Text Me On Tuesday: All is Fair in Love and Texting ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 1)

by Whitney Dineen

  Noel

  “I cannot believe I’m doing this,” I say as soon as Byron gets into the town car. We’re heading out to dinner to Celeste, a notoriously romantic restaurant, with Byron’s jazz musician, Jay, and Jay’s ex, Cole (also a jazz musician), who’s in town for a gig.

  “Good lord, man, quit grumbling already.” Byron slams his knee into mine to push me farther into the cavern of the car’s backseat.

  “You’re certain this Cole knows I’m not gay? I wouldn’t want him to think this is a blind date, and you know, tease him with all this,” I say, gesturing to my body. I’ve been trying to force a sense of humor back into my life the last couple of days, but it’s been painful.

  “He knows! I told you that eighty times already.” Byron huffs, settling next me.

  “I just don’t see why you needed a fourth for dinner,” I say again.

  “Because Cole is notorious for making Jay feel terrible about himself, so we thought having you there will ensure he’s on his best behavior. Also, you’re much better at comebacks than I am. I’m counting on you to verbally slay Cole if he starts criticizing Jay, especially his thighs. If that bastard mentions Jay’s thighs, you jump in.”

  I close my eyes and rub the bridge of my nose. “Why would Jay even want to see someone like that?”

  “It’s a revenge dinner,” Byron scoffs. “Jay’s going to show me off so Cole knows Jay’s over him and that he can do much better.”

  “This is a terrible way to spend a Tuesday night,” I mutter, glancing out at a guy on the sidewalk selling watches out of a briefcase. He looks about as dodgy as this evening feels. “I never should have said yes.”

  “Well, it’s too late to back out now. Plus, it’s getting you out of your pathetic office/rooming house for a few hours,” Byron says, reaching over and picking some lint off my suit jacket. “Also, you owe me after everything I do for you.”

  “Like what exactly?” Spilling the beans to my girlfriend and ruining my life? I don’t say that though. I do have enough self-awareness to realize I brought that whole situation on myself.

  “What do I do for you?” Byron makes a list on his fingers. “Filing, fetching coffee, sending emails …”

  “That’s called a job, and you get paid rather well for it,” I quip.

  He digs his pointer finger into my shoulder. “That snotty comeback is why I need you,” he says with a smile. “Keep practicing so you’ll be in top form for dinner.”

  Rolling my eyes, I sigh. “Fine.”

  “Buck up, little camper,” Byron says. “It’s springtime in New York. Love is in the air.”

  “Not for me,” I murmur, my chest aching at the very thought of love. Not to mention my shoulder from Byron’s rather aggressive jabbing.

  “Well, who knows? Maybe tonight will be the beginning of something new for you?”

  “With Cole, the trombonist?” I’m not quite that far gone that I’ve given up the thought of women entirely.

  When we get to the restaurant, we find the expansive lobby packed with clusters of people waiting for tables. Byron tells me to wait while he hurries over to the maître d’ to announce our arrival. He waves to me, and when I join them, we start winding our way through the dimly lit dining room.

  By the looks of our fellow diners, I’m assuming they’re on first dates or celebrating anniversaries—very lovey-dovey goings on. I pull my mobile out of my pocket and flick through my notifications while we walk, hoping to avoid the sight of happy people.

  When we arrive at our table, I hear, “Oh, hell, no!”

  I glance up and my stomach drops to my knees. Aimée is sitting at the table with Teisha. She looks breathtakingly beautiful in her navy dress, with her hair swept up off her neck. Boy, does she look furious. I stare with my jaw hanging down like an idiot as I try to sort out what’s happening. She seems to be much quicker figuring this out than I am, because she’s already getting up, giving Teisha a good tongue-lashing.

  When she looks up at me, she says, “I suppose you orchestrated this.”

  “I’m as shocked as you are,” I manage.

  Teisha stands, grabs Aimée by the shoulders, and sits her back down, while Byron pushes me into the chair across from her. Resting her hands on the table, Teisha leans down and announces, “Byron and I have had enough of you two with your sad sighs and all the curling up in a ball watching Leo and Kate.”

  “I’ve done no such thing,” I say defensively. Okay, maybe once. Twice tops, but that was two weeks ago.

  Byron plants his hands on his hips. “You’re even worse. Tell Aimée why you haven’t gone home since she dumped you! Tell her!”

  Swallowing, I mutter, “I don’t think she wants to hear it.” I risk a glance at her, before saying, “I’m very sorry about this. I was told I was coming here as some sort of a wingman for my brother. I’ll go. I know you don’t ever want to see me again.”

  I start to get up, but am quickly stopped by Teisha who leans in and hisses, “Sit your sorry ass down or I’ll start yelling and make a huge scene in front of all these people.”

  I stare up at her for a moment, trying to decide if I’m going to let myself be bossed around by my ex’s best friend. I look at Aimée and ask, “She’ll do it, won’t she?”

  Aimée nods reluctantly.

  Teisha continues, “Byron and I will be at the bar, right over there, watching you.” She points over her shoulder with her thumb. “Don’t even think of leaving until you’ve had a proper meal. That includes dessert and after-dinner drinks.”

  Byron gives us a firm nod. “Get talking and straighten yourselves out already. The people who love you most are sick to death of you.”

  With that, they link arms and walk away, leaving us to our awkward silence.

  “So, how have you been?” I ask, sounding utterly lame.

  Aimée straightens her back. “Good. Great, really. Lots of business coming in. I’ll be able to pay you in full for the tooth soon.”

  I’m about to tell her not to bother, but I know it’s useless. She needs to do it. “I’m glad you’re doing well. I hope for that every day.”

  “I saw the big announcement about One Rosenthal,” she says stiffly. “Congratulations.”

  The waiter comes by with a basket of warm rolls and a bottle of sparkling water. He fills our glasses, then says, “I’m Wesley, I’ll be your server this evening. Our sommelier will be by in a few moments to help you select some wine.”

  Aimée and I both thank him, and he disappears while I lift the basket and offer her a roll. She shakes her head, even though we both know she wants one. “No soft, warm buns for you?” I tease.

  That almost earns me a grin. “No, thank you. I’m suddenly not all that hungry.”

  “I suppose not,” I answer. “Listen, we don’t have to let those two yahoos decide how we spend our evening. If sitting here with me repulses you, I’ll keep them busy while you make a run for it.”

  “I don’t find you repulsive,” Aimée murmurs. After a brief pause, she adds, “Which is part of the problem. You’re all …” She points up and down at me. “Gorgeous and charming with your posh accent and your tailored suit and your gentlemanly ways.” She imitates me, “If sitting here with me repulses you, I’ll keep them busy while you make a run for it.”

  “I can be rude if it’ll help,” I offer.

  “It won’t work if you’re only doing it to make my life easier,” she says, looking irritated.

  “Righto, bad idea,” I answer, scratching my head.

  “Let’s just order some food and eat so we can get the hell out of here. Teisha will never let it go if I don’t go through with this.”

  “In that case, let the charade begin.”

  She opens the black menu in front of her and starts studying the choices. I study her. After a second, she clears her throat and whispers, “There aren’t any prices on mine. Does yours have them?”

  I shake my hea
d. “I’m afraid not.”

  Her shoulders drop and she chews on her bottom lip for a second. “I’ll just have some soup,” she says, closing the menu.

  “And I won’t try to talk you into ordering a proper meal or offer to pay for it because I know that would bother you.”

  She lifts her chin and straightens her back. “Damn straight, it would. I’m already in deep to you for the dentist. I don’t need to add a few hundred for dinner too.”

  A man in a tuxedo stops at our table and gives us a slick smile. “Good evening. I’m Peter, the master sommelier. If you already know what you’re going to eat, I will select the perfect accompaniment to your meal.”

  Aimée smiles up at him. “No wine, thank you.”

  “No wine?” he asks, wrinkling his nose up.

  “She’s pregnant,” I blurt out, while giving him a wink.

  “I am not!” Ah, Aimée doesn’t want to play.

  “She gets very frisky when she drinks and she’s currently mad at me.” Before she can yell at me about that, I continue, “So, how about this Peter, I’ll drink for two. Just bring me whatever wine you would choose for both of us and I promise to give it my best shot.”

  Peter nods his head once before marching away like he’s about to go into battle. Aimée reaches into the breadbasket and throws a roll at me. “Don’t be ridiculous. You are not going to sit here and drink for both of us.”

  “Am too,” I tell her while breaking the roll in two and buttering half. “I might eat for two as well, if you refuse to order more than soup.”

  “All I want is soup,” she maintains. “I hate to disappoint you, Noel, but it’s not part of my job description to do whatever you tell me to. All I am to you is your caterer.”

  “My caterer who bloody well won’t even show up at the job.”

  She shoots me one of those looks that’s a cross between “you didn’t just say that” and “I will make you pay in ways that will render you incapable of fathering children” but she doesn’t actually say anything.

  “How was that?” I ask. “Sufficiently rude enough for you to hate me?”

  “Pretty good, actually,” she says.

  Sighing, I say, “Do you really hate me?” My gut turns to stone while I await her answer.

  “I’m trying so hard to,” she says, her eyes filled with hurt. “What you did was …”

  “Unforgivable, I know,” I answer. “Totally unforgivable.”

  “It was. And as the weeks go on, I keep realizing the lengths you went to in order to keep up the ruse—you must have had to change your cell phone number when we actually started dating.”

  I nod and look down at the candle in the center of the table. “I would have done anything so that you never had to find out what a despicable snake I was.”

  “You basically stalked me, Noel,” she adds quietly.

  My chest aches. “It never felt like that to me. It felt like I was getting to know the loveliest, funniest woman in the world. It felt like all my birthday and Christmas gifts for the rest of my life wrapped into one. I didn’t have the strength to resist you.”

  She counters, “If you wanted to go out with me, you should have just asked.”

  “I should have, yes.” I sigh, then say, “At first, when you accidentally texted me instead of Byron, I thought it was amusing—you were writing about how much you hated me. I didn’t think it would go far, and I fully intended to let you off the hook right then. But then you wrote about how broke you were and I wanted to help you … and somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to tell you the truth because I didn’t want to stop having something that connected me to you. Anything, even if it was a lie.”

  Wesley the waiter comes back, and asks, “Have you decided?”

  “I’ll have the mushroom soup, please,” Aimée says.

  I look up at Wesley, “I’ll have the filet and the lobster.”

  “Very good,” he says. “Would you like any appetizers?” He’s staring at me in something akin to awe at my ordering two entrees—the most expensive on the menu, no less. My menu does have the prices.

  “Please,” I tell him. “I’ll have the braised sweetbreads and the crab cakes.” Before he can walk away, I add, “And the Caesar salad for two.”

  “Yes, sir.” He clicks his heels together in what I’m assuming is anticipation of a huge tip. With the size of our bill, he’s going to make out right well for himself.

  “I am not eating all that food with you,” Amy says determinedly. I love how tough she acts. But if I know her, and I do, she will not be able to resist trying the cuisine here.

  “I absolutely won’t allow it,” I tease. “This is my food and if you want something other than a teaspoon full of bisque, you’ll have to order it for yourself.”

  Aimée tries to stifle the smile coming to her face but is not totally successful.

  “I’m sorry if my adorable sense of humor is making it hard to be mad at me. I’ll cut that out.”

  Giving me a crooked smile, she says, “Please do.”

  I stare at her, trying to memorize every detail of her face in case this is the last time I’m graced with the sight of it. “What were we talking about?”

  “How you justified lying to me for so long …”

  “Right. That,” I say, feeling my mouth go dry. “It was pathetic. The entire thing. And I have literally spent the last twenty-three days, six hours, and …” glancing at my watch, I add, “thirty-eight minutes wishing I could go back in time and do everything differently. If I could, I would not have been a coward, or an arse, or a liar. When you skidded into my arms, I would have said what was on my mind, which was that you are the most breathtaking woman I’d ever seen and that even though it was absolutely insane, I was pretty sure I never wanted to let you go. Then, of course, I would have gotten you a towel, like a proper gentleman, let you get dressed, and waited to see if you could possibly like me back. But my regrets are not your concern and I know that.”

  She nods. “Exactly.”

  “You should move on and find someone who’s … not me.”

  “I will,” she says, slathering butter on her bun and taking a bite.

  “Good. You do that,” I say, watching her sadly. “And I’ll be hoping from afar that all your dreams come true.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Aimée

  I want to jump over the table and crawl into Noel’s arms and beg him to never let me go. How can I feel like that after what he did? Have I no self-respect at all? To help resist my impulse, I eat three rolls in a row which gives my hands something else to do. It might also help fill me up. I don’t think that bowl of soup is going to do the trick.

  The sommelier brings two glasses of pink champagne to the table. “The 1996 Plenitude Dom Pérignon Rosé,” he announces like it’s the liquid equivalent of the Hope Diamond. As far as I know, it is.

  Noel smiles up at him. “One of my favorites, thank you.” He takes a slow sip while keeping his eyes trained on me. Then he picks up both glasses. With one, he toasts, “To love, may I never mess it up as royally again!” He clinks both glasses together and takes another sip.

  I roll my eyes while reaching across the table to take one of the glasses. “I feel like I owe it to the universe to drink to that.” I add, “I don’t want some other poor woman to have to go through what I did.” I feel an actual stabbing pain in my chest at the thought of him with another woman. Or is that from inhaling all those buns?

  When the appetizers arrive, Noel asks our waiter for more rolls. I ate four. Then he pushes one of the plates in front of me while moving the soup into the middle of the table. I let him because, as God is my witness, I have never wanted to eat crab cakes so badly in my entire life. They look amazing.

  “Only one,” Noel cautions me. “I’ll save you half of my sweetbreads.” I’m not sure I’m that big on thymus gland, so I might just eat my soup at that point.

  I cut a small
bite of my crab cake and bring it to my nose. I can smell the heady bay seasoning and the citrusy-fresh mango chutney. Then I close my eyes and bring my fork to my mouth. Once the brine of the seafood and sweet fruit burst onto my tongue, I release a groan of pure unadulterated pleasure. I open my eyes to see Noel staring at me like I’m in the throes of some other pleasure entirely. “What? It’s good,” I tell him.

  “Aimée Tompkins, my lovely caterer, do you remember why I didn’t stand up and shake your hand properly that first day we met?” For clarification purposes, I suppose, he adds, “After you got dressed?”

  I lower my gaze. He said he didn’t want to embarrass himself because he was … that is to say … visibly interested. I peek at him again very slowly and nod my head.

  “I’m suffering the same plight again. If you plan to keep moaning through this meal, I’m going to have to walk away and run my head under cold water in the loo.” I’m valiantly trying not to smile when he adds, “The other diners could play ring toss as I dash by.”

  I burst out laughing despite my anger and hurry to shove another bite of crab cake into my mouth to stifle my mirth. We eat silently for a few minutes before I ask, “So how is it working with Walter Junior?”

  “About as much fun as passing a kidney stone, I expect. The man has decided that we’re destined to be best buddies and he wants to start hanging out after work hours.”

  “Ew. How are you going to get out of it?” I ask.

  “If he doesn’t buy my excuses of being too busy working on his building, I’m going to tell him my girlfriend hates his guts, and she won’t let me go out with him.” He smirks when asking, “You don’t mind if he thinks we’re still together, do you?”

  I shake my head while taking a truly huge bite of crab cake. I’ve already eaten mine, so I dig into Noel’s. “Whatever will help,” I eventually tell him when I come up for air.

  “It would help if you really were my girlfriend …” He lets the thought linger.

  I pick up my glass of champagne and drink the whole thing in one gulp.

  Our ever-vigilant sommelier comes over with a bottle and refills our glasses. Noel says, “What more can I do?” He sounds pained. “My apologies are sincere; my heart is broken; I am a shell of the man I once was.” Then he pulls out all the stops. “Aimée, I still love you. So very much.”