Page 123 of For the Plot
“Everything,” I say. And then some. “He made me feel like I wasn’t just wanted. I was worshipped.”
Maya lets out a dreamy sigh.
“He said he loves me.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him I love him too.”
Another pause. Then her voice is softer.
“And do you?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I do.”
And this time, I don’t feel scared saying it. I feel like I’m finally saying something that’s been true all along.
The Uber pulls to a stop,and I sit frozen in the back seat. There’s no way. I lean forward, squinting through the tinted glass as my driver raises an unimpressed brow. “We’re here.”
We definitely are.Here.The dive bar. The one with the sticky floors, bad lighting, and even worse karaoke. The place where I saw him again for the first time in years. Where everything fell apart and, somehow, started to come together.
I step out into the cool night air and spot him immediately. He’s leaning against the brick wall like he owns the entire block. His hands are in his coat pockets, eyes locked on me like I’m the only woman on the planet.
I walk toward him slowly, heart pounding. “Seriously?”
He pushes off the wall, his mouth curving into a slow, devastating smile. “You look surprised.”
“I’msuspicious.This better not be a flash mob proposal.”
That earns me a soft chuckle as he opens the door behind him and gestures for me to go inside. “No flash mob. No big gestures. Just… us.”
The bar is empty. No bartender. No patrons. No screeching laughter from the pool table in the back or terrible Bon Jovi covers bleeding out of the jukebox.
It’s dimly lit. But in the corner, there’s a table set with a white linen cloth, a flickering candle, and a small glass vase with three peonies.
My favorite flower. My chest tightens. “You did all this?”
He steps behind me, hands sliding around my waist as his mouth finds my ear. “I wanted to bring you back to where it started. And I wanted to make it right this time.”
I turn in his arms and stare up at him. “You remember everything, don’t you?”
“I could recite that night word for word.”
“I was drunk.”
“I wasn’t.” His voice drops. “I was captivated, enamored.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the booth. I slide into the seat, and he joins me, our bodies pressing against each other. There’s wine already open, glasses waiting to be filled. He pours me one without asking and sets it in front of me.
“By a drunk woman in leggings and a smart mouth.”
He smirks, sliding closer. “The same woman who knocked me on my ass the second I saw her.”
For a moment, we just sit there, the soft hum of Sinatra from the jukebox wrapping around us like something sacred. Then he extends his hand.
“Dance with me.”
I glance around the empty bar. “There’s literally no one here.”
