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A burst of hysterical laughter escapes me, but my empathy silences it shortly after. Damon rarely ever lets his guard downthislow, nor does he drop the ball. He’s reeling, his struggle at present, painfully palpable.

Was I so obvious with Easton?

Were Easton and I fools to think we hid our attraction, our affection, so well? Joel saw it, and he really didn’t hide that he did. Thinking back, I can remember Joel staring between us a dozen or so times, probably tempted to bang our heads together more than once. Maybe it takes finding a soul-stealing love to truly recognize it—and losing it—to realize it’s worth having, no matter what you have to invest or the total cost.

I’m still waiting on that final sum, but it seems to be the gift that keeps on giving.

“Let’s do dinner first?” Holly asks between the both of us.

“I’m ordering room service tonight,” I say, ignoring Damon’s pleading gaze. He opened this box. It’s his chore to unpack it. “I’m positive I’ll be hungover by dinner.”

“Isn’t day drinking the best?” Holly pipes cheerfully between us.

As the tension thickens, she grips Damon’s hand and presses a chaste kiss to his knuckles. “Nap in here. I haven’t seen you in like three weeks. You’ve been working too hard. I’ll keep my voice down.”

He grins down at her with genuine adoration. “Impossible.”

“You love my mouth,” she quips.

“Yeah, I do,” he says before placing a brief kiss on her temple.

“I love you,” she says easily.

“I love you, too,” he says softly, his eyes lingering, as she turns to me and Damon does too. “Love you,” he says, in afterthought.

“Love you,” I reply, my tone more likeyeah, bestie, take a minute.“Text me, if you need me.”

“For what? He’s got me,” she boasts proudly. Damon starts to walk away as I debate whether to come clean when she speaks up.

“Do you think he heard us?” She whisper-yells, eyes wide as Damon stops, lingering just outside the cabana again. He’s pushing it too far, so I decide to, as well.

“Would that be the worst thing?”

“Absolutely,” she says, her expression panicked. “Oh my God, what if he did?”

“I don’t know, babe. Maybe he did.”

“I would die. Jesus, full-blown denial starts now.”

“Haven’t you been there long enough?”

“I’m on vacation. You don’t go to Mexico to get your fucking heart broken.”

“He probably didn’t hear anything. I would have seen him.”

The ball is yours, Damon. Please don’t drop it.

“Thank God,” she sighs. Everything in me wants to scream at her to pay attention and that her life is about to drastically change. Damon finally takes his leave, and I again lower my glasses, my happiness for her turning envious as my eyes water.

Last week, I was fine, well, fine-ish, and the week before, and the week before that. As of a month ago, I was starting to come to grips with life as I know it post-divorce from the love of my life.

It’s been months. If I’m honest, just over a year of grieving since that blissful time in Sedona. I’ve been grieving three times as long as I got to love him.

Last week, I was moving, keeping up while burying myself in other’s stories, other’s lives, in headlines. Now I’m on a dream vacation with my best friends after hitting a career achievement I’ve been working toward my entire adult life.

My vision blurs as it comes to me.

The future I fought so hard for feels a lot like settling. And if that’s really the truth, then I have no purpose past getting back to my desk. But that should be enough for me, at least until I can manage to fall in love again.

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