“She’ll have no problem taking the shoes though. If she denied the shoes I’m certain I would declare her insane—an alien maybe, because every woman loves shoes, right?”

“That’s true,” I laugh.

He shakes his head, picking up his beer and taking a swig. “She’s ridiculous, Angelina. I’m not exaggerating here. I try, I really do, but it’s never enough for her. Never.”

I watch the sadness wash over him, and I feel so sorry for him because a man that doesn’t care and doesn’t try wouldn’t get so upset about his wife being unappreciative.

He’d just move on, worry about himself like Scott does to his wife Elsa.

Most men in situations like Griffin Boyd only worry about one thing: themselves. They don’t care if their wife is happy and if she isn’t he’ll find someone else that is and treat her to whatever.

But Griffin cares.

He tries.

I can tell.

See, I grew up with a manwhore-ish twin brother. He brought girls home like they were goody bags from a birthday party, getting a taste here and there simply because he had money to boost his ego.

If he liked what he tried, he’d go for another taste, and if he didn’t… well, he’d just ditch her.

Perhaps that was why I was still single. Because I figured most men in the stock business were like Scott. Cheaters and liars. I mean, why marry if you’re just going to break the vows over and over again?

But Griffin… well… he’s different. He loves his wife. I can see it as plain as day.

I can tell he’s never cheated on her or even considered the possibility, even if she does seem a bit selfish and inconsiderate of him.

Griffin blows a sigh and looks at me.

“That doesn’t seem like much fun,” I murmur.

“Oh, it’s not. Trust me. But it’s been this way for years. I don’t expect much to change now.”

I study his face, notice how he avoids my eyes and focuses on the corners of the label around his beer bottle.

After downing my glass of wine, I drop my elbows on the table, folding my fingers and leveling them beneath my chin. “I know it’s none of my business,” I start as the breeze picks up, “but why are you still with her if you’re so unhappy?”

He lifts his head to look at me and blinks once. Twice. Then he releases his beer bottle, sitting back in his seat and spreading his legs.

I drop my gaze, focusing on that large bulge I know works wonders before swinging my eyes back up to meet his again.

His brown holds my blue, and then he sighs, looking down at his hands. “Because… I still care about her. And she’s gone through a lot. I just want to see her smile again.” He huffs a laugh, as if a thought just occurred to him. “Now that I think about it, maybe it has been a chase for me lately. A chase to get her to be happy again.”

I want to ask why she isn’t happy anymore, but I’m sure it’s too personal.

I don’t know Griffin very well, but the more and more we talk, the more he seems like a close friend. A great one. Maybe he will tell me some other time.

“You shouldn’t have to chase your wife like that. It takes two to make it work.”

“Yeah, well…” He lifts his bottle and tips it a bit, letting the contents reach the rim but not too much to let it spill over. “She’s a big girl, and I’m a grown man. The way I see it, it is what it is now.”

My brows shift upward, and I sort of shrug as I sit back. “I don’t get it.”

I search for the waiter. I need another glass of wine. I don’t want our time to end yet.

Isn’t that weird? Not wanting my time with a married man to end? I mean, hello? He does have a wife to get home to, even though she doesn’t exactly appreciate him.

She’s out of her mind. I don’t know the full story, but there is no reason at all not to want a man like Griffin Boyd at home from work every single day.

His love just seems so… so… unconditional.

A song by Carlos Santana drifts through the speakers of the balcony, slicing through my thoughts, and I perk up, smiling broadly as I look at Griffin and forget all about ordering that glass of wine.

“What?” he asks, taking note of my sudden eagerness.

I stand, reaching for his hands and tugging on them. “I love this song. Come on. Loosen up. Come dance with me.”

I flash a sweet smile and he chuckles, head shaking before it drops.

“I—I can’t, Angelina. I would love to, but—” he flips his wrist to check his watch, “—I should really be getting home.”

“I understand, and I promise to let you go if you share this one dance with me. Just one.” I release his hand, waving one finger and showcasing a grin. “One dance won’t harm anything. What is it? Two left feet?”

He laughs. It’s bashful. Sweet. “Nah. I’m actually pretty good at dancing.”

“Well, then what are we holding back for? Now that you’ve told me that you definitely can’t sit this one out. Come on!”

I tug hard until he gives in and says, “Alright, alright. Just one dance, Miss Clark.”

“Just call me Angelina,” I say, gripping his hands and leading the way to an empty spot on the balcony.

“Alright. Angelina.” He smirks, and heat fills my veins.

The area on the balcony is all clear. We’ve been out here for a little over two hours.

This little seafood restaurant is bound to be closing soon, but I don’t care. Until I have this dance with Boyd, nothing else matters.

When we meet at the center of the floor, he clasps one of my hands in his, a hand at my waist, eyes holding mine. A faint smile touches the corners of his sculpted pink lips, and in no time, he steps back and spins me in a full circle.

I gasp as I’m given a whirl, giggling when I land in his arms again.

“Someone wasn’t ready,” he murmurs.

“You didn’t give me much time to prepare,” I respond.

He shakes with silent laughter, and we start a light cha-cha-cha dance, one that involves lots of twirling, dipping, and holding.

I grin with each drop, laughing as my wavy, chocolate hair falls down, dangling in the breeze before he picks me up again.

It is truly exhilarating dancing with Griffin. He didn’t lie. He really is great at this.

I’m certain he took classes to perfect his moves. They are fluid and swift. Strong and delicious.

When the song comes to an end, I make sure to pull away first, laughing to keep things light and simple.

Only, Griffin doesn’t pull away. The song ended seconds ago and yet he still holds me close. His fingers come up, and he tips my chin, his face as hard as stone. I spot the contemplation in his brown eyes, the guilt that is already there. He doesn’t want to do this, but deep down he really does.

His conscious is sour.

He’s not thinking straight, and I could take advantage of that, but I’m not that kind of person. I shouldn’t. I won’t.

When he starts to lean in, that’s when I realize this is wrong. He has a life. A wife, for Christ’s sake. I can’t be what comes between him and his marriage.

I refuse.

So before his lips can come any closer, I hold up a hand, pressing it against his chest. “Griffin,” I breathe.

He still holds me close, hand above my hip, the other still grasping my chin. His hold is soothing. Comforting.

“Hmm?”

“We shouldn’t get so carried away,” I whisper.

He blinks, but doesn’t react for quite some time. The breeze flows by, but it seems to completely miss us because all of a sudden the air feels thick and humid again.

Slowly, Griffin starts to pull away, but his eyes never leave mine. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away.”

“It’s okay,” I assure him, smiling.

He looks towards the table, blinking rapidly before looking at me again. “I should be getting home.”

“Yeah. I should probably try and book that flight. I might just end up staying another night or so though.”