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One that I was never, ever able to resist.
And it’s happening again. I feel it.
The pull is getting stronger whenever I see her.
Fuck. I think I still love her… I mean, I’ve always loved her, but I’ve never said it to anyone else.
I try to distract myself from thinking about how we used to be together. I try to focus on what she’s saying and Blake’s birthday presents. But all I can think about is her.
Us.
My wife.
Eden
I’m used to Brooklyn Bassett and the many ways and means he has that can draw a laugh or a smile right out of me, oh so effortlessly. He’s always been that way. But one thing I’m not used to is him asking about my love life. That’s probably because I haven’t had much to write home about over the years after we split. It was always Brooklyn for me growing up, the only man I’d ever known and been with. The early days without him were really, really hard.
But the fact is, we were both so young and we were all each other knew back then.
Looking at him now in the cafe, it still stirs something deep within me. Those slight butterflies in my tummy and the way I hang on to every word, even if I don’t show it. I can’t let it come to the surface, because I really like Kirk. He can be intense, but he’s also sweet and funny and though we’re taking things slow, I feel like things could work between us.
I’ve no idea why I’m thinking about my ex-husband in any other way than a friend. Going down that old path again with Brooklyn would only cause us both more heartache.
I mean, who walks out of their lawyer-friend’s office hand-in-hand after getting divorce advice? Okay, maybe Priscilla and Elvis, but it’s not exactly common.
Many people have asked us that question before: why do we fight it?
But we became different people as we grew up, and we both wanted to focus on our careers. I guess that resulted in less time spent on our marriage.
Did we let it slip away? Yes. Things changed when Blake was born and we became all too consumed in our baby, and our work, but forgot about ourselves.
I think about it for a few moments. “Why would she say that about us?” I think I know why, but I’m curious about his answer to Aunt May’s question.
It’s also awkward with him asking about Kirk. I don’t want to talk about this with him.
Especially because I can’t help but notice how good my ex-husband looks in his dark jeans, a charcoal polo shirt and that familiar vanilla-cedar scent that takes me back to places I shouldn’t go. I remember his aftershave well; it has undertones of oakmoss and amber, something that goes straight to the jugular, or in my case, that thrum deep in my lower belly.
He’s always been well dressed and puts effort into styling his dark hair, even when it’s usually covered with a cowboy hat most days. All the Bassett children are gifted with thick and full mahogany hair, and deep-as-the-ocean blue eyes. His beard is cute, he keeps it well-groomed and I would suspect he uses some kind of beard oil because it looks so soft. Despite his nonchalance, I know he spends time looking his best.
He may be a farm boy at heart who works endless hours on the Bassett property in his beloved cellar, but he still knows how to present himself even for a casual coffee date with me.
“Maybe she sees something we don't,” he says casually, shrugging his shoulders. “Kinda like a bartender does, but in a coffee sense.”
A little smile tugs at my lips, and I’m caught up for a moment as I blurt out, “You think Aunt May has an insight into people's deepest desires?”
He gives me a lopsided look and stares at me intensely. His cheeky smile appears in seconds. “Why, Edes, are you going to fill me in on some of yours?”
I flush for a second, looking down at my diary. He still has the ability to make me come unstuck. And it’s not fair to my new beau that I’m even reacting like this. Usually Brook and I are just in parenting mode. I mean, he flirts with everyone, but he’s never been as intense with me as he has been in the last couple of weeks — not since we were together all those years ago. I don’t know what’s going on with him.
He’s carefree as he always is, but I know him well enough to see something lurking under the surface. He never could keep his inner monologue totally hidden, and has often worn his heart on his sleeve.
“That’s not what I meant,” I tell him.
His grin is about a mile wide. “You sure, Baby Doll?”
Again with the Baby Doll? See that right there.
“I’m totally sure, Brook. What’s gotten into you?”
