“Okay.”
“I want to stay here until Sunday.”
Ethan hesitated.
Then:
“Okay.”
“And I want to book it myself.”
He actually smiled.
“Okay.”
Diane narrowed her eyes.
“You’re learning.”
“Slowly.”
“Very.”
Ethan flew home that evening.
I stayed with Diane for two more days.
Not because she needed protection.
Because she asked me to stay.
There was a difference.
We ate shrimp tacos.
Bought ridiculous sun hats.
Spent almost three hours wandering through little art galleries where Diane kept pretending she understood abstract paintings.
On my last night there, we sat beside the hotel pool with two glasses of wine.
“I really did like Malcolm,” she said.
“I know.”
“For a few days, I thought meeting him meant my life was finally moving again.”
I looked at her.
“Maybe it did.”
She frowned.
“How?”
“You learned you can meet someone new.”
“That relationship lasted less than two weeks.”
“So?”
