Page 2 of Vintage

She nodded eagerly, flashing me that radiant smile of hers.

Amery is quite discerning about her friendships and the circles she moves in. She always remains somewhat guarded. She chooses to engage in deep conversations only with those who matter, and I’m fortunate enough to be the one who sees all her facets—professional, friendly, romantic, and vulnerable.

“Oh…” Her nose scrunched up, and I immediately felt a twinge of concern.

Did I forget to pick up her pecan pie this Saturday? No, I have a subscription with the local bakery, so that can’t be it.

I can’t recall upsetting her, either.

“Yes?” I responded cautiously, savoring the soup dumplings and kung pao.

Amery is half-Chinese, but let’s be real—she’s not exactly a cultural connoisseur. The only thing she truly savors is food, and that’s thanks to her mom and grandma being culinary wizards.

Sure, her family’s based in LA, but we’ve made it a tradition to jet over for festivals, and it lights up Amery’s world. A happy wife? That’s the golden rule for a blissful life.

"I know that look," she squinted, and I couldn’t help but smirk. After eight glorious years of marriage, she’s got me all figured out.

"What’s on your mind, Mrs. Rowan?" I tilted my chin, and she shrugged, plopping down beside me.

As I munched away, she tapped her fingers on the counter, clearly gathering her thoughts like a storm brewing.

"I overheard something while grocery shopping this afternoon. Stopped by the farmer's shop post-lunch..." She dragged it out, and I waited, my patience a virtue.

With a huff of frustration, she shot up and kicked the wall, and my heart plummeted.

"What’s wrong, Mrs. Rowan? Tell me."

Her eyes glistened, lips quivering as she turned to me.

"I know it’s just gossip, and we’re madly in love... But just listen, okay? Then hug me and tell me it’s all a lie."

Confusion clouded my mind as I stood and wrapped her in my arms, kissing her forehead to calm the storm within her. The tremors in her shoulders shattered me.

"Are you having an affair with the new tenant from the old mansion by the lake? The girl who brings you flowers to the studio every day?" Her voice, muffled against my chest, broke into soft sobs.

I froze, a statue of disbelief.

She slipped from my embrace, kicking the wall again.

"Come on, Ro! Tell me I’m overthinking this and that you still cherish our marriage."

The silence between us thickened, alive and suffocating.

Life as Amir Rowan, the charismatic extrovert known for his whimsical wooden sculptures scattered across the globe, was pleasant enough. But nothing compares to the fulfillment I found in settling down in Willow Crest with my college sweetheart, now my wife.

Yet, "fulfillment" feels like a distant memory. Two years of love, eight years of marriage, and yet, I find myself grappling with an unsettling emptiness.

I pride myself on being a loyal man, but lately, I question my feelings for my wife.

She possesses an elegance that captivates me, her cinnamon-brown eyes sparkling with life, leaving me in a constant state of admiration. I still remember the rush of my heart when I first met her, standing up to a professor over her lost research.

She’s refreshingly straightforward. When her nose crinkles, I know she’s upset. When she bites her lip, it’s a sign of uncertainty or a hidden smile that could light up the darkest room.

Amery is that simple girl, always ready with a compliment, rolling her eyes at those she disdains, and kicking the wall when tears threaten to spill. She’s the one who never holds a grudge and is effortlessly pleased.

Having known Amery for over a decade—first as her senior, then as her boyfriend, and now as her husband—I cherish our bond. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling that our relationship has lost its spark.

Despite this longing for my wife, my loyalty remains unshaken. The girl who has caught my attention is merely a customer who commissioned apiece from me; I rarely turn anyone away in this tight-knit community where Sunday lunches are a common tradition.

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