POV: EVE
Three days after Mike left, Eve had started to believe things might actually be okay.
Not perfect. Not simple. But okay.
Mike had stayed for dinner that first night....had eaten Dimitri's pasta in near silence, had answered Eve's careful questions about London in short sentences, had looked between the two of them approximately forty times with an expression she couldn't fully decode. But he'd stayed. And when he'd left two hours later, he'd hugged her at the elevator....long and tight, his chin on top of her head the way he'd done since they were children....and said, quietly, "I'm not done being angry."
"I know," she'd said.
"But I'm not losing you either."
She'd held on tighter. "You're not losing me."
He'd shaken Dimitri's hand at the door. Nothing more than that. no words, no warmth, just the handshake of two men who had fifteen years between them and one very complicated fracture to repair. But it was something. It was the beginning of something.
