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She shrugs, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Something fancier. Like a business dinner.”
I can’t help but grin at that. “No, this isn’t about business. Not tonight.”
Her expression shifts, a guarded look passing over her face. “Then what is it about?”
Chapter 18: Andrew
Before I can answer, Emily’s phone rings.
She glances down at the screen, and I can see the nameOwen Agent, flash across it.
“I’m sorry, I have to take this. It’ll just be a minute.” She gives me an apologetic look before swiping to answer the call.
I try not to listen, but it’s impossible not to catch snippets of her conversation. “That’s the figure? Are you sure, Owen? It just seems low.” She pauses, her brow furrowing, and then she listens for a moment. “Alright. Send over the details, but I’m not convinced. Thanks.”
When she hangs up, frustration is drawn all over her face. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“It’s about my apartment,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “Owen thinks it’s not worth as much as I expected. But I’m sure he’s undervaluing it.”
“Oh, you’re ready to put it on the market?” I ask.
Emily nods. “If Owen’s right, I might not get much out of it.”
I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Do you have Owen’s contact information? If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at the listing. Maybe there’s something he’s missing.”
She hesitates for a moment, and I can see the gears turning in her head, debating whether to let me get involved in this part of her life. But, then she reaches for her phone. “Sure. I could use a second opinion.”
A moment later, my phone buzzes, and I see a text with Owen’s details.
“Thanks,” I say, giving her a small, reassuring smile. “I’ll check it out.”
Before we can delve further into her property woes, the waitress arrives with our meals, setting the plates down in front of us.
Emily has a plate of grilled salmon, the skin crispy and glistening, laid over a bed of herbed quinoa and sautéed vegetables. It smells fantastic, the aroma of garlic and rosemary mingling in the air.
I opted for the steak—a perfectly seared ribeye, with a side of roasted potatoes and a drizzle of rich, peppercorn sauce. The meat is tender, practically melting in my mouth as I take a bite.
I watch Emily cut into her salmon, the flaky pink flesh separating easily under her fork. She takes a small bite, her lips curving into a smile as she tastes it.
“Good?” I ask, trying to ignore how much I like watching her enjoy her meal.
“Delicious,” she says, nodding. “How’s yours?”
“Perfect,” I say, slicing off another piece of the steak. “They always do a great job here.”
But I can’t let this dinner pass without addressing the elephant in the room. I realize this is as good a moment as any,
“I think we should talk about what happenedthatnight,” I say. I’m not big on revisiting things that have become the past but this is my wife. We live in the same house. We work together.
She tenses, her fork poised over her plate. “I’m well aware of what happened that night, Andrew,” she says, her cheeks coloring. “You didn’t know who I was.”
What the hell is she talking about? I stare at her, baffled. “I knew who you were all along. My wife.”
“In name only,” she shoots back, her tone sharp.
I swallow, choosing my next words carefully. “I had a great night, Emily,” I admit. “After that, I slept so deeply I didn’t even hear my alarm.”
Her lips part slightly, surprise flickering across her face. “I had a great night too,” she says in a softer tone.