Tess glanced at me.

“I know it sounds naive, but I mean it. I think I’m the only one who knows her. When you live with someone like that for so long, you know what’s real and what isn’t. Everything she feels, she feels it with all of her. Good or bad, high or low. She loved me, but she slept with another man. And I just couldn’t get past that.”

“Do you miss her?”

I paused, feeling guilty for knowing the answer was no, not able to lie and say yes. “Wendy isn’t who I thought she was when I married her. I love her in the way you love a person for having endured something with them. But the truth is that our relationship wasn’t built on trust or respect. It was built on fear and guilt. And that’s not the kind of love I want.”

“It’s not the kind you deserve. You are too generous, too giving for a love that takes so much.”

I reached for her hand, smiling down at her. “What happened to me being a lazy, selfish player?”

“I was wrong,” she said with adoration on her face and a smile on her lips, a smile that I kissed away before pulling open the door to the ice cream shop.

We ordered our cones and headed back outside, turning for the park. I did my best not to watch her lick her cone like a perv, I swear. I failed miserably.

“Can you believe,” she said around licks, “that you’ve been working at the shop all day, every day for weeks, and you haven’t even gotten a rash or broken out in hives or anything?”

I laughed, glad to note that Tess couldn’t quit watching my mouth either. “I know. I mean, we’ll see how I feel in five months, but it’s been good. I think because, even though I’m in the same place, every day is different. There’s always something new to do, a new project to work on, a new problem to solve. It hasn’t once felt like work, you know? Not like being a bank teller. I lasted one day. One.”

“You? A bank teller?”

“It was a little death, Tess. I could feel the years ticking off my life with every second on that big, ugly clock. They put it right in front of you—I assume so you can keep tabs on your mortality.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Listen, Ace—I’m pretty sure you could do anything you wanted to, what with being good at literally everything.”

“I just said I was a terrible bank teller.”

“I doubt you were bad at your job, just bad at staying at your job.”

“I think the Santa Monica Bank and Trust would disagree. How about you?” I asked. “Do you want to work at the shop forever?”

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “I’ve always wanted to be a permanent fixture at the shop, but …”

“But …” I prompted when she didn’t continue.