“You remember that little Italian restaurant we found near the beach?”

I ignored Corbin, my attention locked on my phone. Even though he was hundreds of miles away, I felt Jacob. Felt his hands on my shoulders, massaging the tightly coiled muscles. Whispering that when I got on the other side of this, the three of us would find somewhere warm, with sand like golden glitter and blue water that stretched as far as the eye could see.

All I had was characters on a screen, but it was enough to keep me from tossing my glass of Merlot in Corbin’s face.

Jacob: I’m so proud of you for sitting across from him, going through this.

I balled my fists in my lap, trying to see the bright side as Corbin droned on about nights long past. I wished I could remember the soft focus, cotton candy memories the way he did. The dinner he was referencing? He was waxing romantic about Maurice's, this itty bitty restaurant tucked away from the boardwalk, where the bread was as fragrant as the ocean. He seemed to have forgotten that was where the romance ended. The minute we walked in and the busty brunette host locked eyes on him, I had to grin and bear it as she shamelessly flirted with him—and he never once introduced me or made it clear that we were on a date, not casual strangers that somehow ended up sitting at the same table.

Me: I just keep reminding myself it’s for the kids.

“What was that place called?”

It’s for the kids.

It’s for the kids.

It’s for the kids.

“Maurice's,” I muttered, picking at my nail. Scrolling through my Instagram feed. Wondering why I had the bright idea to do a three course dinner in the first place. Doing everything I could to avoid looking at Corbin. His reflection in the mirror before was enough to bring my heart to a full stop. His blonde shaggy hair was pulled back, but he left out a few pieces that fell into his storm cloud eyes. I’d glimpsed him in the finest duds I’d ever seen him in, his tux tailored to his muscular body. There was nothing playful to be found at his neck. Corbin Wolfe didn’t do bow ties. He looked like a bonafide super spy with his onyx strip of silk, the darkness making the clouds ripple with coming thunder.

Thunder that rippled through me when I saw his calloused fingers reach for my wine glass.

Wait-

I had no choice but to look him dead on, fuming as he held the glass to the light. My stomach flip flopped like a fish out of the water as I watched him rotate the glass, zeroing in on the rim. Looking for the lipstick smudge. Eyeing me defiantly as he brought it to his mouth. He moaned like it was the best swig of wine he’d ever tasted.

I rolled my eyes, but I knew the heat in my cheeks gave me away and I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing that he was having an effect on me.

I pivoted to the bar near the door where the server was waiting. And by waiting, I mean that she was watching Corbin’s every movement—and ignoring me. If he sniffed, she would have dashed over with a napkin. I had to wave my arm to get her to pry her eyes from him.

She darted over, her face nearly as red as mine. “How may I be of...service?” She directed the last bit at Corbin.

I paused, leaving him plenty of airspace to get his flirt on. Laugh. Comment on how helpful she was being. Ask her to remind him of her name, with promises not to forget it. Standard Corbin stuff.

He said nothing, so she shifted her gaze back to me. I glanced over at him, swallowing the knot in my throat when I realized that he hadn’t taken his eyes off me since we sat down.

I swept a flyaway behind my ear and nodded at my wine glass. “Can I get another?”

She looked confused. Probably because it was still halfway full. “Um, more wine?”

“Yes,” I said flatly, turning back to my salad. I started stabbing at croutons and lettuce, hoping she would get the picture. She lingered for a few more seconds, then headed off to oblige.

If my slight affected Corbin, I saw no indication of it. In fact, he took his still-half-full glass of wine and poured it into my glass and had another sip.

“I can’t believe you remember the name of the restaurant,” he mused.

I forced an oversized bite in my mouth. I didn’t bother with manners, talking around the Caesar salad. “You know what else I remember? The host’s breasts almost spilling out of her shirt and you cheesing at her like you couldn’t wait to find out how those double D’s would feel in your hands.”

“That’s quite a mouth for a billionaire’s wife,” he whistled. “And while we’re surrounded by such opulence!”

I swallowed the last bit, glaring at him. Through him. “I’m more than a billionaire’s wife. I’m still Leila. And it’s good to see that you’re still a jerk.”

The playful lilt in his voice dissipated. “I’m-you...” He cleared his throat, redness flushing his cheek as he adjusted his tie. “I know you’re still Leila. Why else do you think I dropped thousands of dollars to have a meal that I could get at the family diner up the street for a fraction of the cost?”

“Jesus Christ,” I scoffed, tossing my napkin on the table. I thought I could do this, but I was wrong. “How about you do it for the kids? How about you do something for someone else for a change?”

That would have been the perfect line to part ways. Let him chew on that.

But I cared about the kids and I wouldn’t put it past Corbin to renege on the whole thing because he didn’t get what he paid for.

And, er, the server was awkwardly standing beside me with a fresh glass of wine.

“Thank you,” I snipped. Downed the whole thing in a handful of hearty gulps. Considered asking if she had anything harder.

“You really don’t like me very much, do you?”

I dabbed at my mouth, glad that I’d been too busy staring at the chandelier to catch  those eyes. He talked a big game, but that was one thing we had in common—the truth was in the eyes. And from the raw, blistering pain he stuffed into his question, those eyes would have been screaming ‘Say it ain’t so, Leila’.

“You have enough people that do. That worship you. I’m sure our server would run away with you, if you just said the word.” I slowly pulled my gaze from the chandelier to the crown molding, to the top of his golden head, and paused when I hit the very things that I was trying to avoid. I wanted him to be looking in her direction, eating up the attention and adoration. But he was looking at me.

Only me.

I asked the last question I should have asked. “Why do you care if I like you?”

He didn’t answer with his words. That would have been too easy. With Corbin, it was one of two things: wise cracks or bullshit. He was a master pick up artist before that was a thing. Knew just what to say and how to say it to make a woman a slave to his touch. Hooked on what she thought was a pretty good catch, only to find out that she was merely the flavor of the week—and Sunday was right around the corner.

But this wasn’t his standard ‘wolf hunting for prey’ stare. This was the look he had when he explained that he’d have me over, but his mom had nowhere to go and she had ‘problems with alcohol’. He never called her an alcoholic, but his eyes flashed every time she was mentioned, like he was reliving every bender. Every cleanup. Every insult.

This was the look he had when he was lost in music, strumming his guitar with his mouth twisted to one side with the guitar pick hanging out.

This was the look he had when he wrapped me in his arms the first time I was bold enough to say that this was more than a physical thing to me. He was the one that breathed life into what it was.

The first to say the L word.

I was the first to look away.

At my phone.

Worst case scenario, there was fine print for this little shindig. An escape hatch, if anyone ended up in an awkward situation. The ‘dinner’ had to last, at minimum, one hour.

I swiped my wine. “Just FYI, you have thirty minutes left. I’d make the most of it.”

“Well, then.” He snatched up his menu, the moment forgotten and we were back to pretending like nothing and no one fazed him. He smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “Guess we should skip right to dessert.”

Thirty minutes was officially too long to put up with his company. “Look-“

“Alright, alright—I’ll behave.” The sinister little smile was still on his face, but the anger that threatened to gobble me whole had waned, replaced by something different. I tilted my head to the side, regarding everything from the villainous set of his mouth to the hair that forced you to imagine pulling it. The fingers that had known hard work stood in stark contrast to all the finery that surrounded us. They looked better suited for doing dirty work, like taking rats out for a drive in the country. Rich’s face flashed in my mind and I couldn’t help but shake my head. They were like two flirts in a pod...both attractive, head turners who would never be mistaken for the hero in the movie. Before I knew it, all the dots connected and I was back at the last time we’d seen each other. We were a little less fancy then, but we sat across from each other at a similar table, with me trying to find out why he was back in my life.

Back in my life.

Corbin Wolfe. Lucky me.

I could give him thirty minutes.

For the kids.

“Why Whitmore and Creighton?”

He didn’t lift his eyes from the menu. “Aren’t you guys the best at what you do?”

I wish I could say flattery got him nowhere, but I sat up a little taller in my seat, puffing my chest out a bit. “Absolutely.”

He kept skimming the menu, like there was thirteen choices instead of three. “Well, there you go.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” I rebutted. “Or why you apparently fired Missy.”

“There’s not much to tell,” he shrugged. His eyes lifted from the page and he flashed me a triumphant grin. “The creme brûlée sounds freaking delicious!” He brought his fingers to his mouth, like he could already taste the caramelized bits on his lips. He snapped his fingers, his eyes brightening. I held my breath, hoping his eureka moment meant he finally understood I had no interest in going down Memory Lane with him.

“You remember when we tried the creme brûlée at the fancy ass restaurant in Durham and it ended up being some eggy, yogurt mess?”

I drummed my fingernails on the table, deciding that I was done with this little dance he was intent on doing. This was classic Corbin. Evading, forcing you on some emotional treasure hunt where you had to perform great leaps of effort just to get another clue. All of it just led to more questions. More pulling of teeth. I just wanted him to be straight with me. After everything he put me through, combined with a sinking feeling that this could be the new norm—seeing him at the office, seeing him around town, seeing him at random functions...no. I wasn’t buying a ticket for this merry go round.

I put my fork down and dabbed at my lips, keeping the napkin in place, hiding my mouth because I didn’t want him to see the twitch. The snarl. He brought out the worst in me. The anger. The ugliness. The insecurity. I’d come too far to let him drag me back into a pit of despair and stress.

“I’m not here to talk about the past-”

“Why are you here, Leila?” He asked it simply, turning the tables and putting me on the spot.

“I’m here because...because,” I sputtered, nostrils flaring, boiling point within reach. “Because of the kids. And unlike you, I keep my word.”

“The kids?” he snorted, finally letting me see something other than his smug facade. “That’s bullshit. Your billionaire husband could cut whatever check or whatever penalty would occur if I wanted to be a dick and not pay up-”

“Stop calling him that-”

“Can’t you be honest? You didn’t come here because you wanted to know why I popped up at Whitmore and Creighton. You came here because you wanted to make sure that I knew that you still haven’t forgiven me. And that you’ll never forget.”

I wanted to tell him he was full of shit. That he had no right to speak for me. That I was asking out of professional courtesy, because he reminded me of my latest train wreck rehabilitation. But he was up on his feet, tossing his napkin on the table.

I snapped to my feet in kind. “I guess I better ask my billionaire husband to pony up 5k.”

He went so still that I had pause. Wondered if all that wishing him bad ill back in the day had finally come to collect and somebody upstairs had turned him to stone.

He came back to life, slowly reaching into his lapel. Before I had time to react, frustration, anxiety and adrenaline turning me into a statue, he was all up in my personal space. Face mere inches from mine. Close enough that I could feel him breathe.

And his eyes?

They rippled with something else.

Something cold and brittle.

He reached out with his hand and I had a premonition that he was about to do something crazy like brush my breast. Touching me, in any way, shape, form, or fashion, was not happening on my watch.

I recoiled, a verbal smackdown hot on my lips, but he made it clear I’d jumped the shark, dropping a check on the table in front of me.

“I’ve done some regretful shit in my life, but I’m not a horrible person, Leila.”

Stunned, I just blinked, eyes glazing over the check. Over his signature. Over more money in one fell swoop that either of us thought we’d ever be capable of.

I kept staring as his footfalls echoed behind me, wishing I wasn’t so petty but the thought that echoed through my head wasn’t relief.

That’s the third time Corbin Wolfe walked out on me.

*

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU had dinner with that-” She wringed the stuffed animal in her hands like she was imagining Corbin’s neck. “-boy.”

I saved Hope’s toy from certain death, already regretting my decision to confide in my mother. I’d been hoping for some TLC, since Jacob wouldn’t be home until tomorrow afternoon. I should have known that was a tall order for Cheryl Montgomery, especially since she still couldn’t bring herself to call Corbin by his name.

When we dated, she called him my friend. When we broke up, she called him a jerk, which got two thumbs way up from yours truly. He’d be thrilled to learn that he’d been upgraded to ‘boy’.

Hope was catching Z’s in her playpen. I dusted honey brown locks that spilled onto her forehead and nestled the stuffed animal beside her before I went back to the kitchen. I pressed a finger across my lips.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ve had a hell of a time keeping her in La La Land lately when it’s bedtime and I don’t want to wake her-”

“Hope is just fine,” she dismissed me with a flick of her wrist, but my scowl was enough for her to beckon me to follow her to the den, out of earshot of sleeping babes.

I obliged, grabbing the glass of wine I’d poured, almost adding more, then deciding against it. She’d already arched a judgmental brow when I popped the cork.

My mother stood in the center of the room, a human art piece titled ‘Pissed Off Mom’.

She took root on the center of the Persian rug, the glittering chandelier overhead giving me a magnified look at the woman who brought me into this world—and the last time I’d mentioned Corbin, threatened to personally take him out of it. She was my height, but she had a few extra inches on me because she’d jumped on the platform sneaker bandwagon, buying the hype that being off the ground would help her a lose a few pounds. She looked the part of a woman with an eye on the prize, a track suit wrapped around her average frame. You needed all the help you could get if you were chasing Hope around. From the chin up, she looked like she was headed out on the town, because my mother didn’t leave the house without her face on. First there was foundation, then enough blush that it was hard to tell if the heightened red in her cheeks was because I told her about my surprise dinner guest, or if it was compliments of her makeup brush. Her brown eyes were narrowed slits, practically black because she was annoyed. I’d give my mom this one thing though—her winged eyeliner was impressive. The last time I’d tried such a thing without a professional, I was a lopsided mess.

“Nice eyeliner, Mom.” I said brightly, aiming for the couch that was a safe distance from the lasers that were shooting from her eyes. I hadn’t even told her what happened before she turned into The Terminator, ready to turn all things Corbin into dust.

She saw right through my compliment. “Don’t change the subject, Leila.” She put her hands on her spandex clad hips, her mouth a lipsticked snarl. “Why did you have dinner with that boy?!”

“Corbin hasn’t been a ‘boy’ in years, Mom,” I sighed. I almost pinched the bridge of my nose and did some deep breathing, trying to not transport myself back in time. I’d rolled my eyes when she’d downplayed his significance in my life but now, I was just trying to pick my next words carefully. Anxiety was making do crazy stuff, like defending a man that I couldn’t stand either. “And it’s not like I had a choice! He bid on the dinner-”

“Oh, please,” she huffed, stalking over to the window. Looking outside, like she couldn’t stand to look at me. “Even if there was some sort of forfeit of whatever bid he made, you and Jacob could have made the donation anyway.”

“Maybe I wanted him to see that he didn’t win,” I said, sticking out my bottom lip stubbornly.

She snorted. “How did that work out for you?”

I opened my mouth to retort, to ask her whose side she was on anyway, when I realized the hand that was holding the wine glass was shaking so hard that I was gonna spill it all over myself...and this fancy number was a loan from a designer.

Speaking of... “You didn’t say anything about my dress, my makeup-”

“And what did Corbin say about your dress and makeup?”

“He-” I stopped short, my stomach twisting. Annoyance flaring in my chest. Indignation. He hadn’t said a thing about me. I didn’t know what hurt more—that he was still all about himself, that my mother knew that he was still all about himself, or that I cared that he hadn’t complimented me.

Mom pivoted back to me, the battle lines on her face relaxing. “You look lovely, Leila. Like a dark swan.”

She didn’t say it with jubilation, like I was the belle of the ball—and I had been, until I realized who I was having dinner with. Paparazzi had swarmed me when I walked the red carpet, Missy had forgiven me for costing her a client and asked who my designer was, and when I texted Jacob before I went backstage, he told me that he wished he was there so he could see the dress in person. He even joked that he was gonna ‘personally remove it’.

“This isn’t about dresses or compliments, you know that, right? This is about that-” ‘Boy’ was hot on her tongue. Boiling in her eyes. “Corbin.”

I put down my wine glass, impressed that she said his name and didn’t projectile vomit, The Exorcist-style. “I’m aware-”

“See, that those are your first words...” She shook her head, her eyes filled with disappointment.  Like they’d been when I brought home a D in Algebra II. Or when she caught me in a lie, not at Stacy’s watching a movie like I told her when I was fifteen. Or when I didn’t invite her to see my turn as the ‘Angry Vagina’ when I was in the Vagina Monologues back in college because I didn’t think she’d be able to handle it.

It hurt.

Disappointing her, even unintentionally, hurt.

“Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I’m the one that had to pick up the pieces when he decided he didn’t want to be in your life anymore.” She leveled me with her glare, recounting history with such crystal clarity that I could see it replay before my very eyes. Me not leaving my room for days at a time. Subsisting on Doritos, ice cream, and Pepsi. Not bathing. Not going outside.

Not moving on.

“You were ready to defer your enrollment for him. Put your whole life, your whole future on hold out of some misplaced hope that he’d realize that he made a mistake.”

“I don’t need you to recap it, I lived it,” I said, my voice testy, earning a look from her. One of those ‘you’re never too old to be put across my lap’ looks. I was, but I still picked up my wine and gulped it down before I got myself in trouble.

“I know you lived it. I did too. And just for the record, he did make a mistake. He threw away an amazing young woman.”

My heart twitched in my chest. I almost thanked her, or aww-ed, but she wasn’t done.

“I don’t know or care what his story is, why he’s decided to pop back into your life—but it should be irrelevant. You have your own life now, Leila. A life you’ve worked hard to build. Bid or not, you don’t owe him a thing.” She took a breath, stroking her chin thoughtfully. “If you want creative ways to get rid of him-”

“That’s quite alright,” I laughed, catching the tears at the edge of my eyes with my knuckle. “I doubt I’ll be seeing him again. I spent most of the dinner ignoring him. The rest of the time, I refreshed his memory on what an asshole he was. And is,” I added for posterity.

As much as she acted like the dinner was the worst thing I could have done, she stepped close, her face brightening with interest. “And?”

“And he didn’t disappoint,” I replied, fingering the tulle. “Years have passed, he’s a little grungier, a little less muscle addicted, but he’s basically the same. It’s Corbin Wolfe’s world, we’re just living in it.”

“What a jerk,” she fumed, letting go of the last bits of her anger at me and joining me on the couch. She had to squeeze in the tiny space that my tulle left her, but from the split second change from ‘I’m going to strangle someone’ to ‘Glitter!!’, I don’t think she minded much. Eyes that looked like mine swept over me from head to skirt. “His loss, Leila Rae. You are truly beautiful.”

I waved off the warm and fuzzy moment but she’d already gotten her hooks in me—my face was on fire, the feeling of being simultaneously embarrassed and basking in her love overwhelming me. “You’re just saying that because you’re my mom.”

Which is why you never told her about how things really ended. Because if she knew, she really would’ve offed Corbin.

“I’m saying it because it’s the truth.” In true, overbearing fashion, she eased the wine glass from my hands. “Please tell me you told Jacob about this dinner?”

“Of course!” I nodded, eyeing the red liquid. “In fact, he was the one who told me to go through with it.”

“What?” she shrieked. I had to help her put the glass down. “My Jacob told you to go through with it?” She got that stubborn look on her face, like she knew the truth and unless I had proof, she wasn’t buying it. “I just-”

She stopped mid-sentence, a vibrating sound stealing the show. Even though Hope was in the next room and from the silence emanating from the monitor, she was still sound asleep, we went into action mode. My phone was in my clutch, which was in the foyer.

That meant it was coming from my mother.

She pulled out the culprit, her flip phone shuddering until she opened it and brought it to her ear.

“Hello...” Her face creased into a frown, until she heard something on the other end that made her grin like it was my turn to frown. “It’s never an inconvenient time for my son-in-law to call me!”

Son-in-law?

Why was Jacob calling my mom?

She swam through a sea of tulle and hopped to her feet, engrossed in whatever he was saying. “Mmhm. Right! We were just talking about you, actually.” She finally remembered me, flashing a wink my way.

I scooted to the edge of the couch. “That’s Jacob? Can I-”

She put a finger to her lips. “Right!” She turned away from me, dropping her volume like they were having a top secret conversation. “She’s here with me.” She raked a hand through her salt and pepper locks. “Absolutely! Earl actually just finished building a little something that he’s been dying to unveil.”

I was on my feet, doing some awkward dance with my mother. I’d move closer, mouthing if I could talk to Jacob, only to have her shy away, shush or dodge me. “I’ll get her packed! Here’s Leila!”

I glared as I took the phone from her, my under breath comment completely wasted because she was already out of the room.

I brought the phone to my ear. “Jacob? What’s-”

“Stop talking,” he interrupted.

“Excuse me?” I followed up, my nostrils flaring. “If we were in scene, that would be totally appropriate-”

“We are in scene, love.”

I gulped, pricks of excitement racing over me before I pulled away from the door like my mother would overhear. “I don’t understand.”

“Do you trust me?”

The laundry list of questions I had came to a screeching halt.

“Of course I do.” The ‘but’ bloomed, so close to being said I impressed us both by leaving it at that.

“Good girl.” His deep voice rippled through me and I wondered if a part of him was blooming too.

Growing.

Hardening.

“Your mother will be taking Hope for the evening, and I’m sending a car for you. I’ve already texted you everything you need to know.”

Excitement was outweighing my curiosity, but I still tried to glean what he had in store. “I should probably change-”

“You better not,” he cut in gruffly. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I was gonna to take it off myself.”

But that meant-

“Oh.”

I did a little happy dance, squealing on the inside.

“Check your phone. If you agree to submit, text me back ‘Yes sir.’ Understood?”

Whatever was in store, it included Jacob.

My answer was yes.

It would always be yes.

“Understood.”

“See you soon.”

He disconnected the call and I finished my wine, moving back to the main room. I paused at the playpen and lifted Hope to my chest. I knew she got grumpy when she got woken up, but I breathed in her smell anyway. Kissed her as gently as I could manage. I nestled her back in with her tiny stuffed animal. She barely gurgled before she snuggled back into the position I’d found her.

I shot to the foyer, finding my clutch where I left it. I found my phone, bringing it back to life after I tapped in my passcode. I didn’t have the patience to wait for it to read my thumbprint.

There was a new text message waiting from Jacob.

Remove your bra and panties prior to boarding.