We were in no rush to finish dinner. Not when the food was delicious and the seascape spectacular. Once the sun dipped beneath the horizon, candles on the tables cast the terrace in amber light. Strings of lights wrapped around the railing lit up, adding to the ambiance.

The romantic atmosphere became even more intimate when a violinist appeared and played a few songs. After the musician left, I leaned back in my chair, nursing the cool wine Emrys had refilled.

"Emrys."

He winked. "Rys. That's what my friends call me."

"Am I your friend?"

Rys sighed.

Not friends, then. I wished I hadn't asked. Awkward Lyra and wine were a deadly combination that reeked of disasters and regrettable decisions.

How many friends did I have, anyway? Mila and Hazel, but Brock didn't like them, and because of that I wasn't as close with the girls as I could've been. Payton had been with me since middle school, so best friend status rightfully belonged to her. As for Brock... I could hardly call him my friend. He used me to satisfy himself in the bedroom and to vent about his problems out of it because he was always so stressed out. So worried he'd have to work hard with his father.

"I just realized I could've asked the violinist to play a song for you," Rys said, glancing at the open French doors the musician had disappeared through.

"What?" I gripped the edge of the table with one hand. "No! I'd...I'd die right here on the spot. Or thaw like the ice in the bucket."

He threw his head back, laughing. "It'd make you uncomfortable, I take it?"

I nodded, taking a generous swig from my goblet, and put the glass beside the plate holding crumbs from the most decadent dark chocolate cake I'd ever tasted. "I'd rather stay in the background because I don't do anything public well, least of all speaking. I get so terrified I freeze and either say nothing or blurt the opposite of what I mean."

Rys looked down, rubbing the hem of the tablecloth between his fingers. "That used to be me."

"No way."

I narrowed my eyes skeptically, and he chuckled again. "I'm not kidding. I've always admired my father for knowing what to say and how to say it, but for me, each school recital turned into a little tragedy. When the risk of dying a virgin outweighed the embarrassment of attending public speaking classes, I gave up and told my father I needed help."

My gaze lingered on Rys's handsome features — the chiseled jawline shadowed by the dark stubble and magnetic blue eyes framed by thick, dark lashes and brows. Even his nose was perfectly straight. There was no way in hell — or heaven — this guy would ever be alone.

"You'd never die a virgin," I said.

He folded the corner of a linen napkin carefully. "Not just a virgin, but a stuttering one. No one's perfect. I'm wary of those who think they are."

Then you'd be wary of Brock. The absurd words popped into my head but luckily didn't fall off my lips.

The wick of the small candle trembled in its holder — a big seashell like the ones I'd seen on the beach. I wrapped my arms around myself, and Rys tilted his head. "Cold?"

"A little."

"I'll ask for the check, then. Come on, let's go inside. It's warmer there."

I didn't want to leave, but my clattering teeth and icy hands disagreed. I finished my wine and followed Rys into the restaurant, where several couples were dining, exchanging tender touches and shy smiles.

They were on real dates. They'd go home and make love. And how sad was it that an apology dinner with a guy I hardly knew was the best date I'd ever had?

"Done," Rys said beside me.

I wet my lips that had no trace of gloss on them anymore. "Thank you. I had a wonderful time."

He dismissed my gratitude with a barely-there shake of his head, and we left The Wave. As we strolled down the street in silence, I stared at the sidewalk, focused on the monotonous click of my heels against the stone. The mood turned awkward, and I had no clue why.

Rys's house came into view ten minutes later. He halted his steps. "Lyra."

I looked at him. "Yeah?"

"I have coffee at home. We could sit by the heater on the patio and talk some more. What do you say?"

I wanted to say yes, but my mother's words thundered in my ears, erasing all traces of bravery. Her head would explode if she knew I'd enjoyed an evening with another man. She'd say girls in a four-year relationship shouldn't drink coffee with hot strangers at their place at midnight. They should worry about their reputation because the break wouldn't last forever, and their long-term, parent-approved boyfriend would be back once he'd had enough fun.

"I..." A dry patch in my throat resisted my swallow, and each second of my silence sent me into despair. Maybe saying the words was so hard because they weren't mine.

"It's okay." Rys pressed his lips together and nodded tightly. "I understand. But I'll walk you home 'cause it's late."

He accompanied me to the front door. We stood under the dim glow of the porch light, our bodies close but not touching. A mix of emotions swirled within me — anticipation, excitement, and a touch of disappointment that our night would end so soon because of me. Rys's eyes found mine. He lifted his hand, and as he brushed his thumb over my cheek, shivers scurried down my spine.

"Good night," he said softly.

A burn flared behind my eyelids. "Night, Rys," I whispered.

After getting inside, I lingered by the foyer window, watching Rys walk away, his steps confident and light. I was a fool. Not for rejecting his invitation, but because now I knew what I was missing. Consideration. Interest. And respect.

The comparison was dangerous because Brock fell short on every measure. Ignorance had been bliss. Or it had been tolerable, at least.

I kicked off my sandals and shoved my feet into some sneakers. Like every unhappy girl on a solo vacation, I'd bought wine during my only trip to the grocery store, and tonight's emotional roller-coaster was the perfect excuse to open the bottle.

The wind blew stronger as I went to sit in the wicker chair outside. Wrapping an old checkered fleece blanket around myself, I sipped wine from a mug as if it were tea.

My phone lay on the table in front of me. I grabbed it to check if I had new messages, but why would I? Brock was clearly too busy on the beach to worry about me.

I always pretended that I was fine, afraid of seeming needy. I was sick of it.

Even though I tried to keep the tears at bay, they leaked, leaving wet trails on my cheeks. I thought about everything that wasn't right in my life and drank, taking a bigger sip each time I brought the mug to my mouth.

Footsteps thudded in the quiet of the night. The minuscule sober part of me stirred in alarm, but my body remained motionless.

"Lyra."

The panties-dangler approached me slowly. He'd changed into gray sweats and a black hoodie and looked even more sinful.

"Listen," he said. "I'm usually not this overbearing, but everything was great until it wasn't, and I wanted to check on you and see if I owed you another apology."

I drunk-snorted into my drink.

Rys glanced at the almost-empty bottle on the table and sat in the other chair, propping his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He did that a lot, and when he was deep in thought like now, lines formed between his dark brows.

So stinking cute.

He looked at the bottle again. "You're drinking."

"I'm twenty-two." And a college grad. How cool is that? Someone pat me on the back because Mom wouldn't.

Mr. Steal-your-panties sighed. "Good."

"Good that I'm drinking?" Wow. Talk about enabling.

"Good that you're twenty-two."

Uh-huh. Why did he care about my age? Wasn't I aging well?

I downed the wine and leaned to leave the mug on the ground. As I straightened in my chair, the backyard spun.

Rys followed my movements with his eyes. "What happened?"

"I have a boyfriend, Emrys. Rys, although we're not friends."

His white, straight teeth sank into his bottom lip. "I guess that explains it."

Would he ever stop speaking in riddles? "Explains what?" I asked. "That I'm an awful person who had fun with another guy while Brock's at home? Except I don't know where he is because he wanted a break from me. That's why I traveled to Marfolk alone."

Why didn't anyone tell me telling the truth felt so good? I should've done this years ago.

Rys slid a palm down his face. "Lyra, listen..."

I always did. Too bad nobody ever listened to me. "No." I wiggled my finger. "You listen, Rys. The quote on those panties is the only bold thing I've done. I put it there after my mother told me my dreams of becoming a jewelry designer aren't worth shit because my only job is to get married, and my degree is just an accessory to increase my marriage market value."

"Market value?" Rys lifted his brows. "Lyra, you're not a—"

I scoffed. "It doesn't matter. My mother said Brock can have his fun because he's a man. But he supposedly loves me, so I'm the one he'll come back to. Our parents have known each other forever, and any girl would die to be with Brock Coleman and become a part of his respectable family."

It was as if I were talking to myself, spitting bitterness and resentment. Everything I buried deep inside itched to come out.

Rys wouldn't want anything to do with me after this, but it was over, anyway.

"Brock and I have been dating for four years." I held up four fingers. "Four. And he's stressed out. You know why? Because he has to work a cushy job at his father's fancy company after his break. My friend Payton asked me if he was going to sleep with other girls, and I can't say for sure he won't. I called him yesterday to see if he still remembered me, but he was an asshole. Come to think of it, he's been an asshole for the last two years, and I must deserve it—"

"Why don't we go inside?" Rys interrupted. He rose from the chair and walked up to me slowly as if he was scared of spooking me. "Come on. It's too cold."

The world spun. I inhaled the cool air, closing my eyes. "No. I just need more wine. Would you like some, Rys?"

The plot thickens some more. Poor Lyra. I feel bad for her. But maybe it's not that bad that she spilled the tea? What do you think? And what do you think will happen now? Did Rys stay to drink that wine?

Tell me your thoughts and hit that little star!

Love,

A.