“You don’t miss her?” She searches my face as if she might find some emotion there that I’m even hiding from myself.
“I used to, maybe, as a friend, but it’s been so long. Mostly I’m just happy she didn’t let me get in the way of her dreams. That would’ve been a disaster.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and nods. “It’s awesome that you get that.”
And her dreams are in Orchid Valley. No questions asked. Fuck, I get that it’s a problem, but I hate that she shuts down any talk of our future because of it. My first instinct is to brainstorm solutions, possibilities, but I know if I start, she’ll push me away. “So . . . Julian?”
She wags a finger. “Not yet. You said there were two. Who was the second?”
I chuckle. “I can’t decide if you’re really this interested in my past romances or if you’re dodging the subject.”
“Maybe a little of both. Tell me about her.”
I pause for a long time. Honestly, if I could skip this part, I’d like to. It seems unnecessarily dramatic, and that doesn’t actually match up with my feelings toward the woman in question. “Her name was Bridget.”
Brinley rolls her eyes. “And what was Bridget like?”
“She was . . . ambitious, which I could relate to. We both worked and traveled a lot, so she didn’t resent my job, which was refreshing.”
“What’d she do?”
“You know . . .” I take a sip of wine. “Some acting or whatever.”
She blinks at me. “You don’t mean Bridget Schaffer?” When I drop my gaze to the table again, she shrieks softly. “You were in a relationship with Bridget Schaffer? How did I not know about this?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. The media found me boring and was more interested in reporting on every time she was spotted with her ex.” Bridget’s ex is a British pop star, so their possible reunion made a much more interesting story than her steady-but-quiet—and mostly secret—relationship with me.
“I don’t know whether I should be jealous or impressed.” She giggles and does a little hair toss. “I’m going to go with impressed. Look at me, on a date with Bridget Schaffer’s ex.”
I arch a brow. “Look at you, married to Bridget Schaffer’s ex.”
Her blue eyes go wide. “Right! Damn, I must be a catch.”
My smile falls away. “You’re better than a catch. You’re . . .” I scan her face as I look for the word. Catch sounds like she’s just another woman and this is just another date, when she’s always been the one for me. “You’re even more amazing now than you were ten years ago.”
Her smile wavers, and she swallows. “I’d like to think so. I was just a kid back then.” She shakes her head, as if not letting herself dwell there. “Tell me what happened with Bridget.”
I suck air through my teeth. “Well, unlike me and Dierdre, it was not an amicable split.”
“Did she break your heart?”
I study her and wonder if she understands, truly, that she’s the only one who ever had the power to do that. “It wasn’t like that. She was still in love with her ex, but she didn’t want to give me up, either. It was ugly.”
“She cheated on you?”
I turn up my palms. There isn’t a single piece of me that still longs for Bridget. I’m where I want to be right now. But at the time? I was angry. So fucking angry. “They were caught making out in a club, and I didn’t find out about it until the pictures were all over the gossip sites. She swears it was just that once and that nothing else happened but . . .” I study Brinley’s parted pink lips and remember how I sat down with a bottle of bourbon and did a deep dive into some self-pity. It wasn’t just Bridget—though the days those images were everywhere were some of the most embarrassing of my life—it was that I’d never felt anything for anyone that came close to what I’d felt for Brinley Knox when I was a teenager, and I wondered if I’d ever feel that again. “I broke it off with Bridget, told her to get the fuck out. Then, after inadvisable quantities of bourbon, I picked up the phone and called you for the first time in years.”
Brinley lifts her hand to her mouth. “You did? When was this?”
“It was a couple of years ago.” I close my eyes. “You still had the same number as when we were in high school. I couldn’t believe I still remembered it, but it was imprinted somewhere deep in my brain, and even loaded and in no position to talk to anyone, I was able to dial your number.”
“I don’t remember . . . I didn’t see a call from you.” She shakes her head. “But I didn’t have your new number until I saw you in Vegas.”