Her companion's sad heavy eyes stared off at the horizon, his mouth drawn. Cameron knew all too well what he was thinking of, what made his shoulders slump and his chin rest so mournfully in his hand. He was a good man, and he didn't deserve what he had to endure.
The bite of tequila in their margaritas had grown progressively sharper. Cameron's blood grew warmer, and she found herself staring at the indents his lips had made on the salt rim of his glass. When he reached for it, Cameron recklessly threw out her hand to stop him.
"It'll be all right," she murmured, her voice soothing and sultry as the summer air.
He leaned in. Cameron knew misery had made him reckless. She didn't care.
But he broke their first kiss roughly, disgust in his black eyes.
"For Christ's sake, Allison, he's your husband."
And even after the funeral, things were never the same between them again.