to going out after the game, expecting all the same hurts would be dredged up, but I also made a promise to myself when Jim made his to me as he slipped that ring on my finger. I vowed to give him a fair shot. That meant I had to put myself out there with him in the normal situations we often found ourselves.
You could have knocked me over with a feather when, instead of heading to The Sneaky Saguaro where the Vengeance usually goes for a post-win party, he brought me to a tiny wine bar only a few blocks from the arena. He had changed into street clothes after his shower rather than the suit he was required to wear to the arena and put a hat on his head that he pulled down low so he would hopefully not be recognized.
Jim chose a two-person table in the back corner. Although it isn’t necessarily quiet because the bar has the chatter of a couple of dozen patrons, it’s secluded enough that people aren’t around us.
He pulls my chair out for me, something he has always done. Then, he scoots the other chair around the table a bit, so we are sitting closer to each other rather than across from one another. When he sits, his knee bumps mine, and our forearms touch as we rest them on the table.
It’s a good start to our first date after the moment I call “The Promise” went into effect.
“Want anything to eat?” Jim asks.
I shake my head, knowing he’ll order something. He’s always ravenous after a game.
“Then what will be your poison tonight?” he asks with a grin.
“I think I’m in the mood for a beer,” I reply, propping my chin in my hand while Jim does a quick perusal of the menu. I take just a second to appreciate how hot my husband is and it’s not because he has the face of an angel, the body of a god, or he’s a professional athlete, either. It’s that he brought me to an out-of-the-way quiet corner, disguised so he wouldn’t be recognized, and pulled his chair close to mine so we can talk.
Jim flags a waitress and orders a grilled chicken salad, to which I wrinkle my nose. He’s such a healthy eater, but he also ordered a beer. I didn’t even have to tell him what type I wanted as he knows my favorite.
“You looked great on the ice,” I say after our beers are placed before us and we each take a savoring sip.
“I love this line I’m playing with,” he replies. “We connect well.”
“It shows.” I run a finger down the side of my pint glass, catching the condensation of an icy draft. “You look happy out there.”
“I’m always happy on the ice. It’s all I’ve had to get me through this separation.”
I wince, and he immediately grabs my chin and forces me to hold eye contact. “I’m not saying that to make you feel bad.”
“But you always were happiest when you were on the ice, around your hockey buddies, or doing something to further your career,” I murmur, hating the swell of bitterness in my voice.
“That’s not true, Ella.” He still has my chin in his grip, and he leans in so our faces are close. “But I know that’s how you must have felt. I was just too stupid to see it. I was too deaf to hear it, too. Looking back on things, I know you tried to tell me you were unhappy.”
My heart flutters with the knowledge he’s done some self-appraisal. His promises to change are nothing but promises with no plan of action, but he’s clearly been trying to figure things out.
“I’m not going to let you feel invisible again,” he assures me, then his mouth is on mine. He kisses me softly with a gentle press of lips. Another promise, so to speak, before he pulls away.
“I almost believe you when you say it like that.” A nervous laugh comes out as I realize his words and kiss have made my skin feel flushed.
Jim settles back in his chair, the distance feeling like a void following that intimate moment. “You don’t have to take my word for it. I’ll show you, Ella. I’ll take any chance you’ll give me, which means I’d like to officially put in a request for all available nights I have off from games to spend with you. So, you tell Mr. Ordinary he can’t have those