How we ran into each other that Sunday afternoon was we were both furniture shopping at the Cool Springs Furniture Emporium. I saw her bending down to get a better look at what she referred to as a tiny lamp. I smiled at the sight of her and walked up to where she was standing.   

“Oh, hi,” she said. Pointing to the table she added, “Right, I still buy them and store them in the attic. I love them.” She looked away and said, “But you know that and you probably don’t miss that about me.”

“I miss everything about you, including your obsession with tiny lamps,” I said, hoping the smile I was trying for was working. Olivia and I lived together for18 months, all of them good, I thought. When she came home from work one day and said, “I bought us steaks. You can grille them,” I was pleased.

“Sounds good,” I was looking forward to a quiet evening together.

“Jesse, I’m moving out after dinner,” she said. I was devastated by the news. I had been planning on proposing to her in August, the anniversary of our first date. I was devastated. She offered no explanation beyond the standard, ‘I need my space right now,’ line.   

The furniture store wasn’t crowded. “Do you mean that?” she asked. “Do you miss everything about me?” Feeling cautious, I was about to give her a snarky answer, but her eyes told me it was important for her to know.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t call me. Not even once did you call.”

“I didn’t think it would help either one of us,” I said. “You wanted your freedom and I needed to get over you.”

“Have you?”

“No.” Why was I being so honest? Was I trying to punish her?

“What are you doing at a furniture store? How many times have you told me you hate furniture shopping?” She frowned a little. “Didn’t you say furniture shopping is a mortal sin in your religion?” She smiled now.

“Well, it depends on the circumstances. I need a new desk for my home office.” I said. “You here to buy another tiny lamp, or are you starting a new collection, like maybe Queen Anne chairs?”

“You’re making fun of me.” She tossed her mid-length blonde hair and turned sideways as if she was ready to walk away but couldn’t quite make her feet move..

“What’s wrong?” I asked. I had learned early in our relationship to discern when something was bothering her.

She bit her lip and checked her watch. “I miss you too.”

“I heard you were seeing, Brad, the guy you work with.”

“I was, but not anymore.”

“What happened? Did he steal one of your tiny lamps?” Now she started walking away. My first instinct was to chase her and apologize, only now my feet couldn’t seem to move. I started looking at desks. They had five to choose from. One was a writing desk and I liked it enough to linger.

“Wow, almost $2,000. I could buy at least thirty tiny lamps for $2,000.”

“Yeah, but you’d have to rent storage space for that many,” I said.

“Maybe.” She smiled for the first time.

“Is your shopping done?” I asked. I checked my phone for the time. “It’s almost three o’clock, tea time.” On Sunday afternoons we often stopped what we were doing to have what we laughingly referred to as high tea, sitting at our kitchen table. 

“I don’t like tea. Did you forget?”

“You introduced me to high tea. Did you forget?” We laughed, a good sign, maybe.

Instinctively, I took her hand and pointed toward the door. She allowed it. “What I’d really enjoy is a mimosa,” she said.

It is a strange feeling to feel elated and wary, simultaneously. I was very much in love with Olivia. Nearly 40, she was the first woman I ever wanted to marry. No other woman had ever made me feel the way she did. Over the last four months, sleepless nights were the rule for me rather than the exception. Was I a fool to try it with her again?”

“I know just the place,” I said.

We drove separately to a tiny French restaurant we’d happily discovered together on our second date. When we arrived, she said, “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

I nodded. “Let’s have a drink anyway. If, when we’re done, you decide it wasn’t a good idea, you can pick up the tab.”

“Deal,” she said.

We held hands as we walked into the restaurant. We had the place to ourselves, save an elderly couple sitting at the bar. We sat down, ordered our drinks and talked. A tiny lamp decorated the table. She told me she left because she needed time to think. “I knew you were about to ask me to marry you and it frightened me. You know my story. I’ve been married before and it was an unmitigated disaster.”

“I heard you started seeing Brad a week after you left me.”

“Don’t be too upset. Spending time with him cleared my mind very quickly, actually.” She sipped her mimosa. “We only went out three times and nothing happened.”

I took a good look at her then and felt blood rushing to my face. She wasn’t the type to lie about a thing like that. What got my blood pressure rising was the sudden realization that after months of trying to forget her, I was still in love with her. “Now that your mind is clear, what’s your next move?”

“Have another mimosa and see if I can win you back.”

“You never lost me.” I asked the server to bring us another round.

I picked up the tab.