“We’ll have a bottle of red for the table, the best you’ve got,” Aaron tells her without asking me, and although the waitress looks to me to give me a chance to order something else, I just nod. It’s easier to go with the flow tonight.

“I know how much you love a good red,” Aaron says with a self-satisfied smile after she leaves.

I never had the heart to tell him I prefer white. I mostly drank red when we were together because he liked it, so I don’t know where the hell he got that from, but I decide to ignore it.

“You know, with as much work as you do at that yoga studio, they might as well transfer ownership to you,” he muses as we wait for the wine to arrive. “I still don’t understand why you bother so much with that when you’ve got a law degree in your sights.”

“Gotta pay the bills somehow,” I mutter.

What I wish I could explain to him is how yoga centers me in a way law never has—how helping others find that same center feels more rewarding than any courtroom victory could. But Aaron could never really relate to a passion that isn’t tied to status or money.

I could argue with him about it, but I don’t have the energy, and I’m not particularly interested in spending what energy I have on changing his mind—assuming he would even listen. Besides, it’s easy for him to say. He’s making money hand-over-fist and has been since the second he left law school.

Aaron reaches across the table to put one of his hands on mine. He strokes my knuckles with his thumb. “You wouldn’t have to worry about that ever again with me.”

I resist the urge to pull away, making a quiet, non-committal noise. I know he means it as a good thing, but it still makes my stomach twist.

Is that really all he thinks I need or want in life?

I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I don’t need his help. And I’m not sure I could depend on it to be there when I needed it if I tried. There’s a reason—several of them, actually—why I broke up with Aaron eight months ago.

“When these crusty old-timers get their heads out of their asses and finally make me partner, I’m going to take you on a trip,” he adds. “I’m thinking somewhere hot and tropical, all expenses paid. Anywhere you want to go.”

My phone buzzes in my purse and the waitress returns with the bottle of wine, and I discreetly check the message while she’s opening the bottle and pouring a bit for Aaron to sample before she fills both our glasses.

DECLAN: How’s your date going?