Page 60 of Take My Name

I stare at our wedding photos hung in his hallway and wonder how he can stomach seeing them every day. So many what-ifs linger in the air if things had gone differently.

Would he have built this house still? Would we be as happy together as we were before? Would we have started a family?

We had so many talks about the future, and yet, somehow ended up here.

On the brink of a divorce, living seven hundred miles apart, but not really living at all.

Twisting my engagement ring around my finger, I wonder ifit’s proper etiquette to give back your wedding bands when you’re the one who asks for the divorce.

I wore mine from Warren during my first year in New York and can’t help wondering how long Warren wore his before permanently taking it off.

It got exhausting having people at work ask where my husband was and why he didn’t move with me. It was easier to keep it off, but I still held onto hope that someday I’d get to wear them again.

Breaking out of my trance, I walk to the bathroom and grab my wet swimsuit hung over the tub and stuff it into my bag.

By the time I return to the kitchen, Warren has the container set out for me.

“How do you feel about dinner at Summit Views tomorrow night?”

My eyes lift to meet his and there’s hesitation in them.

We’ve been there several times, but it’s a place for couples. Aromanticplace.

“My mom and Aunt JoJo stopped over this afternoon and JoJo insisted I bring you, but if you don’t wanna?—”

“I do,” I blurt without thinking. “It’d be nice to see her again too.”

Assuming she doesn’t hate me.

“Great. And you can wear your heels without it being a death trap.” He winks and it makes me laugh. “But if it’s overkill, just know it was Aunt JoJo’s doing.”

I grin, already looking forward to it. “What time?”

“Reservations are at six.”

“I’ll meet you here at quarter to?”

“Works for me.” He tilts his head toward the door, grabbing the cheesecake. “I’ll walk you out.”

When he presses his palm to my lower back, those damn butterflies resurface. He walked me to my car the past two times I’ve been here, so there’s no reason I need to be this nervous.

“Thanks for swimmin’ with me,” he says when we get outside.

“It was fun,” I say genuinely. “But maybe don’t wait another nine years before going again.”

“I won’t if you don’t.” He gives me that boyish grin that used to work so well on me to get what he wants.

And dammit—it still does.

“Fine,” I give in. “No yankin’ me underwater, though!”

He bites his lower lip before releasing it. “No promises.”

I roll my eyes, unable to contain my laughter at his blunt honesty.

Warren reaches around me, grabs the handle, and opens the door. “Drive safely.”

“Thanks, I will.”