Page 82 of Keepsake
“Of course.”
I chose a bottle of chianti.
When our food came, it was rich and satisfying. This restaurant was fancier than the word “tavern” suggested, without being fussy.
Zach examined the crystal goblet in his hand. “I like this place, but it makes me feel like an impostor.”
“What do you mean?”
“Every other guy in here is probably named Ethan and drives a Mercedes.”
“Well, maybe.” I glanced around. It was a weeknight, which tended to bring out the retired couples. And Woodstock was one of the most moneyed towns in Vermont. “But the point of staying in hotels isn’t to worry about whether you fit in. Nobody does. We’re all just borrowing a little corner of someone else’s world.”
“Hmm.” He sipped his wine and smiled at me again. “So I’m an Ethan for the night?”
“Exactly. And I’m…” What would Ethan’s girlfriend be named? I took a sip of wine and tried to decide. Jessica? Emily?
“Beverly,” he suggested.
“Beverly?” I tried not to aspirate my wine. “Ugh. That’s not sexy.”
He shrugged. “If I’m Ethan, you’re Beverly.”
“Fine,” I gave in. “You’re my insurance salesman, and I’m your interior designer. We fell in love over an annuity contract.” I found his feet under the table and tucked mine against them.
“Later I’ll show you my policies.” He lifted his eyebrows at me, and I giggled.
After dinnerwe made a half-assed attempt at pretending we weren’t in Woodstock for the sole purpose of having lots of sex. We walked up and down the town’s adorable Main Street, window shopping, since all the stores were closed for the night.
Zach was always more talkative when it was just the two of us. He held my hand and told me a funny story about Audrey’s first time picking apples this season.
“She said, ‘Griff, there’s something wrong with this one tree.’ And he said, ‘That’s okay, baby, you won’t find apples on it because that’s a plum tree.’”
“Aw! When does Griff get Audrey back?”
“Three weeks? Something like that.”
The wordsthree weeksjust sort of hung in the air for a moment, making us both glum.
We headed back up the Inn’s long walkway, toward the elegant porch. “Where did the fall go already?”
Zach didn’t say anything, so I checked his face, which was downcast.
Shit. “Hey. Thank you for being the only person who hasn’t quizzed me about what I’m going to do about that letter.” I squeezed his hand.
He sighed. “It’s not that I don’t care, but I assume you’ll let me know when you figure it out.”
“I’m frustrated with them, but also myself,” I admitted. “I’ve never been a drama queen. I’m not fearful. I don’t hide fromanything.”
Zach squeezed my hand as we walked through the double doors and the lobby toward our room. And he listened. Like he always did.
“But I don’t feel like I can walk in there and sit down at my old desk and handle their bullshit anymore.”
“So don’t,” he said. “Maybe a different job would feel better. You could work for someone who doesn’t make you angry.”
“Except I don’t know who I’m angry at,” I admitted, pulling out the room key and swiping it past the reader. I pushed the door open. “It’s not their fault that I didn’t listen to instructions. They’re not the ones who grabbed me off the street. God, I’m so sick of being inside my own head. I’m so sick of me.” I flung myself down, stretched across the giant bed.
Zach lay down beside me, his chin on his arms. “I’m not sick of you.” He slid a hand down my hair. “And I won’t ever be sick of you.”
