Page 62 of Now That We Don't Talk

Feeling slightly embarrassed, I cringe. “Yeah.”

Mac’s whole face lights up. “Okay, this is the best news I’ve heard in a very long time.” He leans in again, more eagerly this time. “Now, tell me what you think—and don’t hold back. I can handle all the compliments and criticism.”

I fold my hands and rest them on the table. “I never hold back—you should know that by now.”

“Oh, I know,” he says, his voice warm with amusement.

And just like that, the tension from earlier is gone. Our banter picks up, and I can’t help but think that something about this—fits.

I try to gather my thoughts, but they’re all jumbled. Before I know it, I start firing off questions one after another. “Is all the gear you wear heavy? Do you ever get scared of serious injury? Have you ever been in one of those brawls?”

Mac holds up a hand, a grin spreading across his face. “Whoa, slow down.”

“Sorry—I have a lot of questions,” I say, feeling slightly embarrassed.

His grin widens. “Don’t apologize—I’m thrilled you’re so interested. It’s about time.”

I roll my eyes just as the server arrives at our table. We pause our conversation to order our entrees. As I glance across the table at Mac, I catch him staring back at me. There’s something surreal about sitting here with him, like we’re both still trying to wrap our heads around the fact that we’re here, together.

“Is this weird?” Mac asks, as soon as the server leaves.

I tilt my head. “Us having dinner or us getting along?”

“Both. Either.”

The funny thing is it doesn’t feel weird anymore. A few weeks ago, maybe, but not now.

“Not really,” I say honestly.

Mac nods, slowly. “I don’t think so either.”

The way he’s looking at me sends a shiver down my spine. As we chat through dinner, the conversation flows effortlessly, free of awkward pauses, light and easy like old friends.

After dinner, we take a walk along the river. The boardwalk is alive with people, laughter, and the distant sounds of a street musician playing his guitar. The scent of the water drifts through the air, and I’m reminded how much I love summertime.

“I can’t remember the last time I was here,” I say, looking out at the reflection of the city lights on the water.

Mac raises an eyebrow. “Really? You don’t come here every weekend?”

“Not in a while,” I say. “I’m not even sure why.”

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, his gaze flicking around as he takes in our surroundings.

“Do you miss living here?” I ask.

He exhales. “I miss some things—the familiarity, the memories. I guess I miss the people more than the place itself. After being on the road so much, you learn to adapt. I think I could be happy anywhere if I have people I care about.”

My heart flutters in my chest. “I agree.”

He glances sideways at me. “And what about you? Ever think about moving somewhere new?”

I hesitate before answering. “Yes, actually. My parents sold their house and downsized. They’re loving their new area. They play pickleball and go to social events with new friends.”

“So what’s stopping you from making a change?” he asks, turning to face me.

I let out a puff of air. “I guess nothing—other than my own stubbornness. I would like to travel more.”

Mac shifts, turning to walk backward in front of me. “I have the perfect idea for your next trip.”

---