Miracle Under the Mistletoe. Tracy Madison
my wife, Olly. Why would you think I’d refuse to see you? I’ve been waiting for this…waiting for you to reach out…for a long time.”
“But I’m not—” She coughed to clear her throat. He was right. Regardless of how often she’d turned away from his attempts at reconciliation, she knew he’d show. He hadn’t given up hope. But she had, so she stuck with the lie. “I wasn’t sure,” she repeated.
“Then you haven’t been paying attention.” The brown in his eyes darkened, and his jaw clenched tight. “I’m available whenever you need me. I’ve made that clear to you, haven’t I?”
“Y-you have, but… Well—” She broke off when she saw the waiter approaching their table. Relief that she had a few precious minutes to regain her equilibrium saturated in, easing the acid roiling in her stomach.
The waiter set menus in front of them, gave a quick rundown of the evening’s specials, and took Grady’s drink order before leaving them alone again.
Grady returned his thickly lashed gaze to hers. “Let’s start over. I’m glad you called, Olivia. I’m glad we’re here together. We haven’t been to a place like this since before—” Rubbing his hand over his jaw, he frowned. “In years,” he said, correcting his near error.
It was so very hard not to react to the words he almost said. A shot of familiar sadness swept in, nearly crippling her. If she gave in to the sadness, she’d break down. The guilt would come next and before she knew it, she’d be up to her eyebrows in emotional quicksand. So she did what she always did—she shoved her feelings away as hard and as fast as she could. “Yes. Years. And this is a nice restaurant, but Grady…”
A few seconds passed while he waited for her to finish speaking, but when it became clear that she wasn’t going to, he raised his shoulders in question. “But what?”
Now or later? Dinner first would be best. Especially if they could manage cordial conversation. She gave her head a quick shake. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“I know you better than that, Olly. I’m here and I’m not going to bite. So tell me…but what?”
“Fine. Here goes.” Olivia inhaled a quick breath in an attempt to steady herself. “I know you’re probably thinking that I brought you here to…to…”
He sighed in exasperation. “Okay, Olivia. What’s going on? I think you asked me to meet you here for what? A good meal?” His voice held a teasing quality, but the lines in his forehead deepened even more. “Please tell me what I’m thinking.”
Oh, God. Why had she listened to Samantha? Coming here for this conversation had been her idea, and Olivia should have known better. “That I want us to get back together, and that I brought you here to discuss reconciliation.”
His entire body stilled as he appraised her.
For not the first time in her adult life, Olivia wished she had the ability to sit as still and quiet as he. To let him grow uncomfortable enough that he’d fill the silence. But he was the panther, not she. “I don’t—want to get back together, that is. I thought we could talk. We need to talk. But not about reconciliation.”
A new round of disbelief hardened his expression and glinted in his eyes. “I put on a suit, drove across town and met you in a romantic restaurant so you could inform me that nothing has changed? We could have had this conversation on the phone, or at the house, or— Hell, Olly, what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t thinking…I didn’t know— Samantha recommended this restaurant. She said the atmosphere was conducive to a private discussion. This conversation shouldn’t happen over the phone, and you haven’t lived in the house for months—close to a year, actually—so I was afraid you’d feel like we were on my turf.” Calm down, she instructed herself. Don’t get rattled. Straightening her posture, she said quietly, “I thought a place neither of us had ever been would even the playing field. So to speak.”
The tight, hard way he held his mouth relaxed. “Samantha told you to bring me here?”
“Yes. But I didn’t know—” Olivia narrowed her eyes at the devilish smirk on Grady’s face. Samantha Hagen was her best friend, but she was a huge fan of Grady’s. She wanted Olivia and Grady to reconcile almost as much as Grady did. “This isn’t funny! I’m trying to explain.”
Rather than disappearing, or even easing, the smirk widened. “I’ve always liked Sammy. I haven’t talked to her in ages. How’s she doing?”
“She’s fine,” Olivia snapped, annoyed with the change in his demeanor. “You could even say that business is booming.” Samantha earned her living as a divorce attorney. “In fact, she’s busier than ever.”
His smirk vanished. “I’m happy for her, but—”
“You don’t believe in divorce,” she said, finishing his sentence.
“That isn’t entirely true. I don’t believe in backing away from a commitment until all other alternatives have been exhausted.” He gave her a piercing look. “You used to feel the same.”
A slew of tremors skidded down her spine, but she kept her voice steady. “I used to feel a lot of ways that I no longer do. Things change.”
Before she could blink, his hand captured hers. His touch, as simple as it was, wove into her and sparked a touch of desire deep in her belly. Dear God, she’d missed his touch. She pulled out of his grasp and flexed her fingers. “Things change,” she said again. “That hasn’t changed. You still want me. As much as I want you. Why do you fight against us so hard?”
“Because physical attraction isn’t enough.”
“You keep saying that, but—” The waiter appeared, delivering Grady’s beer, and asked for their orders.
Olivia had barely glanced at the menu. She started to say that they’d need a few more minutes when Grady stepped in and ordered for both of them. He’d ordered for her on plenty of occasions in the past, a trait she used to find endearing, but this time it riled her up. More than necessary, but she couldn’t stop her frustration from fueling into anger.
When the waiter left, she glowered at her husband. “Maybe I wanted something instead of chicken marsala. Maybe I thought the scallop linguine sounded good.”
He raised his left eyebrow. “Really? But you love chicken marsala.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point?”
An exasperated huff pushed out of her lungs. “You could’ve asked.”
“Why would I?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because you’ve always ordered chicken marsala at every Italian restaurant we’ve ever gone to.” He shook his head in confusion. “Why would I think that had changed?”
“Why would you think it hadn’t? I’m not the same woman you married. Many, many things have changed. Why can’t you accept that?”
“If you want linguine, I’ll get you linguine.” He started to raise his hand to gesture for the waiter, but she grabbed his arm and tugged.
“Stop! Please, Grady. You can’t fix everything! You can’t make everything right.” She gulped a mouthful of air. “Quit trying.”
He muttered a curse. “I apologize for ordering for you. It’s an old habit, and I did it without thinking. My intent wasn’t to upset you.”
Heavy tears pressed against her eyes. One blink and they’d come pouring out. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—cry in front of Grady. If she did, he would doubt her decision. And if he pushed her too hard, she’d probably capitulate and spend the next year, two, or possibly the rest of her life in the same empty place she’d already spent far too long. No way could she let that happen.