Chapter Twenty-Three
“What the hell happened here?” I ask Simone the second I get her alone.
Ever since I arrived at Jess and Logan's house, I've been noticing things.
The awkward silences.
The whispered conversations that stop the second someone walks by.
The way people keep exchanging looks when they think nobody's paying attention.
The christening itself had gone smoothly. The after-party, apparently, has not.
“Oh.” She lets out a tired breath. “You missed a lot of drama.”
“Dammit.”
She gives me a look, and I immediately backtrack.
“I mean... what happened?”
Simone rolls her eyes. “Logan finally snapped.”
“At Jess?”
“At his parents.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“It was a whole thing.” She waves a hand dismissively. “I'm not prepared to relive it yet.”
Before I can press for details, her eyes narrow as she studies me. “What's different with you?”
“What?” I avoid her eyes, focusing on the décor, “this kitchen is sweet.”
“Something's different,” she declares ignoring my words.
I let out an awkward laugh. “What's wrong with me?”
“Did you run into Dominic?”
The laugh dies instantly. “You knew he was stationed at Camp Mabry?”
“Everyone does.” She shrugs.
I stare at her in disbelief. “Well, you could've told me before I slapped him in front of half the base.”
“No!”
She looks genuinely horrified for a second, but then a smile starts creeping onto her face.
“Did it feel good?”
“Of course, it felt good,” I snap. “That's not the point.”
“It kind of sounds like the point.” She says flippantly.
“Simone.” I warn.
“Sorry.” She grins, completely unapologetic.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“You told me not to.”
“When?”
“When I mentioned he was in Germany and you nearly bit my head off.”
I grab a slice of cake from the counter.
“I don't remember that.” I absolutely remember that.
“What happened after you hit him?” she asks.
Before I can stop her, she steals a bite of my cake. I point toward the kitchen island, where at least twenty untouched slices are sitting on paper plates waiting for guests. She shrugs and steals another bite anyway.
Heathen.
I wipe frosting from my mouth with a napkin and answer hesitantly. “He asked me out.”
Simone freezes.
Not metaphorically. Literally freezes. Her finger, smeared with frosting hangs halfway to her mouth, her eyes widening so much I can practically see the gears turning in her head.
I immediately regret saying anything.
“I mean, after I told him about Brad and he told me he still had feelings for me.”
The excited glint that appears in her eyes is honestly terrifying.
“Don't.”
Simone presses her lips together, clearly trying not to react, but it doesn't work. A tiny squeak escapes anyway, an actual squeak. "Oh my God."
“It's just a date.”
She excitedly grabs my arm. “Bronwyn.”
“It's just dinner.” I reply, trying to get her paws off me.
“With Dominic.” She stares at me. “Remember him? The guy you stalked after he broke up with you. The guy you almost went crazy over.”
“First of all,” I say, holding up a finger, “checking his Facebook wall for pictures of the sluts he dumped me for is not stalking.”
“Sluts?” she mouths.
I ignore her.
“And second of all, like I said, it's a date. Not a marriage contract.”
“But it would be so sweet,” she insists. “Reconnecting with the love of your life. It's like kismet.”
I snort. “I'm already on the fence about this. Don't push me.”
“Why?” she asks.
“Because...” I gesture vaguely. “I'm moving to LA. Technically I still have a husband. And I definitely have a baby.”
“Okay.” She starts counting on her fingers. “You're not moving for another two months, your husband is an asshole so that barely counts, and having Sophia doesn't mean you can't date.”
“It still seems kinda fast.”
“Really?” She raises an eyebrow. “How long did Brad wait again?”
I narrow my eyes. “Cheap shot.”
Unfortunately, I get her point.
Taking a deep breath, I ask the question that's been on my mind ever since I said yes.
“What the hell do I wear?”
I love my sister.
I really do.
But her suggestions are absolute shit.
I'm not about to go to dinner wearing a teddy or my senior prom dress.
Even if I still fit into it.
Actually, it's a little loose these days but who's checking?
In the end, I settle on a dark violet dress that falls just above my knees.
It's flowy enough to pass as casual and shimmery enough to look like I made an effort.
For shoes, I go with black pumps.
Jewelry stays simple.
The Tiffany earrings Mom bought me and a ring I found years ago that is either an incredible yard sale find or a fake diamond I overpaid for.
I've never bothered getting it appraised.
I like the mystery.
My wrists stay bare except for the smartwatch.
It doesn't exactly scream elegant evening wear but with my phone tucked into the thigh holster hidden beneath my dress, I need some way to know if my parents call.
The holster was one of Claire's hand-me-downs.
Vintage. And proof that dresses with no pockets have always been an issue. She kept a gun tucked in it back when she was working night shifts in a less than safe neighborhood but it has room for my phone, lipstick and keys too. Well one key. So, it works.
Why society abandoned this technology I'll never understand.
After a final spray of perfume, I sit on the edge of the bed and start scrolling through my phone.
There are no messages from my parents. Which I'm grateful for.
Dad had been more than happy to watch Sophie when I asked earlier today.
My relationship with Mom, meanwhile, is still painfully weird.
We've never fought for this long before. Mostly because I'm usually wrong and eventually cave and apologize.
Not this time.
Her calling me selfish and suggesting I forgive my cheating husband isn't something I'm willing to apologize for.
Thankfully Dad hasn't asked me to. And Simone is wisely staying out of it.
At seven forty-five, I start checking the clock every few minutes.
At seven fifty, I start checking the street.
At seven fifty-five, I begin questioning every life decision that led me here.
I deleted Dominic's number years ago. Mine changed.
Which means neither of us actually has a way to contact the other.
Maybe I should've left my number with Gemma.
Or Claire.
Or carved it into a tree somewhere.
At seven fifty-eight, I start wondering if he changed his mind.
By eight o'clock, I'm officially worried. Not for long though. A knock sounds at the door at exact eight on the dot.
With one final glance in the mirror, I hurry downstairs and pull the front door open.
Dominic is standing there holding a flower pot.
Inside is the most beautiful burgundy chrysanthemum I've ever seen. In the porch light, it almost perfectly matches my dress.
I raise an eyebrow.
He smiles, looking strangely shy. “You used to hate when I brought you cut flowers.”
I bite my lip, trying not to smile.
He's right.
I'd always complained that flowers were just expensive plants people paid to watch die.
“A living plant,” I approve.
“I learn from my mistakes.”
I reach for it.
Before my fingers can touch the pot, he catches my hand.
“I don't want you getting pollen on that beautiful dress.”
It takes all my self-control not to react.
The last time Dominic holding my hand made me feel this giddy I was sixteen.
Embarrassing then. Mortifying now.
“Follow me,” I say, turning toward the kitchen.
He follows while I hunt for somewhere to put the chrysanthemum.
“Where's...” he starts.
“Sophia?” I supply.
He nods.
“She's with my parents.”
“How are they?”
The question catches me off guard.
It's been so long since Dominic was a part of my life that hearing him ask about my family feels strange.
“They're good,” I answer. “Retired now, so they've been travelling the world. They only came back when Simone had the baby and I moved home.”
“That must be nice,” he says with a smile.
“Uh huh,” I agree, pointing toward the windowsill.
Dominic follows my instructions and places the chrysanthemum right where the morning sun shines.
Perfect.
“So where are we going?” I ask, locking the front door behind us.
“Oh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I got us a reservation at Angela's.”
“Fancy.” I wonder if I should've dressed up more.
The key lays awkwardly in my hand as I picture the tiny pocket sewn into the thigh holster.
Trying to be subtle, I turn away from Dominic and attempt to shove it inside.
It's harder than it should be.
Mostly because I have to lift my dress slightly to get at the pocket.
Which feels weird. And awkward. And definitely not something an adult does.
By the time I finally get the stupid things situated, I'm already annoyed. Straightening, I turn around in a huff only to find Dominic standing there watching me.
His mouth is twitching.
“Sorry,” I mutter, hurrying past him toward the car parked in the driveway.
A laugh escapes him.
Waiting patiently beside the passenger door, I raise a brow waiting for him.
Still chuckling, he walks over.
For a second I think he's going to make fun of me. Instead, he reaches past me and pulls the door open.
The simple gesture catches me off guard. Not because it's particularly romantic. Just nostalgic.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
Before I can climb inside, he leans closer. Close enough that I catch the scent of his cologne.
“Never change,” he murmurs into my ear.
I roll my eyes.
But inside, I can't help thinking, ‘back at you.’
Because for all the ways we've both changed over the years, part of me is relieved to find the boy I fell in love with is still somewhere inside the man.