by Ella Brooke
Ryan gives a rueful snort. “Neither did I. But . . .” he brings his eyes level with mine. “I can’t leave things this way. I can’t get it out of my mind, what I saw . . .”
“Ryan, I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, or lie to you. I feel terrible about the whole thing. But I need you to know that nothing happened between me and your father until after you and I split up, I swear.” He nods, but it doesn’t look like it makes him feel any better. “I didn’t plan this. It just happened.”
“That’s what he said, too. We had a talk, afterward. He told me everything; how he was attracted to you but kept his distance out of respect for us. To be honest, I suspected he’d met someone special. He wasn’t his usual self, out on the town with a different woman on his arm every other night. I just never thought in a million years that someone would be you.”
“I don’t know what to say. I can’t undo what happened.”
“Tell me the truth. Are you attracted to him? In a way you weren’t with me?”
I exhale a sigh. This can’t be helpful, but I can’t lie to him. “Yes. But you mustn’t take it personally.”
“Hard not to, don’t you think?”
“Please, Ryan. It had nothing to do with you, believe me.”
He scoffs and looks away, out the windows of the café. “It doesn’t matter,” he says after a moment. “I’m with Nina now, and it’s going really well. We’re going to move in together in the fall.”
“That’s great,” I say. “I’m happy for you, really.”
“Thanks.” He looks back at me, his eyes red-rimmed with stress. “You know I want you to be happy too, Cass. And as much as I want my dad to be happy, I just can’t accept you and him having a relationship. I’m still sick to my stomach at seeing you . . . together. I’m sorry if that’s selfish or petty, but it’s how I feel.
“I know. I’m so sorry you had to find out like that.”
“It’s better that I know. Because what I really wanted to tell you is . . . I don’t think you’re going to find happiness with my old man. You deserve someone who’s right for you, and so does he. Break it off, before you both hurt each other. Please.”
I can’t say I’m not touched by his concern for me, even after all I put him through. But I don’t need anyone making my decisions for me any more. I stand up from the table. “I’m glad we had this little talk. But you needn’t worry about me. I’ve already told your father we’re through. I won’t be seeing him again. Goodbye, Ryan.”
Without looking back, I turn and leave the café, walking toward a new future that doesn’t include anyone with the surname Baxter.
Epilogue
Brent
One Year Later
There’s something about the month of June that brings out the best of the Big Apple. The air is warm, summer’s oppressive smog has yet to build up, and the sun manages to somehow reach the ground between the mammoth steel and glass towers of Manhattan. It’s the one time of year I forego taking cabs or limos everywhere and just walk the streets in the fleeting minutes I can get away from my office.
Those minutes are few, but today I’m in no hurry to return to my desk. My feet just seem to take me in new directions, straying from the usual route. I’ve stopped having my lunch brought in. It reminds me too much of a time gone by; a happier time, a time I will never get back. Instead I take my lunch in the street like the rest of the normal human population, savoring a great food-truck hot dog or fish taco. I never knew what I was missing all these years in that regard, but lately I’m realizing a lot of things I miss. Like being happily married, and watching my son grow up.
It’s been a strange year. A lonely year. With Ryan moved out, I’ve spent a lot of nights at home alone. Mostly by choice. Dating has lost its allure for me; my mind more occupied with the concept of how there are an equal number of miles left on the road ahead as there are behind. I guess that’s why they call it mid-life. Am I having the classic crisis everyone talks about? Maybe. I’ve been dealt some pretty special cards over the years, and at times I’ve played them badly, especially in the game of romance.
But that’s in the past; today my feet are stepping firmly in the present, down Henry Street in Chinatown. Lunch was a Szechuan hotpot to go and my lips are still burning from the experience. I recall thinking how some things never change, and other things change forever. While a spicy noodle bowl is a constant in Chinatown, its streets are not. I’ve passed three small galleries and a pottery studio in the last two blocks alone. Since when has this area become an arts district? The neighborhood has a whole new vibe that didn’t exist the last time I visited.
There’s something new in every direction, and my head is swiveling like an office chair when a flash of color catches my eye. A woman stands on the sidewalk a few yards ahead, wearing a figure-skimming mini-dress of vivid turquoise blue; a startling contrast to the sea of red and yellow lining the street. She’s looking in a shop window, her arms crossed as though appraising its property value. Her platinum blond hair is cropped to shoulder length. As I draw closer, I don’t recognize the haircut or the dress, but I’d know those curves anywhere.
It’s Cassidy.
With the slow-flowing river of pedestrians all around I can’t suddenly change direction to avoid her. It’s been a year since she walked out of my life and I can’t imagine she’d be overjoyed to bump into me at random like this. But just like a river, perhaps life has its currents and eddies, too, drawing certain people to a particular destination in the same way. It’s random, yet not random. It’s natural, and meant to be.
Suddenly she turns my way, both recognition and concern registering on her lovely face as she looks straight at me. My God, it seems like forever since I gazed into those sea-blue eyes; she looks even more beautiful than I remember, if that’s possible. More confident, more mature. More distant. My chest tightens as I come to a stop within arm’s reach of her. All I can do is smile, and to my relief, she smiles back.
“Brent. How good to see you.”
“Likewise,” I say, my smile widening further. “How’ve you been, Cassie?”
“Never better,” she says, gesturing to the shop window she was studying. “We opened on the weekend.” Following her motion, I see the signage behind the glass. Keaton & Co Fine Art. Well, what do you know; she’s done exactly as she planned, opened her own gallery. I couldn’t be more proud of her. But who’s the ‘Co’? “Congratulations, honey. You said, ‘we’?”
Cassie laughs, her cropped blond hair swaying in the breeze. “Another colleague from NYC and I joined forces. Difficult running a business on your own in this market. She’s on her way here right now with some supplies. You should meet her.”
Was that a hint? If so, my heart just shrunk a few sizes. I don’t have eyes for anyone but her right now. “Perhaps another time,” I say.
“Oh, sure, yeah,” she waves a hand. “I’m sure you’re busy . . . Wall Street awaits, right?”
“Something like that,” I chuckle. “Could I stop by for a tour someday?”
“Of course. We’re open 9-6 weekdays and Saturday.”
I nod and take a deep breath. Perhaps that’s all there is. Strictly business. I can’t help wishing there could be more.
“How’s Ryan?” she asks suddenly.
“Oh, uh, fine. He’s great, actually. He and Nina are getting married at the end of the summer, in fact.”
“Yes, that’s wonderful,” she says, with a smile and the signature tilt of her head. “I saw his post on Facebook. I wish them both the best.”
She really is different; full of self-confidence and with a polished, professional air about her—the starving, ingenuous, bohemian art student long gone. “I’ll let him know you said hello.” I say, my smile fading to a nostalgic echo of itself. “You take care.”
She bobs her chin in a gracious nod as turn away and drift back into the moving crowd. I focus straight ahead, my heart thudding painfully with each step away from her. I don’t kno
w what I was hoping for in that conversation. Redemption? Forgiveness? All I know for certain is that even with all the time that’s passed, I don’t want it to be over between us; my stubborn head not ready to accept that this really is the end. But I must. I have no choice.
“Hey, wait,” a voice calls from behind me, a clattering of high heels against pavement growing louder as it approaches. A small hand is on my arm, halting my steps. Then she’s there, right in front of me, her bright smile and flashing blue eyes blinding me to all else; the people and the noise suddenly non-existent. “I was wondering if,” she says, a bit out of breath, “after that tour, you might want to go to lunch?” I gape, stupefied for a second. Am I hearing right? “Or maybe a drink . . . or you know, just coffee . . .”
I take hold of her hand that’s still fixed to my sleeve, twining my fingers between hers. “I’d love to,” I reply, interrupting her before the invite downgrades from lunch to sharing a cab. Even that would be enough.
“Great . . . so, I’ll see you soon, then.”
“Honey, you can count on it,” I say as she unlocks her hand from mine and raises it in a wave before disappearing in the direction of her shop. I smile and wave in return. Yup, some things do change forever. I know my life just has.
The End
CLICK HERE
to subscribe to my newsletter & get EXCLUSIVE updates on all offers, secret previews, and new releases!