Page 86 of Tempt

Daniel’s gaze warms.

Every part of it feels genuine. Like there’s nowhere he’d rather be than with me.

The wine is full and smooth, and I savor another sip.

Around us, couples are huddled at romantic tables in close conversation lit by candles.

“This is nice.”

His eyes dance. “You tried to turn me down.”

“I don’t date, Daniel.”

“Me neither.”

“Because you were married. But me? I’ve hung out with guys, but I’ve never had anything serious.”

He shifts back in his seat and the waitress arrives with our plates.

Everything looks delicious, and I inhale in delight before I notice he hasn’t moved.

“You have nothing to be jealous of. No boy on campus comes close to doing what you do.”

He leans forward and his slow grin is hot as hell. “What do I do?”

“You make me feel like I have my shit figured out. Like I’m capable. Like I can be somebody.”

“You already are somebody.”

Fuck, that’s it. That’s how he makes me feel, every day.

My gaze drops to his hands like it has half a dozen times already tonight.

“You aren’t wearing your ring,” I say.

He stabs at his steak. “I’ve been trying something new.”

“You can talk about her,” I murmur as he chews and swallows.

His fork freezes halfway back to his plate. “We met in grad school. Fell in love. Still, we waited a couple of years to make sure it was right. We weren’t in a hurry. Maybe we should have been.” He considers. “But that would have changed how we were and I don’t want to rewrite a second of it.”

“What was she like?” I genuinely want to know.

Daniel reaches for his wine. “She was funny. She knew what mattered and what didn’t. When she looked at you, you felt seen.”

“I’m sure I would’ve liked her.”

His lips curve at the corner. “She would’ve liked you.”

I want to reach out and touch him, as if the simple brush of our hands can show him how much I respect who he was then, who he is now. The impossible choices he’s faced along the way.

We eat in silence for a few minutes before I ask, “Did you ever get help after she died?”

“I saw a therapist a few times.”

“Want to know what I would tell you if I was a therapist?”

He reaches for his drink. “Do I?”

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