
“Nothing’s happening tonight.”
“Fine, nothing happens.” She smoothed the fabric over my shoulders. “But at least you’ll know you can still do this. That there’s life after Ford Harrington.”
“That’s the goal,” I said.
“You look incredible, by the way.” She stepped back to take me in. “Jason’s not going to know what hit him.”
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She glanced at the screen and I watched her whole expression change, the warmth draining away like water down a sink.
“Em?” I stepped toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, grabbing the phone and shoving it in her pocket without reading the message. “Raymond’s work stuff. His travel schedule is a nightmare right now.”
“That’s not a nothing face.”
“It’s fine.” The brightness in her voice sounded forced now, brittle around the edges. “I’m fine. This isn’t about me tonight.”
I wanted to push, but Emery had never responded well to pushing. Whatever was going on with her, she’d share it when she was ready.
“You sure you’re okay?” I asked.
“Positive.” She picked up my purse and pressed it into my hands. “Go. Have fun. Text me after, I want every detail.”
The Bellcliff was glowing when I walked in, all candlelight and soft music and the kind of quiet elegance that made everyone look more beautiful than they actually were. I gave my name to the hostess and followed her toward the back dining room where Jason had made the reservation.
The room was empty.
Not slow-night empty. Cleared-out empty. Every table bare except for one in the center, set with white linens and candles and a bottle of wine already open.
Ford was sitting at it.
I stopped in the doorway. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I could feel it in my throat.
“Ms. Ellsworth,” the hostess said, gesturing toward the table with a practiced smile. “Your party is waiting.”
“That’s not my party,” I said.
She was already backing away. “Please enjoy your evening.”
She disappeared before I could stop her. Ford rose from his chair, and I took in the dark suit, no tie, the top button of his shirt undone. He looked good. I hated that he still looked good.
“Where’s Jason?” I asked.
“He left a few minutes ago,” Ford said, staying behind his chair instead of moving toward me.
“What do you mean he left?” My hands tightened on my purse. “I texted him on my way here. He said he was already at the table waiting.”
“He was,” Ford said. “Then I introduced myself and asked if he’d consider stepping aside for the evening.”
“You asked my date to leave.”
“I offered to compensate him for the inconvenience.” He tilted his head slightly. “He was surprisingly gracious about it.”
“This is insane,” I said, gesturing at the empty room, the candles, the single table. “You bought out an entire restaurant because I was having dinner with another man.”
“I bought it out because you won’t return my calls,” he said. “I just want an hour with you.”
“And I’m just supposed to give you that hour? After you ambushed me?”
“You’re not supposed to do anything.” He pulled out the chair across from his. “You can turn around and walk out right now. I won’t follow you. But I’m asking you to stay. One dinner. One conversation. That’s all I want.”
I stood there in my green dress, the one I’d bought for myself, the one Emery said made me look incredible. Every rational part of my brain was screaming at me to leave.
“One hour,” I said. “Then I’m gone.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
I crossed the room and sat down. He poured wine without asking, a red I recognized from anniversaries past.
“How did you even know I’d be here tonight?” I asked.
“I knew you had a date,” he said. “Didn’t know where until this afternoon.”
“And then what, you pulled some strings?”
“A few,” he said, setting the bottle down.
The kitchen door swung open and a server appeared carrying two plates. She set them down on the table and stood there, meeting my eyes without flinching.
She disappeared back into the kitchen before I could respond. I stared at the plate in front of me, halibut with some kind of herb crust, because of course Greer had made something perfect. I wondered if she knew Ford had crashed my date.
Who was I kidding? The whole of Newport would know by now.
“Tell me about the project,” Ford said.
I looked up. “What?”
“The Cove,” he said, picking up his fork. “How’s it going? What are you working on?”
“You want to talk about my work.”
“I want to talk about whatever you want to talk about.” He met my eyes. “But I know the project matters to you. And I realized the other day that I never used to ask about your work. So I’m asking now.”
I studied him for a moment, waiting for the angle, the manipulation. He just sat there, looking at me, waiting.
“We opened up the fireplace in the main room,” I said slowly.
“What did you find?” he asked.
“Marble surround.” I picked up my fork and took a bite. “The whole room is going to change once we restore it. Right now it feels unbalanced, like something’s missing.”
“That must have been exciting,” he said. “Finding something like that.”
“It was.” I took another bite, then another. The food was good. Everything Greer made was good. “Jason was the one who suggested we check behind the brick. He had a feeling about it.”
Ford’s jaw tightened slightly at the name. “The contractor.”
“The contractor you paid off tonight,” I said. “Yes.”
“He seems competent.”
“He is competent. He also asked me to dinner like a normal person.” I set down my fork. “No buying out restaurants. No ambushes. Just a question and an answer.”
“I deserved that,” Ford said.
“You did.”
He almost smiled. “I’m glad you have someone good working on the project. Even if he does ask you out.”
“Are you jealous?”
“Completely,” he said, without trying to hide it. “But I don’t have any right to be. You’re not my wife anymore. You can have dinner with whoever you want.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I can.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
The hour passed. Then another.
The server came out with the dessert, something chocolate that I ate without really tasting because I was too focused on the conversation to pay attention to what was in my mouth.
“You were supposed to kick me out two hours ago,” he said finally.
“I know,” I said.
“Why didn’t you?”
I set down my spoon and looked at him across the table. The candles had burned low. The wine bottle was empty.
“Because this is the first real conversation we’ve had in years,” I said. “I forgot what it felt like.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Dangerous.”
He held my gaze for a long moment. Then he stood up and came around to my side of the table, offering his hand.
“Let me walk you out,” he said.
I took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. His palm was warm against mine, familiar in a way that made my chest tight.
We walked through the empty restaurant together, past the bare tables and the guttering candles, out through the front doors into the cold night air.
My car was parked at the far end of the lot. He walked beside me without speaking, his hand still holding mine, and I let him because I didn’t have the energy to pull away.
We reached my car and I turned to face him. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for staying,” he said.
He was standing close. Too close. I could feel the warmth radiating off his body, could see the rise and fall of his chest beneath his shirt.
My hand came up without my permission and rested against his chest, feeling his heartbeat under my palm.
He smelled good. The same cologne he’d worn for years, the one I used to breathe in when I pressed my face against his neck at night. It hit me somewhere deep, somewhere I’d been trying to keep locked away.
He kissed me without warning.
His mouth covered mine and my whole body went electric.
I kissed him back before I could think about what I was doing, my fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer. His hands found my waist and pressed me back against the car, and I let him, let myself sink into the kiss, into the heat of his body against mine.
It was the best kiss I’d had in years. Maybe ever. Ten years of knowing exactly how the other person tasted, how to move, where to touch.
His tongue slid against mine and I made a sound I couldn’t control, something between a moan and a whimper.
His mouth moved to my jaw, my neck. I tilted my head back and felt his teeth graze my pulse point. My whole body was on fire. I wanted him so badly I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t remember why this was a bad idea.
Then his hand slid up my side and reality crashed back like cold water.
“No.” I shoved against his chest and he stumbled back. “This is fucked up.”
I pushed again, with all the strength I had. “We’re divorced. I can’t do this.”
“Stop,” he said, his voice rough. “Just please…”
I turned and yanked open my car door. My hands were trembling so badly I almost dropped the keys.
Got in the car and slammed the door. Started the engine. Put it in reverse and backed out of the space without looking at him, without giving myself the chance to change my mind.
I drove home with the taste of him still on my mouth and my whole body humming with something I refused to name.
Wanting him had never been the problem.
The problem was trusting him to stay in the room once I did.