Thorne looked up, catching my eye as I returned to the table. He smiled weakly, acting as if nothing was wrong. But I wasn’t okay.
“Everything alright?” I asked, forcing a smile.
He nodded too fast. “Yeah, just… work stuff. The boss knew we were here, left a message. You know, our no-phones-at-dinner rule…” His voice faded.
His hand fumbled with his napkin.
Work stuff, I thought bitterly. I didn’t believe it.
The rest of the evening blurred. I barely touched my now-cold salmon. Thorne seemed distant. I couldn’t stop thinking about that note, his guilty expression. By the time we got home, I was seething, ready to scream.
I needed answers but didn’t know how to begin.
I watched Thorne head toward the trash can, the note crumpled in his hand. He tossed it in and turned.
“Got to pop to the office for a bit,” he said. “Back soon.”
I nodded, slipping off my shoes.
The moment the door closed, I lunged for the trash, hands shaking as I retrieved the crumpled note. I smoothed it out, reading the delicate handwriting.
You have a radiant wife sitting across from you, SIR! Her eyes are full of love for you. Yet you’re staring at me. I wouldn’t have written this, but your kind and beautiful wife deserves better. Cherish her. Love her!
Oh, Saffron. That thoughtful young waitress.
Tears blurred my vision as I sighed in relief, sinking onto the couch.
I was stunned, utterly moved by her words.
Time passed—minutes, maybe hours. I sat there, clutching the note. The door opened, and Thorne stood there with a bottle of wine, a bouquet of peonies, and a pastel blue bakery box.
“Darling,” he said, his voice softer than it had been in ages. “I’m sorry I was distracted tonight. You wanted this to be special, and I… I ruined it. I’m so sorry.”
He crossed the room, kneeling before me.
“Let’s open the wine, share some tiramisu, and keep celebrating!”
I said nothing, just held up the note.
“Oh,” he said quietly. “You… read it?”
“I did,” I replied.
A long silence followed as Thorne rubbed his face.
“I was embarrassed, Rowan,” he admitted. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I was an idiot, staring at someone else when I should’ve been focused on you. I hate that it took a stranger’s note to wake me up.”
He took my hand, squeezing it.
“But it worked. I love you. Always have.”
I wanted to stay angry, but his raw honesty softened me.
“I know,” I said. “We get so comfortable, we forget sometimes. But no more.”
Thorne smiled.
We stayed up late, sipping wine, reminiscing about our first date, talking like we hadn’t in years. Thorne held my hand the whole time.
The next day, leaving work, I stopped by the restaurant, hoping to find Saffron.
“Hi, Rowan,” she said brightly. “Back already?”
“Thank you,” I said. “You don’t know what you did for us. You saved my marriage.”
Her eyes widened, and she smiled that same warm smile.
“I’m glad,” she said.
“Here,” I said, handing her a gift card. “For the boutique I manage. Treat yourself when you’re ready.”
I left feeling renewed, ready for another 25 years with Thorne.
