Grabbing the bottle from the ice bucket, Grant offered, “Let’s kick back out here and finish this bottle of champagne under the stars. What do you think?” He stood from his chair at the small dining table and held his hand out to help me do the same. We’d already had more than half the bottle with dinner, and my head was a little fuzzy. The nighttime air was balmy and still, other than the sounds of the sleek hull cutting through the water. We were cruising at a much slower pace than we had in the daylight.
In a quiet, feminine voice that barely sounded like my own, I agreed. Shaped into the fiberglass structure of the boat was a large bed-sized cutout. A striped cushion padded the area, making the spot perfect for sunbathing by day and stargazing by night. Grant helped me get situated on the mattress and then handed me both our champagne flutes before climbing up to join me. When a few crew members came to clear the last of our dishes, Grant asked them to bring us a blanket and another bottle of champagne, and I opened my mouth to protest.
“Just in case. We don’t have to open it. But if we decide to indulge, we won’t have to go inside.”
I sighed and flopped back against the sumptuous pillows that lined what I considered the headboard of this perfect sunbed. Or moon bed—maybe? Why was I even arguing? We didn’t have to be at work the next morning. We wouldn’t have to drive home, and no one was around for hundreds, maybe thousands, of miles. Wouldn’t it be nice—no, amazing—to just let it all go for a while and relax? Exactly like Grant had proposed. When I had allowed myself to really turn it over in the shower that afternoon, I couldn’t come up with a logical reason why I was fighting his plan so stubbornly. Maybe it was precisely what my soul needed.
When Grant was finally situated beside me, he let out a long, contemplative breath.
“Penny for your thoughts, Tree.”
“Ah, it’s nothing,” he said dismissively.
“Oh, I’m definitely calling bullshit with a sigh that heavy.” I kept my gaze trained on the glass in my hand, as to not add extra pressure on him to open up.
“I enjoyed dinner with you.” He paused, maybe a few beats too long, but I waited. Eventually, he added, “It felt like it used to between us, and I’ve missed that. Missed you. I guess I hadn’t realized just how much until having it again.”
Instead of responding right away, I stared out across the water. The moonlight cast a pale glow throughout the dark sky and equally dark water. There were so many things I wanted to say to this man. Needed to say. Letting my guard down never came naturally to me. Not even with Sean, and I had years to try to get it right with him.
Strangely though, Grant understood me on a level Sean never had. Allowing the cork out of that thought’s bottle made me feel terribly disrespectful to my late husband. The more the concept breathed and wafted around the room, the more scared I became about the man sitting beside me. It probably explained why I ran so hot and cold with Grant. I wanted to be close to him. Open up and bare my soul to him. Yet when I did that—in even the smallest degree—it felt like an awful betrayal to my husband. Well, my late husband. I constantly felt like I was being unfaithful to a dead man. And how foolish was that?
Already, I envisioned Sean himself laughing at the absurdity of my worries. Just thinking about how understanding he always had been made me smile.
Right before the tears came.
But stopping them…utterly impossible. They coursed out, unwelcomed and hot, and I immediately pawed at my cheeks to dash them away. Especially before I ruined the special moment between this amazing man and me. This extraordinary human being who was still living and breathing and simply being there for me.
“Hey, hey,” Grant crooned, capturing my hands in his version of a comforting move. But I just got more frustrated.
I turned my face into his chest, thinking to hide there while I pulled myself together. Of course, Fate and Irony took turns pointing long, arthritically distorted fingers at me while they laughed. Because I didn’t get my shit together. Oh, no. Quite the opposite, in horrific and