My mind plays the reel back, wondering what the hell I’ve been thinking all these years.
“I didn’t mean to use you.” I’m careful and slow with my words, wondering if I took advantage of him. A voice in the back of my head tells me I did. Sitting here now with him, how could I not have known how he feels?
“You didn’t take advantage of me. It’s my fault,” he says then takes in another deep breath followed by another swig of his whiskey. “I never asked the right questions or else I would have known you were ready.”
“Ready?”
“For a relationship,” he answers and his strong hand that’s been over every inch of my body lays out on the table again.
“Robert …” I’m stunned, truly. He’s saying all the right things, but … why now?
“I want to make it official. I want to move up north and start fresh. I want it all with you, Mags. With you and Bridget.”
“I slept with him.” The confession slips out unbidden.
My gaze never leaves Robert’s as I choke out, “Last night. I told him he might be Bridget’s father and slept with him.”
Feeling sick to my stomach, I let the silence settle between us.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks and Robert offers the man the semblance of a polite smile and orders for both of us. He orders my favorite and exactly what I would have ordered myself. Because he already knows. He knows everything about me.
The air of confidence around him dissipates the moment the waiter leaves. “You slept with him?”
“Yes,” I say with a calm demeanor even though it eats me up inside. It shouldn’t. I don’t owe Robert an explanation, but I give it to him anyway. “I really like him.”
“But you don’t love him,” he offers.
I can never repay him for the grace he gives me. There’s no hostility, nothing but a simple question about love. My heart shatters for us when I realize that truth.
“No, I don’t know him enough to love him like that.”
Robert nods, his eyes glistening and holding a faint tinge of red, but he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t say anything at all although he does finish his drink.
I suppose I can’t blame him.
“Say something, please.” I hate the silence between us and the tense air. I never wanted this. I didn’t think it would be like this.
“What do you want me to say, Mags?” He’s obviously upset and my heart aches with his. Why does it feel like a breakup? I never wanted to feel this way with him. In all our highs and lows, I’ve only ever felt this way once and I can’t go back to that night again. He tells me with all sincerity, “I still love you.”
“I love you too.” I’ll always love him. He knows that. I know he does.
His response is immediate and resolute. “Then don’t see him again.”
“I can’t just ignore him, Robert—” He cuts me off before I can explain myself. My head is a whirlwind of thoughts and questions. My heart races with uncertainty but also hope. Hope that’s long since been dormant but is now being stirred with low flames.
“You gave him a chance, Mags,” he says and lays his hand on the table again. Because of the hurt in his gaze, I reach out this time, letting him hold me and I’m holding him just the same. “Don’t I deserve a chance too?” he whispers and then he adds, much stronger, much more confident, “What if I asked you to marry me?”
AUTUMN NIGHT WHISKEY
One man loved me when I didn’t even like myself. The town whispered that we were star-crossed lovers … among other things. He was my first love, but so out of reach with where fate had taken me.
With a little girl to look after and a past I wished I didn’t have, things were never going to be easy when it came to my life in this small town. Let alone my love life.
At least that’s what I thought until he showed up. A former flame who still ignited a part of me I thought had long gone.
As if life wasn’t complicated enough.
Two men want me, two men kissed me … and my heart is split between them both.
PROLOGUE
Magnolia
Three years ago
Two Advils sit in the palm of my hand, and I’m quick to throw them back and wash them down with a bit of tea. It’s the perfect temperature. A black and white caricature of a Boston terrier wearing pink glasses with a fifties-style bow adorning her ear looks back at me from the ceramic mug as I set it down on the counter. Quietly. Everything is done oh so quietly so I don’t wake up Bridget … again. Please, Lord, let my little girl sleep for more than twenty minutes. Unless she’s on top of me, her little fists holding on to my shirt, sleep is hit or miss.