Page 59 of French Martini

“We were too young. We thought marriage would be easy and fun, but we didn’t know what being grown-ups was about. We fought all the time over money and habits and what to eat for dinner. We thought attraction and love would be enough, but it wasn’t. You need shared values and goals. You need patience and to be willing to give your partner room to spread their wings so they never feel clipped by your love. You need maturity.” I chuckle. “That’s the big one. Mostly, you need commitment to know that it’s not always gonna be amazing, but you’re gonna get through it together.”

He’s so quiet that I check the phone to make sure we weren’t disconnected.

“Low?”

“How long were you married?”

“Five years, together almost ten, believe it or not. We were both stubborn and neither of us wanted to admit we failed. I don’t see it that way anymore though. It wasn’t a failure. There were good times, and I learned a lot about how to be a good partner for the next person I fall for.” My throat tightens after that subtle admission. Does Lowen know I’m crazy about him yet?

“Would you like to get married again someday?”

“Hell yeah. I guess I’m a romantic, because the idea of choosing someone for life sounds incredible to me, but it doesn’t have to be traditional. I’m more flexible now about the many ways love is celebrated.”

“What does that mean?”

I lean back on the sofa, scratching my beard. “A couple of years after my divorce, I met this guy and we went out and really hit it off. He was in a polyamorous marriage. His wife had a girlfriend and they both had a live-in boyfriend who also had a boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“He wasn’t looking to date anyone new, but we were stuck on a flight for a few hours and got to talking and… anyway, I met his people and spent time at his home with all these different love matches. Honestly? It was fucking beautiful. You could feel the love and respect and affection they all had for each other. It opened my eyes to different ways to explore love. I really valued that.”

“Why didn’t it work out with him?”

“We were better friends. He had a lot going on in his life and I’m more of a chill homebody type. Our dates had to be scheduled weeks in advance and we could never be spontaneous, but it ended well. I still talk to him sometimes.”

“Would you like something like that for yourself?”

“I don’t think I’m a polyamorous guy myself, but if I was with someone who was or who wanted to explore it, I’d be open. I think when you care about someone, you just want them to be happy, whatever that looks like.”

I wish to fuck I could see his face right now.

“Does that appeal to you?” I ask.

He scoffs. “Oakley, I lost my shit when I saw you talking to the pretty twink. Do you think I’m open to it?”

I chuckle. “Not necessarily.”

“No. I knew a throuple in Paris and spent time with them too. They did help me understand how they deal with jealousy and insecurity, and I remember that every time it rears up, I’m just not able to manage it well yet.”

“It’s because you haven’t felt safe, kitten. Safety, communication, trust, those are ingredients to being secure and eliminating jealousy. Alain wasn’t capable of giving you those things, but there are men who are.” Me. I can. Let me.

“But how do you…” He pauses, laughing darkly. “I spent months in therapy after the divorce and all it taught me was not to let my guard down.”

I can’t tell him how I feel yet. I can’t admit that I want to be the guy who shows him what love really is. He’ll run for the hills.

“You’ll get there when you’re ready.”

“I want…” He blows out a long breath. “I want to fix my shit before I dump it all over someone who doesn’t deserve it. Someone like you. I want to be brave enough to open my heart again.”

I want to convince him that I can handle it, but I kind of get it too.

“I’m glad you’re telling me this. It means you know that I’m your friend. And I am, first and foremost.”

“You deserve that much.”

I want to see him. I want to invite him over or go to his place and wrap my arms around him and kiss his pretty mouth and nuzzle his neck, inhaling his scent. I want to tell him that I’m so fucking in love with him he could stomp on me with his designer shoes and I’d beg him for more.

Instead, I bite my lip and stay silent.

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