Page 13 of Broken Vows

But before I can finish, his hand is on my cheek, drawing me back in for another kiss. This one is deeper, filled with all the words we haven’t been able to say to each other.

When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless. Jeremy rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed. “I’ve missed you,” he whispers. “So much.”

Tears prick at my eyes. “I’ve missed you too.”

“We should go out this Sunday, for dinner.”

“Really?” My heart flutters.

“Yes, really.”

We stay like that for a long moment, just breathing each other in. It feels like a turning point, like maybe we’ve finally found our way back to each other.

But as he pulls away, I see a flicker of something in his eyes. Guilt? Uncertainty? Before I can decipher it, it’s gone, replaced by a soft smile.

“It’s getting late,” he says, glancing at the clock. “We should probably turn in.”

I nod, trying to ignore the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. “Yeah, you’re right.”

As we get ready for bed, moving around each other in a dance we’ve perfected over years, I can’t shake the feeling that something’s still off. He seems distracted, his movements almost mechanical.

We climb into bed, and he turns off the lamp on his nightstand. In the darkness, I reach for his hand. He takes it, giving it a gentle squeeze, but there’s a hesitancy to the gesture that wasn’t there earlier.

“Goodnight, Lex,” he murmurs.

“Goodnight,” I reply, staring up at the ceiling.

As his breathing evens out beside me, signaling he’s fallen asleep, I’m left wide awake. The evening replays in my mind, the dinner, the kisses, the moment of connection. It felt real. It felt like us again…kind of.

But now, in the night’s quiet, doubts creep in. Was it real? Or just a momentary reprieve from the distance that’s grown between us? And that look in his eyes. What was he not telling me?

I turn onto my side, watching the rise and fall of Jeremy’s chest in the dim light filtering through the curtains. I want so badly to believe that we’re on the right track and that we can find our way back to each other. But as sleep finally claims me, one thought echoes in my mind:

One step forward, two steps back.

Chapter Nine

I watchhim as he studies the menu, his brow furrowed in concentration. It’s been so long since we’ve done this—dressed up, gone out, just the two of us. The weight of expectations sits heavily on my shoulders.

“What are you thinking of getting?” I ask, desperate to break the silence that’s settled between us.

He looks up, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Probably the chicken parm. You know me, creature of habit.”

I nod, returning his smile. “Some things never change.”

The familiarity of it all—his predictable order, the way he absently fiddles with his napkin—sends a pang through my chest. It’s comforting and painful all at once, a reminder of what we once were and what we’re struggling to be again.

Our waiter appears, a young man with a cheerful demeanor that feels almost out of place in our bubble of tentative reconnection. We place our orders, and as he walks away, I reach for my water glass, needing something to do with my hands.

“So,” he starts, clearing his throat. “How’s your art coming along? You mentioned you were working on some new pieces.”

The question catches me off guard. It’s been months since he’s asked about my work. “It’s… going well.” I didn’t want to tell him I’ve been struggling with my art.

He nods, seeming genuinely interested. “That’s great, Lex. I noticed you’ve not been in your office lately and was kind of worried.”

Using my nickname, so casual and intimate, makes my heart skip a beat. But what he doesn’t realize is I haven’t been in there much because our relationship has been draining down the toilet for a year.

As he opens his mouth to respond, a familiar voice cuts through the restaurant’s ambient noise.

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