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chest. He kisses me, tells me that he wants to date me, and now I
have to start my true confessions. I might as well get it over with, because he
has some confessions of his own.
    “My ex-husband,” I say in a low voice, while my eyes shift
over to the empty hearth so I don’t have to see the look on his face. Before he
can reply, the hostess pops back with our drinks. Thankfully, I have a few more
moments to collect my thoughts. 
    After stirring in the cream and taking a sip of coffee, I
raise my eyes to look at his face. I’m surprised he’s staring into his own cup,
swirling the spoon around in aimless circles. He’s either digesting my
confession, or deciding whether to spill the beans about his past.
    He lays the spoon down and then looks at me. There is a
recognizable sadness in his eyes, which throws me for a loop.
    “I have an ex too. An ex-wife, that is—Susan.” 
    Susan . I wish he would have never dropped her name
into my head. Nevertheless, Ian looks embarrassed as hell, as if he just
revealed the biggest failure of his life. The miserable look on his face makes
me feel sorry for him, so I make light of it.
    “Yeah, I know. I saw your marital status on your social
media page.” I smirk, and then lower my lips to the coffee cup and take a
sip. 
    “Boy, you’ve really done your homework.” He leans back in
his chair and crosses his arms. “Did you run a background check on me, too, to
make sure I have no outstanding warrants?” His eyes are gleaming at me, filled
with mischievous intent.
    “Not yet, but the thought crossed my mind.”
    He relaxes and sits forward. “Okay, that’s out of the way,”
he says. “What next?”
    “That’s enough confessions for one day,” I say emphatically.
I have my own dark secrets stuffed behind a closed door, and I don’t know if
I’ll ever let them out to this perfect male specimen.
    “Can I at least ask how long it’s been? I mean since
your divorce,” he inquires in a low voice.
    He has the right to know if I’m on the rebound, so I tell
him the truth. “Five years.”
    “Wow, that’s a long time. Have you dated since then?”
    This is certainly going to sound like a lie, but it’s the
sad, awful truth. “Not really. Just once or twice for a few nights out here and
there.” His eyes widen in surprise. “I never found anybody I liked.” Or
someone I could trust , I honestly confess to myself .
    “Do you ever see your ex-husband?”
    “No, thank God, nor do I want to. He lives out of state.” I
think to myself, okay tit-for-tat . “How about you?”
    “Three and sometimes.”
    “Define sometimes.”
    He glances down at his coffee cup for a moment and then
looks back up at me. “Our paths cross in our jobs.”
    “You mean she’s an attorney too?”
    “Yes.”
    Oh, great. His ex-wife probably looks classy, makes tons of
money, and is smart as hell. Maybe they met at Harvard. “Okay,” I mumble.
    “Does that bother you?”
    “You over her?” I pry.
    “Yes.”
    “You over him?” he quickly asks in return.
    “Yes.”
    “Well, if that’s the case, I don’t see any problem with us…”
    “Can I take your order now?” The waitress stands by our
table with her pad in hand, and I haven’t even opened the menu yet.
    “Not quite,” Ian replies. “Can we have a few more minutes?”
    “Sure, I’ll come back later.” She leaves, and he reaches
over and touches my hand. “As I was saying, I don’t see any problem with us
dating. Do you?”
    Only that my self-esteem is in the toilet, I have bizarre
needs, and I know you’ll leave me one day , my mind quickly rants. 
    “No.” I might as well enjoy it while it lasts. Maybe I’ll
get laid.
    The menus get read, I order soup, and barely sip a fourth of
it. Ian doesn’t comment on my lack of appetite, thankfully. Since my hand
shakes every time I lift the spoon to my mouth, he’s probably picked up on the
fact I’m petrified to be eating in front of him. I hate my nerves