Jane watched Gregory step outside to take the call, his expression serious. Left alone at the table, she traced the rim of her beer glass, her mind spiraling. That phone call may have interrupted him before he could answer, at least out loud. But she didn't even need him to say anything. She already knew.
She knew the moment he walked into this godforsaken dive bar. He still loved her.
She chugged the rest of her beer, the bitterness burning more than it should have. Gregory's sense of duty—that damn nobility—was part of what had drawn her to him in the first place. But it was also the same thing holding him back. His loyalty, his vows, his obsession with doing the "right thing"… they left no space for the past. No space for her.
Still, she saw it in his eyes. He was torn. Desperately torn. And with George six feet under, what was stopping him now? So why did it still feel like she was chasing a ghost?
She thought he'd take one look at her and remember who they were. That he'd sweep her off her feet, like in all those stupid movies they used to watch. But reality always had a way of slapping you awake just when the dream started to feel real.
"Are you guys done for the night, or do you want another round?" asked the waitress from earlier, her eyes scanning the room for Gregory.
"He stepped outside for a minute," Jane said, her annoyance barely concealed.
"Oh..."
"But, yeah, we'll have another order of the same thing," Jane motioned to her beer and pointed at Gregory's half-finished whiskey.
"Alright. You got it!" the waitress said, oblivious to Jane's irritation.
Jane waited for the waitress to clear out her empty bottle, then reached into her purse and pulled out a small vial. Her hand was steady despite the weight of what she was about to do. The drink on the table—his drink—was still cold, the amber surface undisturbed. Slowly, carefully, she tipped in a few drops. Just enough to blur the edges. He gave him the nudge he needed.
A few minutes later, Gregory returned. His expression had softened, though his brow still held a crease of indecision. He slid into the booth, offered a tired smile, and reached for the drink she'd so delicately prepared.
As the conversation resumed, Jane watched him closely. The guarded edge in his voice had dulled, and with each sip, his shoulders relaxed more. They talked about nothing and everything—about the places she had been, how Goa was too humid, and how he still hated country music but tolerated it out of nostalgia.
She laughed easily, genuinely. There were moments where it almost felt like old times. A warmth crept in that neither of them acknowledged, but both leaned into.
After another drink, Jane reached across the table and grabbed his hand. "Dance with me."
He blinked. "Jane…"
"One song," she insisted, already standing, her hand still wrapped around his. "Come on. For old times' sake."
He hesitated, then gave a defeated look. She pulled him gently toward the open space near the stage. The band played a fast-paced country song as a few couples lined up, stomping and clapping to the rhythm, their boots echoing on the worn wooden floor.
She grinned and nudged his shoulder. "Come on, Lawson. Try to keep up."
"It's been a while!" he shouted over the music, grinning.
Their steps slowly found a rhythm, the music filling the space between them. His movements grew more confident, and for a moment, it felt like they had never been apart.
She studied him carefully, noting the way his brow furrowed when he missed a step, then eased when she laughed it off. It was endearing—how hard he was trying not to fall back into old habits while every fiber of him was already there.
Another song came, and then another. Then, the band eased into a slower, softer melody. Jane stepped in closer, her hand sliding up to gently guide his around her waist. "This one's more your speed," she murmured, eyes lifting to meet his.
He didn't argue. Just let his hand settle where she placed it, his other finding hers without protest.
But his posture remained stiff, his jaw tight. She could feel the hesitation in his grip, like he wasn't sure if he should be here, in this moment, with her.
Still, he didn't pull away. They swayed, slow and steady, letting the music carry them. After a while, she felt his hand relax. His shoulders dropped. And when he finally looked down at her, something softened in his gaze.
"Do you remember the last time we were like this?" he asked, holding her gaze.
She rested her head on his shoulder as they danced. "Yes. How could I ever forget?"
He was quiet after that, but the silence between them was full—thick with things unsaid. His hand stayed firm at her waist, his breath warm against her hair.
She closed her eyes, the ache in her chest spreading with every breath. This closeness—it was all she'd ever wanted. But in this moment, nothing else mattered. Just her and Gregory.
Eventually, the song faded, and they returned to the table, where their drinks waited, condensation trailing down the glasses. He reached for his whiskey again, downing the rest in one final gulp.
Jane didn't speak. She just watched him, memorizing the angle of his jaw in the low light, the quiet slump of his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped the rim of the empty glass. She wanted to reach for him again, but she knew better than to push. Not yet.
The evening blurred after that. His laughter came more easily. His speech slowed, and his gaze lingered longer. She could see it—the unraveling. That wall between them was cracking, piece by piece. But a part of him still clung to the edge.
Now was her chance to move on to the second part of her plan.
"Do you want to get out of here?"
"Yeah." He muttered, standing and stumbling slightly. She immediately reached for him, steadying him.
Once they went outside, she noticed a man who had been leaning against a car approach them.
"Mr. Lawson," he said, taking Gregory's free arm and placing it around his neck.
"He's had a little too much to drink." She smiled, feigning concern while hiding the satisfaction in her eyes.
They reached the car, and just before the driver opened the door, Gregory paused.
"Thanks for tonight," he slurred softly.
She nodded, steadying him with one arm. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and searching, then flickered to her mouth. Before she realized it, he leaned in and brought his lips to hers. The kiss was slow at first, then deepened with warmth and desire. He tasted like whiskey, and that was enough to get her drunk. Her fingers curled into his coat, grounding herself in the moment, in him, before it could slip away.
When they pulled apart, Jane's heart thundered.
"Greg, I—"
"If you'll excuse me," the driver interrupted, gently taking Gregory's arm and moving to support him.
"Wait." Her voice sharpened. She stepped forward again and gripped Gregory's free hand. "Gregory, stay with me. Just for a little while longer."
"Sur—"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the driver cut in again. "Mr. Lawson instructed me to take him straight home."
Her jaw tensed. "Gregory. Can. Speak. For. Himself."
"I'm afraid he can't, ma'am. My orders were clear."
Jane stared the driver down, her glare smoldering. But after a long pause, she stepped back.
"Fine." She leaned in and kissed Gregory again—firmer this time and whispered, "I love you."
She watched as the car pulled away, the red taillights fading into the dark.
Alone on the sidewalk, she wrapped her arms around herself. Her jaw clenched against the ache forming in her throat. She had made her move. Now, she just had to wait and see if it was enough.
And if it wasn't, then there was always plan B.