Page 102 of For Eva

“You look good, Eric. Really good.”

I managed a modest smile, still reeling from the electricity of her touch.

“But hey, you already know this,” she added, unknotting her scarf and tossing it on the table. “Weren’t you votedSexiest Man Aliveor something? Which, while one hundred percent accurate, is also one hundred percent hilarious.”

“Oh God.” I groaned. “I was a runner-up or something. I don’t know. Can we never talk about this again?”

She giggled. “I dunno, I might need to bring it up at least one more time. But for now, I’m getting a coffee.”

“Wait, let me get it,” I said, my hand brushing against her ivory sweater as I reached out to stop her from getting up.

“No, no, no,” she protested.

I began to stand up. “Eva, seriously, I want to.”

“Oh my God, sit!” she insisted, laughing and squeezing my shoulder. “I’ve totally got it. Do you need anything?”

“Still stubborn, I see.” I shot her a playful grin, then glanced over at my full cup. I hadn’t even taken one sip. “But no, I’m good. Thank you.”

I watched as she walked toward the counter, the heels of her boots clicking against the concrete floor. Her hips were fuller, and the way the dark blue denim of her jeans hugged them made me shift in my seat. Thank God I was sitting down. I felt like I was a freshman in high school staring at the chick who sat beside me in homeroom and never wore a bra.

Think about something else, Stratton. Think about something else.

I was on number eight in a countdown of my favorite guitarists in an attempt to calm things down when Eva returned to the table. She took a sip of her latte, licking the stray foam from her top lip.

Fuuuuuck.

David Gilmour. George Lynch. Frank Zappa.

“Hey, you okay?”

I blinked and shook my head. “What? Oh, yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just, you know, thinking about how good it is to see you again.”

She smiled and rested her chin in her hand. “Itisgood, isn’t it? A totally unexpected and amazing end to a really shitty fucking year.”

“The, um…do you mean your…”

“Divorce?”

“Yeah. That.” There was a sadness in her eyes, and I wished I could take away every ounce of pain she’d had to endure. “But we don’t have to talk about it.”

“I don’t mind. Honestly, sometimes it helps to talk about it, you know? To just get it all out. I don’t know if that makes sense.”

I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. I knew all too well that talking about your pain was ultimately the only way to make it stop.

“It does,” I said. “You don’t ever have to explain that to me.”

The corners of her mouth turned up into a smile that reminded me both sorrow and hope could live within a person at the exact same time. “I know I don’t.”

Our eyes locked in understanding, and for a second, I thought I might tell her. Tell her I’d known since Jesse Trainor grabbed her at that party I’d do anything to protect her. Thateven if he’d managed to end our career that night, I would have done everything all over again. But it was about more than protecting her. I would’ve done anything to see her happy. I remembered the moments from our past. Singing on the bus till everyone told us to shut the fuck up. Eating Chinese on the rooftop in Cleveland. Fighting about whatever stupid shit I’d said or done during an interview. It was somewhere between all those little moments that I realized I loved her. I really fucking loved her.

She ran her nail along a small crack in the wood. “I just…I wasn’t what he wanted in a wife. I tried to be. I quit my job. I ran carpools. I baked cookies for the kids and threw fancy dinner parties. But somewhere along the way I failed him, I guess. So, he found someone else.”

I rested my hand on top of hers. “Actually, it sounds likehefailedyou.”

Her eyes shifted to our hands, and I immediately pulled back, afraid I’d crossed a line. “What…what do you mean?”

“I mean, he asked you to be someone you’re not. That’s not what relationships are about. It’s about loving the other person for who they are. Who theytrulyare, and not trying to change them into the person you want them to be.”

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