Page 81 of Pucking Wild

“Can I ask you something?” I say, borrowing her line from the restaurant.

She nods, even though I see that wary look in her eyes.

Braving my fear that she’ll shut me down again, I ask the question I’ve been pondering for weeks. “When did you know your marriage was over?”

31

Iwant to kiss him.

That’s the mantra I’ve been chanting in my head for the last ten minutes. Holding him close, sharing his warmth, basking in the feel of his absolute attention.

I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him.

And Ryan Langley is a damn good kisser. Beyond the obvious mutual attraction, he makes me feel safe. He makes me laugh. It’s almost like he tries to pull them out of me, like hewantsto hear me laugh. It’s endearing…and, quite frankly, a little disorienting.

I’m standing here, with no other witnesses except the sand and the sea, and I’m activelynotkissing Ryan Langley. I want to fix this. Immediately. Fuck what I said earlier about keeping my distance. We should always only ever be kissing.

I shift my weight, inching closer to him. This towel was both a genius idea and a terrible one. Because now I can smell the crisp, clean notes of his aftershave. That scent is coiling deep in my senses, setting a little light in my core. It flickers hopeful, growing stronger.

But then his hand stiffens on me. And then he’s turning, a question in his eyes. “Can I ask you something?” he says. And I know it will be about Troy. He must have questions. Any man would. He’s been honest with me tonight. Can I bear to do the same?

Slowly, I nod.

“When did you know your marriage was over?”

“Wow.” I’m surprised by how poignant the question is. He’s not askingifit’s over. He’s not even asking when it ended. What he’s asking is a much more sophisticated kind of question. I’d expect nothing less from my cerebral Virgo hockey boy. He wants to know when I was done. When did I check out? When did I know there was nothing left?

I swallow down the lump of emotion in my throat, clearing my voice. “Umm…I think it would have to be about five years ago,” I admit.

“So, two years before you actually split?”

I nod. Of course, he remembers the timeline. I’ve given him so little to work with, it practically fits on a Post-it. I bet he has it memorized.

“Yeah, it was that Christmas,” I explain. “Christmas dinner, actually. His mother always throws these beautiful, extravagant holiday parties. She loves showing off the family and pretending like we’re all happy, you know?”

He nods, listening as I speak.

“She’ll invite clients and old family friends. They’re always these big to-dos. But they’re intimate too,” I add. “We sing carols and do a gift exchange, and there’s usually always an ugly sweater contest.” I smile, picturing Bea in a gaudy reindeer sweater with blinking Christmas tree lights wrapped around its horns.

“What happened?”

I sigh, looking out at the ocean. “We were at dinner, and Troy was seated next to me. We’d only just sat down, and we were all shuffling the plates, you know, passing the relish tray and the breadbasket, asking your neighbor for the salt and pepper.”

He nods, still listening.

“Someone passed Troy the basket of dinner rolls,” I explain. “He took two, set them on his plate, and then he passed the basket across me to his cousin sitting on my other side.”

Ryan goes still.

“Look, I know it sounds dumb,” I say quickly. “The wife sitting at Christmas dinner knowing her marriage is over because her husband doesn’t give her the breadbasket. It sounds crazy…but so often that’s how he made me feel,” I admit. “I sat there in that moment, letting the breadbasket pass me by, and I knew it was over. Either this man that I loved was choosing to ignore me, or he was purposefully withholding choices from me. Worst of all was the question that plagued me the longest: Did he even see me at all?”

“Tess, I’m sorry,” Ryan says. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Do you have any idea what that feels like?” I glance up at him. “Have you ever felt invisible?”

He considers for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Maybe it helps that I’m tall,” he adds with a soft smile.

“I’m glad for you,” I reply, genuinely meaning my answer. “It’s the worst feeling in the world, not being seen…walking through life like a ghost.”

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