Chapter 14
ASHLEY
I wasn’t sure what I expected when I agreed to meet Ethan. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy his company–he was thoughtful, attentive, and polite, but today felt different. Like I was trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. A fresh coat of paint over a wall too worn to hold its color. The remnants of my conversation with Kyle still lingered, wrapping themselves around my thoughts, casting a shadow I couldn’t shake, no matter how bright the sun seemed.
I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the here and now. On Ethan. I needed to make this work, for my sake.
Ethan looked good. Really good. He was dressed smartly, his shirt crisp and his smile easy, as though he’d been born for this kind of moment. But everything about the night felt off. From the way he guided me through the restaurant, his hand resting awkwardly on my arm instead of the small of my back, to the scent of his cologne–it all felt… forced. A puzzle piece I was trying to jam into the wrong slot. It wasn’t his fault; it was me, still tangled up in the past, still haunted by memories that should’ve stayed buried.
I hadn’t gone on a date in two years–not since I left Kyle. The thought of being with another man still felt foreign, like I was wearing someone else’s skin.
Stop overthinking things Ashley. You had years to get comfortable with Kyle. You barely know Ethan. Of course it’s going to feel strange.
Ethan glanced over at me, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “I’ve never been to this restaurant before,” he said, scanning the room as the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware filled the space. “But I’ve heard great things about it.”
“Same here,” I replied, my voice a little tight, the words feeling like they were straining to pass through my lips. It should’ve been easy, right? We were here for a reason, after all.
An awkward silence followed, hanging between us like a thick fog. We’d been able to chat easily enough the other night, at the club, where everything felt more fluid, more carefree. But tonight? Tonight, outside the box of that casual setting, I struggled to think of anything interesting to say.
Should I ask about his job? Mention the weather? Talk about the upcoming holidays? Maybe share my thoughts on the latest TV series I watched? Prison Break, perhaps? But no–everyone had seen that show. It felt too cliché.
Thank goodness for the server, who arrived at that exact moment, rescuing me from drowning in my own thoughts.
“We’ll have the Château de Beaucastel Châteauneuf–du–Pape, please,” Ethan said, glancing up at the wine list before settling his gaze on me.
I opened my mouth, instinctively about to say, “Don’t you want to order the Barossa Valley Shiraz instead?” but I closed it,the moment I realized what I was about to imply.
Kyle always ordered that. Our wine. It was our thing, the one bottle we’d shared on countless nights–whether we were celebrating or simply unwinding. But I stopped myself, feeling the sudden weight of the realization. I wasn’t with Kyle, I wasn’t on a date with him. This wasn’t our dinner. This was mine and
Ethan’s.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. The simple act of ordering wine seemed to pull me back into a time I was trying so hard to move on from. A momentary lapse into something that wasn’t here anymore. I looked away, hoping Ethan wouldn’t notice the rush of emotion flooding my face.
One moment, I was thinking about the meal in front of me, about the garlic bread and the pasta I was excited to try. The next, I was fighting the urge to cry over something as trivial as a wine selection.
Get a hold of yourself Ashley You’re here, on a date with a perfectly nice man. Don’t do this to him. Don’t do this to yourself.
