Page 27 of The Twelve-Hour Rule
“Then we moved to New York for grad school. I did architecture, he went to a full time MBA program,” I continue. “He got this amazing opportunity and I followed because that’s what you do when you’re in love, right? You build around each other. Only… it turns out I built more around him than I realized.”
His brow furrows slightly. “How long were you together?”
“Fifteen years. Married for seven.” I force a small smile. “Separated for over a year now, and my divorce finalized in September.”
He lets out a low whistle. “That’s… a lot of history.”
“Yeah,” I glance at him. “What about you? You talk like someone who never stays still.”
He chuckles. “Oh, I definitely don’t. I majored in economics, did a few years in corporate, then got an MBA while working. Been bouncing between clients and airports ever since. My apartment is mostly just a place where my mail piles up.”
“Sounds glamorous.”
“It’s not.” He looks out toward the balcony, sunlight catching on his lashes. “It’s hotel rooms that all look the same. Excessive amounts of coffee and way too many flights to keep track of.”
“Then why keep doing it?”
He shrugs. “Because it’s what I’m good at. And I guess I like fixing things. Or trying to, at least.”
Something softens in me at that. The way he says it—quietly, without pretense—makes me want to reach across the tray andtouch him. I don’t. Instead, I let my foot slide closer until it brushes against his leg under the sheets.
“Maybe you should take your own advice,” I say.
He turns to me, curious. “What advice is that?”
“To let things be easy.”
He smiles, slow and genuine, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside this room doesn’t exist.
CHAPTER 14
BEN
The restaurant is buzzingwith that post-holiday glow. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in the heat for Christmas and it makes everything feel different. More hopeful. The wedding party is over and I skipped the last few events they had planned, a farewell brunch this morning, and just found Jaime in the resort somewhere to thank him for the invitation. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world.
A trio in linen shirts plays slow festive songs on guitar near the entrance, and every table is covered in flickering candles and red-and-white flowers. It smells like grilled fish and sunscreen and a little bit like perfume—hers, probably.
Sol sits across from me in a red dress, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she scans the menu, even though she already told me she’s ordering whatever comes with the coconut rice. She looks calm, but there’s this looseness to her tonight that I haven’t seen in the past few days. Her shoulders aren’t tense, her voice isn’t clipped. She’s smiling.
And it’s uninhibited and addictive.
It feels exactly right and completely wrong at the same time.
“You see those people there?” She glances toward a nearby table where a group of older couples is watching us withapproving smiles. “We probably look like a honeymoon couple. You’ve got that dazed expression.”
The waiter decides to drop off our drinks at that exact moment, and I don’t have time to react to what she said. But something inside me stirs in that oh-so-familiar way. The dangerous territory I’ve been trying to avoid so much this year.
“How does your family do Christmas?” she asks. “I mean, if you want to tell me.”
“It’s nothing like this.” I gesture around us. “Quiet dinner, background music, even conversations.”
She tilts her head, considering.
“The Connecticut suburbs are very quiet. Very white, too. It’s my mom, my sister, her husband and their kids. They have a set of twins who will be three next month. They’re amazing.”
“And your dad?”
I shake my head because even twenty years later it still stings a little. “He passed when my sister and I were teenagers. Leukemia.”
