Page 13 of Wreckage and Rain

She draws back quickly, tucks her hair behind her ear, and laughs like she didn’t mean anything by it.

I pick up my wine and look at the candle instead of her.

By the time I put the glass down, the moment has passed.

Long day. Too much wine. Nothing worth making strange.

I reach for the bread.

Then Cheyenne looks past me, and her entire face changes.

It happens so quickly I almost miss it.

Her smile disappears. Her chin comes off her hand. Her arm slides back across the table. Her shoulders straighten, and suddenly she looks like she does in meetings.

I turn to see what she saw.

Summer is standing beside our table.

She’s wearing the green sweater I bought her in Asheville, and she’s smiling.

Something about the smile is wrong.

I know every smile she has. The private one. The polite one. The one she gives my mother when she’s trying not to bite through her own tongue.

I have never seen this one.

My stomach drops before I understand why.

I stand.

“Summer.”

The text I sent an hour ago rises with me.

Still at the office. Grinding through it. Eat without me.

Then I see the table from where she’s standing.

The candle. The wine. Cheyenne across from me.

“Hi.” Summer’s voice is bright and warm. “I got lost in my book and looked up and the whole afternoon was gone. I started craving their risotto. I had no idea you were here.”

“Yeah, we just…” I glance at Cheyenne. “Calloway stuff. Strategy session.”

I lean down to kiss Summer.

I mean to catch her mouth. Either she turns or I miss the angle, because my lips land on her cheek.

“You should join us.”

The words sound wrong as soon as they leave me.

Join us.

As though she is the interruption. As though this is our evening and I am making room for my wife inside it.

“I’d love to.” She looks around. “Can someone bring me a chair?”