His haunted eyes rise to meet mine. “What if I don’t? What if I’m so fucked up that I miss all the signs?”
“Then you will live happily in bachelor land. Probably have a couple of kids to a few different women and then grow old with the children you see every second weekend.”
He frowns as if shocked by my prediction.
“I don’t want that,” he whispers.
I take his hand over the table. “I can’t help you with this, baby.”
“But we get on so well,” he whispers.
“We do.” I squeeze his hand in mine. “And I will be your friend to the very end, but I want to wait for Prince Charming.” I smile hopefully. “He’s coming for me, I know it.”
He stares at me. “How will you know? How will you know when you’ve met him?”
I already know.
“Because he won’t have to try to not sleep with anyone else . . . he will love me so much that the thought of sleeping with another would turn his stomach. Because that’s what love is. Putting another person above all else. Giving yourself over to them completely. Trusting your heart with the woman you love.”
I see the confusion rolling around in his eyes. He can’t even comprehend what I’m explaining.
“I have faith it will happen for you one day.” I sip my drink with a smile.
He exhales heavily. “I wish I shared the same optimism.”
“And for the record, for future attempts, telling a woman that you can try not to sleep around is probably the most unromantic thing I have ever heard.”
He gives me a beautiful broad smile, and I know it’s going to be okay between us. “I thought it was pretty good, actually.”
I laugh. “You idiot.”
“I can’t believe you’re knocking me back, Grumps.” He frowns. “I’m a catch, you know?”
“I know. Crazy, huh?”
“So where do we go from here?” he asks.
“We keep being friends, and you practice how to fall in love with someone.”
A trace of a frown crosses his face. “How do I do that?”
“You let your guard down.”
“I don’t—”
I cut him off. “I know. It isn’t an easy thing to do.”
He sits with his head resting on his hand, his elbow on the table. “Why did you break up with your boyfriend?”
“He tried not to sleep with someone else . . . and failed.”
His eyes hold mine.
“Broke my fucking heart in the process.”
“It wasn’t about you,” he says softly.
“I know.” I sip my drink as the memory of how hard my heart broke sinks back into my bones.
We fall silent again, and a thought comes to my mind. “Why did you come on this trip?”
He shrugs. “Lots of reasons.”
“What was the main one?”
“To try and find out who I was.”
“And what have you discovered?”
Holding the stem of his glass, he spins it where it sits on the table, his eyes focused on it. “I don’t always like who I am.”
“Like when?”
“Like now.”