Chapter Six

Ford

I shifted in my seat at La Trattoria, the cozy Italian restaurant that had once been my go-to spot for date nights. The flickering candlelight and the faint strains of romantic music playing in the background seemed to mock me. I adjusted my tie, a sense of unease settling over me as I waited for Greer to arrive. I'd let my guard down before, and it had cost me. I shouldn't have agreed to meet her here, not where every corner was haunted by memories. Yet, curiosity is a potent lure, and mine was thoroughly piqued. What could she possibly want after all this time? A part of me wanted closure, but another part knew better than to expect it.

The restaurant was the same as I remembered. Warm brick walls adorned with Italian art and shelves lined with wine bottles created an inviting charm. Couples occupied most of the tables, engaged in hushed conversations and laughter. The delicious aroma of garlic and tomato sauce wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of fresh basil.

I told myself tonight was about moving forward, yet I couldn't help but feel the weight of the past bearing down on me as the seconds ticked by.

Just then, the door opened, and Greer stepped inside. She was as stunning as ever, dressed in a figure-hugging black dress that accentuated her curves. Her blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders in perfect waves, and her eyes were lined with dark kohl, making them appear even more striking. A delicate gold necklace glinted at her throat, drawing the eye to her décolletage. There was a time when that sight would have sent my heart racing, when her beauty would have been irresistible. She was still beautiful, undeniably so, but the allure had tarnished, corroded by betrayal and lost trust.

As she approached, a different image flickered across my mind: Bonnie's smile—sincere and unguarded. Bonnie, with her big brown eyes filled with ambition and kindness, was like a burst of sunlight piercing through relentless clouds. I found myself craving that warmth, that earnestness, instead of the cool, calculated demeanor of the woman now standing before me.

"Ford," Greer greeted, "darling."

"Greer." My response came out more curt than I intended, and I braced myself for the charade I suspected was about to unfold. Rising from my seat, I extended the ritual of politeness ingrained in me, pulling out her chair while wrestling with the urge to maintain distance. Greer's presence was a taut string pulling at the edges of my composure.

"Thank you," she purred as I leaned in to offer a perfunctory kiss on her cheek. She fluttered her eyelashes in that familiar way and reached out, her fingers grazing my forearm with an intimacy that seemed both foreign and familiar at the same time. Leaning forward, she offered a view designed to entrap, but I flicked my eyes to the couple seated at the next table.

Greer settled into her chair with the grace of a cat claiming its territory, and I resumed my own seat. A waiter appeared with menus, offering them to us with a polite nod.

"Could we have a bottle of the Montepulciano? Our usual," Greer requested, as though suggesting that this was merely another shared evening together, not the fractured echo of what used to be.

"Of course, Ms. Tolliver," the server acknowledged with a professional smile. "I'll be back momentarily."

Left alone, I pretended to study my menu as I waited for our drinks to arrive. The waiter returned after a few minutes and poured the deep red liquid from the opened bottle into our glasses with practiced ease. Greer and I placed our orders and the man retreated to the kitchen.

The stem of the wine glass felt cool beneath my fingers as I lifted it and took a sip, hoping it would wash down the lump in my throat. Across from me, Greer's eyes met mine over the rim of her glass as she drank the heady substance.

"So, Ford," her voice finally breaking the lull, "how have you been? I heard the conference was a success."

Her words tugged at the corner of my lips, coaxing out a smile, but not for the reasons she might have hoped. My mind couldn't help but drift to Bonnie—her laughter mingling with the clinking of glasses at the party, her intelligent eyes sparkling with pride, the way she fit so perfectly in my arms as we danced. "Yes," I found myself saying, the memory still vivid, "it went well."

"That's good," Greer replied, swirling the wine in her glass. The action seemed almost meditative. "I've been doing well too."

"Have you?" The question fell flat, more courtesy than curiosity.

"Since getting back from Europe." Her gaze flicked up to meet mine. "After everything that happened last year, I needed some space...to clear my head. I spent some time in London as well as Paris."

"Space can be good," I said. "I'm glad to hear you've moved on."

A frown creased Greer's otherwise immaculate forehead, and her lips pursed as if tasting something sour. "Moved on? Have either of us really done that, though? You know my intentions were only good. I just wanted the best for you. I don't know how many times I have to apologize before you forgive me."

"Greer," I began, unsure why I felt the need to reassure her. "Your intentions...I never doubted they were good. But..."

She leaned forward, her gaze intense. "But what, Ford? How many times must I apologize before you actually forgive me?"

I sighed, setting my glass down with a soft clink. "I have forgiven you, Greer," I said, my voice firm. And it was true. Forgiveness had come after much introspection, a way to let go of the bitterness that had lingered for far too long.

The waiter returned with our meals, and Greer offered him a bright smile as he set our steaming plates before us. The aromas of garlic and herbs filled the air, and I picked up my fork, trying to focus on the food rather than the memories threatening to resurface.

Greer turned her gaze to mine and her smile widened. She reached for my other hand and rubbed her thumb over my knuckles. "I'm so glad to hear that. Then we can pick up where we left off. Start again."

I glanced down at her hand, feeling an unwelcome jolt at the contact. "Start again?" I repeated.

She nodded. "That's right. I know we can do that. Pick up where we left off before what happened. Can I assume I'll be spending the night at your place this evening after we finish here?" she asked, her eyes alight with something that could have been hope or perhaps just determination.

The question rendered me speechless. Here she was, assuming, planning, trying to weave herself back into the fabric of my life as if the past could be erased.

"Absolutely not," I said, pulling my hand from hers. "Forgiveness doesn't mean we're getting back together, Greer. We're done. I told you that months ago, and nothing has changed since."

Her expression morphed into one of disbelief. The restaurant's soft lighting played across her features, sharpening the angles of her face as she narrowed her eyes at me.

"Is this because of Bonnie?" she asked, her voice rising. "I heard you were dancing with her at the party after the conference last week. Are you seeing her?"

I should have known there would be rumors. My lips tightened and I felt a muscle in my jaw working as I clenched my teeth, even though the mention of Bonnie sent a flicker of warmth through me. Bonnie's presence in my life was like a burst of sunlight on a cloudy day—pure and entirely unwelcome in this conversation.

I laid my fork down onto the plate and picked up my napkin, swiping it across my lips. "My administrative assistant is engaged for heaven's sake. And even if there was something between us, which there isn't, it would be none of your damn business."

Greer leaned forward, her blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that once would have captivated me, but now which I wanted nothing more than to get away from.

"Ford, be reasonable," she pressed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You can't deny there's something still here. Something worth exploring again."

I studied her for a moment, taking in the calculated poise, the impeccable appearance that had once drawn me in.

"No," I said firmly.

Her gaze held mine, unflinching, as if she could peel back the layers of my resolve with her stare alone.

"You don't mean that, Ford," she countered, her voice soft but insistent. "Deep down, you know we're not done. I can feel it every time our eyes meet. You still love me—I see it in the way you look at me, even now."

The audacity of her words made my blood boil, and I felt my hands clench into fists beneath the table.

"Greer," I said, trying to keep my voice calm, "I can assure you, what we had is in the past."

Her eyes glistened, and she shook her head, her blonde hair shimmering in the glow of the candlelight.

"Our love wasn't just a fling. It was real, powerful...We deserve a second chance. Don't let pride or fear stand in the way of what we could have again. Please."

"Stop," I said. "Don't do this, Greer. Let this go. Let us go."

Her beautiful face contorted, her nostrils flaring as she abruptly stood up and grabbed her clutch.

"You'll come around, Ford," she spat, "you always do." Conversation ceased as heads turned our way, and I felt my face flame with embarrassment.

She stormed out of the restaurant angrily, her stilettos clicking against the tile.

"Sir," I called out to the waiter who stood by with a look of concern. "My apologies. We didn't mean to cause a scene. I'll take my meal to go, please."

"Of course, Dr. Kingston," he replied, picking up our plates containing the barely touched food. After settling the bill, I left the restaurant, my thoughts churning with a mixture of both relief and frustration. Seeing Greer again had confirmed what I already knew—I was done with the past and ready to move on. I only hoped she could do the same. And the sooner, the better, for everyone's sake.