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She twirled a strand of her hair with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Why thank you. It's been too long. How have you been keeping?"
"Busy with the vineyard," I replied, choosing to be slightly evasive.
She tilted her head, that flirtatious smile back on her lips, "And is there someone keeping you busy after hours?"
"Perhaps," I smirked, not ready to delve into details about Paisley.
There was a brief pause as we both took in the palpable tension, and then Izzy broke the silence. "Care for a drink? For old times' sake?"
I hesitated. A part of me wanted to decline, remembering Paisley back home. But another part, the part that remembered the fun and exhilaration of our encounters, found it hard to say no.
"Why not?" I eventually replied.
We made our way to the convention's plush bar area, settling into an intimate corner booth. As the bartender served us our drinks, the ambiance was charged with reminiscence. The dim lighting, the soft jazz in the background, and the glasses clinking around us set a familiar scene.
We chatted about our work, the places we had been, and mutual acquaintances. Every now and then, she'd touch my arm or lean in closer, and I'd feel that familiar warmth, that magnetism we always had. The convention's atmosphere, combined with the alcohol and our history, made it easy to forget about everything else.
As the evening wore on, her laughter became more frequent, her touch more lingering. But with each passing moment, a little voice in the back of my mind grew louder. Thoughts of Paisley began to infiltrate, bringing with them a mix of guilt and longing.
The night deepened as the buzz of the convention, muffled through the bar's walls, seemed distant and surreal. Our drinks sat untouched for what felt like an eternity. Memories of our escapades played like old film reels in my mind, and for a moment, I felt trapped in a nostalgic haze.
But then, as Izzy's fingers brushed against mine, a sudden clarity washed over me. A wave of realization that though our past was intoxicating, my present and future had Paisley written all over it.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled my hand away gently and met Izzy's expectant gaze with a newfound determination. "Izzy," I began, my voice firm but gentle, "there's something I need to tell you."
She tilted her head, her dark eyes searching mine for a hint of what was to come. "What is it?"
I exhaled slowly, searching for the right words. "I've met someone. Someone who's... changed everything for me." The gravity of my own words settled upon me, bringing a rush of emotions.
She looked taken aback, her expression shifting from one of expectation to surprise. "Oh," she responded, momentarily lost for words. "I didn't expect that."
"I didn't either," I admitted, my gaze unwavering. "But here we are. She's brought something into my life that I didn't even realize was missing. I owe it to her, and to myself, to honor what we have."
Izzy paused, processing what I had said. A mix of emotions flickered across her face—disappointment, understanding, perhaps even a hint of envy. But then, she took a deep breath and offered a half-smile. "I can't say I'm not surprised. But if she's managed to capture the heart of Austin Delaney, she must be someone special."
"She is," I replied, memories of Paisley's laughter, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her art, our shared moments of vulnerability, flashing through my mind. "Very special."
We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation heavy between us. But then, Izzy broke the silence, her voice softer than before. "I wish you all the best, Austin. Truly. And I hope she knows how lucky she is."
I smiled, touched by her grace in the face of rejection. "Thank you, Izzy."
17
PAISLEY
The morning sun beamed into the quaint coffee shop in Valle di Sole, casting a gentle golden hue on the old wooden tables and chairs. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and the quiet murmur of patrons created a comforting atmosphere. But for me, the ambiance was merely background noise, overshadowed by the figure seated across from me.
There he was—Benjamin. His sharp, well-defined features looked just as I remembered them. His deep blue eyes, which once had the power to pull me in, now seemed to bear the weight of regrets. The tailored suit he wore seemed out of place in this small town setting, a stark reminder of our fast-paced life back in New York City.
"Why are you here, Benjamin?" My voice came out shakier than I intended, and I took a moment to sip my cappuccino, trying to regain my composure.
He hesitated for a brief moment, fidgeting with the rim of his coffee mug. "Paisley," he began, his voice almost a whisper, "I've been a mess since you left. The apartment feels empty, my days seem longer, and everything reminds me of you. I can't move on without understanding why you left."
My heart ached at his words. There was a time when his sadness would have broken me, but Valle di Sole, my newfound passion for my art, and my blossoming relationship with Austin had changed my perspective.
"Benjamin," I paused, searching for the right words. "We were on different paths. I felt stifled in that life, in that city. I needed a change, to find out who I really am beyond the confines of our life together."
He stared at me, as if trying to read my soul. "You found someone else, didn't you?" The question hung in the air between us, charged with emotion.
