Page 47 of From Our First

Her eyes widened, and then she let out a breath. “I didn’t even think about it. I know exactly how you like your coffee, and I made it without even thinking. Do you have the same tastes?”

“Yes. One sugar, one cream. Like we had at that diner.”

“I loved that place. They had the best chicken fried steak with biscuits and so much gravy. Something I cannot have any more, unless I want to clog my arteries and work out for an extra hour the next day. But it was so good.”

“I was sad when the place closed.” I took another sip of the coffee, trying to wash down the memories.

“I hadn’t heard,” Myra said, sadness filling her eyes.

“A couple of years after you left. The owner passed away, and his kids didn’t want to run the place anymore. There’s another diner there now, and I hear it does just as well. I never went, though.”

“After I left…” she said, her voice trailing off. “I should have stayed to talk to you. I should have told you what happened, or asked you what happened rather. But I let my parents bully me like usual, and I left. I signed the divorce papers, and I was so hurt, I didn’t even talk to you.”

I set down my coffee and shook my head, then moved forward so I was close enough to read her face. It was so hard to get a bead on her emotions these days, but I was learning. Though I wasn’t sure how much I should. What were we doing? Did I want this to progress? Or did I want for us to remain only friends?

I wasn’t sure what the answer was, but regardless, I needed to beg for forgiveness and work on that groveling.

“You left because I was an idiot. Because I believed your parents without doubting what I saw the way I should have.”

“I wish I could have seen those photos,” she ground out.

I swallowed the bile rising up my throat and then shook my head. “You don’t. You really don’t.”

“I want to say I can’t believe they did that, but I can. Those are the same people who didn’t even tell me that my grandmother died. They are cruel, and so easy about it. It’s as if the lies and the audacity just drip right off their tongues, as if they don’t have to worry about the consequences of their actions. And maybe that’s true. Both of my parents come from money and have never had to worry about anything but what vacation they want to take next. They got their degrees to work in their jobs—my mother with charities, my father with the family business. I was never once told that I should follow in his footsteps. That was Roland, my cousin, the one you met.”

I ground my teeth. “Yeah, I remember him.”

“He’s the one following in my father’s footsteps. Because he was born a boy.”

“But did you ever want to do what your father does?” I asked, wondering why we’d never talked about this before.

“No, I didn’t.” She laughed.

“You don’t regret the fact that your father never groomed you for that?”

“They told me what degree to get so I could better help with the charities my mother ran. So I could take her place. It’s a hard business, one that doesn’t pay, but it’s good work, even if it’s mostly about trying to elevate your social standing.”

“That’s a whole world that I have nothing to do with,” I said.

“And I loved that you didn’t.” She bit her lip.

“I always felt like I wasn’t good enough for you because I wasn’t from those circles.”

“That was never the case, Nathan.”

“But it’s what I felt. And I didn’t talk to you about it because I didn’t want to make things weird or hard for you. And that’s on me.”

“I want you to know that I didn’t fall for you because you weren’t part of that set. You know? The girl who falls for the bad boy so she doesn’t have to worry about her past?”

That made me snort.

“We are not that couple. We never were. We fell for the people we thought each other was, not the people we thought we were running from.”

“I’d almost forgotten how many times you used to see to the crux of the matter. You were always so brilliant.”

“Were?” I asked, raising a brow.

Myra rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you still think you’re brilliant.”

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