Apparently, my husband, Thorne, had other thoughts. We were celebrating our 25th anniversary, and I was floating, as if love had struck me anew.
But Thorne? His eyes were elsewhere all night.
Here’s what happened.
The restaurant carried its familiar scent: rich garlic butter filling the air, sizzling steaks, and a faint sweetness I could never quite place. It was the same place Thorne and I had our first date 25 years ago.
Nostalgia should’ve warmed the evening, right? Instead, a knot tightened in my stomach.
“Happy anniversary, darling,” Thorne said, smiling across the table. His voice was kind, but his eyes seemed distant.
He’d been distracted all evening, glancing past me more times than I could count. I followed his gaze, and there she was.
Our waitress.
