Five Years Gone

by Marie Force

  “How do you like the dark and stormy?” he asks.

  I take a sip of the drink that was served in an iced glass. “It’s got an interesting flavor.”

  “Ginger beer.”

  “Ah, that’s what that is. I like it.” The bourbon makes me feel warm on the inside as it seeps through my system.

  He leans his elbows on the table and gives me his full attention. “Tell me more about you.”

  His interest in me is a refreshing change of pace. Most of the men I’ve dated are far more interested in talking endlessly about themselves. The only other guy I’ve ever met who was truly interested in me… No, we’re not thinking about him tonight. “You know most of my story. During a rather average childhood in Purchase, I played the flute in the high school band and piccolo in the concert band. I ran track and cross country and was a representative on the student council.”

  “Do you still run?”

  “Not really. I do need to get back to the gym, though.”

  “What made you decide on a college so far from home?”

  “I wanted to experience another part of the country, and I needed some independence. My parents are wonderful, and I adore them, but they hovered. I felt a little claustrophobic under all that parental concern, and I knew if I didn’t go far away, I might end up letting them call all the shots for me.”

  “What did they say about you going to San Diego?”

  “My mom went on anxiety meds, and my dad bought me pepper spray.”

  He laughs, and the warm, rich sound feels like the bourbon as it washes over me.

  “Are you getting a better sense of why I wanted to go away to school?”

  “You paint a rather vivid picture.”

  “San Diego was perfect—too far for them to pop in any time they wanted, and a nice, relaxed atmosphere that allowed me to blend in and do my thing under the radar.”

  “You like it there? Under the radar?”

  I nod. “It’s my favorite place to be. I’m not as outgoing or social as my sister or worried about keeping up with the Joneses the way my parents are. I hate being the center of attention. That wedding my sister planned?”

  “What about it?”

  I curl up my lip. “I’d never want a big public thing like that. I’d break out in hives at the thought of it.”

  “Funny how two siblings can be so different, right?”

  “I’ve marveled about that since the day my sister was born. She’s always been exactly the way she is now, and I adore her. Don’t get me wrong.”

  “I can tell you love her whenever you guys are together.”

  “We’re just very different people.”

  “Ever come close to getting married?” he asks as our salads are delivered.

  The question strikes a little too close to home, and I’m thankful to turn my attention to the salad so he can’t see that. “Not really,” I answer truthfully. John and I never discussed getting married. At the time, I thought we were too busy enjoying the present to talk about the future, but with hindsight, I realize that, too, was intentional on his part.

  “Surely the guys in San Diego were interested in you.”

  “A few. Here and there.” It’s hard to eat when there’s a lump in your throat the size of a grapefruit.

  “Nothing serious?”

  “One.” I take a sip of my drink and fight back the surge of panic that would have me running from this conversation if that were an option. “He’s my Brittany.”

  “Ah, gotcha. Say no more.”

  I offer a small smile in appreciation of his willingness to drop it. I hope I can bring myself to talk about John to a therapist, but not anyone else. What would be the point? It happened, it’s over, and I need to move on.

  “Life can be a bitch sometimes,” Eric says, a rueful expression on his handsome face.

  “Indeed, it can.”

  He holds up his glass in a toast. “Here’s to moving on.”

  I touch my glass to his. “To moving on.”

  * * *

  After a delicious dinner, we share a dessert called the Chocolate Brooklyn Bridge. I take a few bites and then push the plate closer to him. “All yours. I’m done.”

  “You’re wimping out on me?”

  “If I eat another bite, I might explode.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, so I’ll take one for the team and finish this.”

  “The team thanks you.”

  This has been the most relaxing, enjoyable evening I’ve had in years, and it’s thanks to him and his easygoing charm, entertaining stories and quick wit. I can’t imagine how any woman could ever treat him the way his ex-fiancée did.

  “What?” he asks, catching me gazing at him.

  “Nothing.” My face heats with embarrassment.

  “Oh, come on. What’re you thinking about over there?”

  “I don’t want to bring old hurts into our good time.”

  He puts down the fork and wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin. “It’s okay. You can say anything to me.”

  “I just wonder how she could’ve treated you the way she did. You’re a good guy, Eric. A really good guy. How did she not see that?”

  “I have no idea. I was good to her. I treated her right.” He shrugs. “Who knows?”

  Before I can think too much about the possible implications, I reach across the table and lay my hand on top of his. “I’m sorry she did that to you, and I want you to know…”

  He turns his hand so our palms are touching and wraps his fingers around my hand. “What do you want me to know?”

  I swallow hard. “That I understand, better than most people would, what it feels like to be abandoned the way she abandoned you.”

  He tips his head ever so slightly, looking at me with new appreciation. “Do you?”

  I nod, but I don’t say anything more. I can’t. I’ve already said more than I ever intended to.

  “How do you feel about jazz?” he asks, surprising me with the sudden shift.

  “In general, or as a religion?”

  His face lights up when he smiles. It’s a good look on him. “Do I take that to mean after-dinner drinks at a jazz club would work for you?”

  “Absolutely.”

  He signals for the check and uses a black American Express card to pay it.

  “Next time is on me,” I tell him.

  “I’m thrilled to hear there’s going to be a next time.” He guides me to the exit with his hand on my lower back. Using his phone, he summons an Uber, and we step out into a beautiful, clear evening to wait for our ride. “I love nights like this when there’s no humidity.”

  “Reminds me of San Diego. The climate there was lovely.”

  He keeps an arm looped casually around my waist while we stand outside the restaurant. “We should go there sometime together. I’d love to see it through your eyes.”

  “That would be nice,” I say, but I don’t want to go there with him. That was my place with John.

  I’m not sure if it’s the bourbon that makes me do it, but I lean into Eric’s embrace, slightly, but enough that he draws me in even closer to him. Then I feel his lips brush against my hair. The surface of my skin tingles in awareness, and desire, the first I’ve experienced in years, makes me want to squirm. Somehow, I manage to remain still even as my body awakens from a long, dark winter of despair.

  The car arrives, and Eric holds the door for me, waits for me to get settled and then closes it to go around to the other side. When he gets in, he reaches for me. “Come back where you were.”

  I slide across the seat, and he wraps his arm around me. “Tell me something…”

  “Sure.” I hope I can be truthful with him, because he deserves that much.

  “Has there been anyone since the important one?”

  “No.”

  “How long?”

  “Five years.”

  All the breath seems to leave him on one long exhale. “Ah, Ava… God.”

  My
eyes fill, and I close them, determined to fight through the emotional storm I’ve been battling for years now. “How about you? Anyone since her?”

  “No.”

  We don’t say anything more during the ride across the bridge into Manhattan, but the weight of the things we’ve said hangs heavy in the air between us. So much is at stake for both of us. And with our siblings married to each other, the potential for further catastrophe isn’t lost on me.

  The car arrives at Columbus Circle. Eric holds my hand in the elevator to the fifth-floor location of Dizzy’s Club Coca-Cola. He exchanges a few words I can’t hear with the guy working the door. The man nods and gestures to a corner table.

  Eric pays the cover and shakes the man’s hand, slipping him a tip. At the table, he holds the chair for me until I’m settled and then takes the seat next to mine. “We’re just in time for the eleven-thirty show. Check out the stage. Pretty cool, right?”

  Behind the stage is the New York skyline. “What’re we looking at?”

  “Columbus Circle and Central Park.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “One of the best views in the city, and the music is excellent, too.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Another couple named John and Carlene are seated at our table. His name is John. Of course it is. Thankfully, he looks nothing at all like my John. They’re nice enough, but Eric keeps his focus on me.

  We order another round of dark and stormy with bourbon and sit back to enjoy the Mardi Gras band that takes the stage right at eleven thirty. They’re electrifying—and loud. So loud that Eric slides his chair closer to mine and puts an arm around me, making it so we can hear each other. We don’t say much, but his hand on my arm has my attention divided between the music and him. Then his fingers begin to move, sliding subtly from shoulder to elbow and then up again.

  He’s barely touching me, but that doesn’t lessen the effect of being caught up in the moment with him—and that subtle caress makes me realize how much I’ve missed being touched by a man. I’ve been so caught up in the grief of losing the person I loved most in the world that I haven’t given much thought to the secondary aspects of losing him. Who has time to think about sex when you have no idea whether the man you love is alive or dead or ever coming back?

  With Eric sitting so close to me and his touch setting off fireworks inside me, the woman in me is reawakening to things I haven’t wanted in years. While I’m not sure I’m ready for a new relationship and everything that goes with it, I can’t bring myself to stop something that feels so damned good. I watch the show, listen to the music and wallow in the sensations that remind me I’m still very much alive and still very much a woman in her prime.

  Chapter Eight

  ERIC

  Tonight has been… I struggle to find the word to describe how it feels to be back on track after nearly a year in complete hell. I want to thank Ava, and I want to kiss her, but more than anything, I don’t want to mess this up by acting like a fool. I’m a lover of live music in any form, and normally, I’m completely absorbed by a show. But with Ava sitting so close to me, the fragrant scent of her hair filling my senses and her soft skin under my fingertips, I’m distracted rather than absorbed.

  I’m trying to remember my plan to keep things casual and not get overly involved, but I can’t deny that something changed during that moment in her building earlier, and I think she’d say the same thing happened to her.

  I want to get out of here so I can spend more time with her, but the show doesn’t wrap up until close to one.

  “That was amazing,” Ava says in the elevator. “I loved it.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “It was great. I’ve seen them before. They’re always fantastic.”

  I haven’t touched her since we left our seats, and I’m almost afraid to touch her now. What was so easy and natural a few hours ago is now fraught with implications. The bubble we’ve been in since those first moments earlier seems to have burst since we left the club. I have no idea how to play this next part of the evening, and the uncertainty grates on my nerves during the cab ride to Tribeca.

  I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking. Has she been as affected by this evening as I have? What happens now?

  I never used to have insecurities with women until Brittany gave me reason to doubt myself and my instincts. That’s just another reason to hate her for what she did to me, but I don’t want to think about her, especially not with Ava sitting a foot from me after the wonderful evening we’ve had.

  Long before I’m ready, the cab pulls up to Ava’s building. I pay the driver and go around to help her out of the car. The second her hand curls around mine, I feel settled again, the way I did in the club. I’m still thinking about what I want to say to her when she looks up at me. “Do you want to come up for a drink?”

  “Sure.” I try to sound casual, but I’m filled with relief to not have to figure out how to end this evening on the right note. Not yet anyway. I follow her into the elevator and then to her apartment.

  “I’m not sure if Skylar is home, so we need to be quiet.”

  “I can be quiet.”

  She smiles at me over her shoulder and opens the door to the dark apartment. After turning on a light, she checks the other bedroom. “She must be pulling another all-nighter.”

  “Better her than me.”

  “What goes on at that firm of yours that requires attorneys to work all weekend?”

  “They’re acquiring a couple of other companies. That might be what it’s about. Nothing to do with me, thank goodness. I haven’t done an all-nighter since college.”

  “Me either. I need my sleep. I’m a raving lunatic without it.”

  I follow her into the kitchen. “I can’t picture you as a raving lunatic.”

  “You haven’t seen me sleep-deprived. It’s not pretty.”

  “I can’t imagine you as anything other than pretty.” I curl a length of her gorgeous hair around my finger, and when I shift my gaze from her hair to her face, our eyes meet in a moment of supercharged awareness. “Ava…”

  She licks her lips. “Yes?”

  It’s been a long time since I asked a woman for permission before I kissed her, but something tells me I need to ask Ava before I take that step. “Would it be okay if, instead of a drink, I kissed you?” I cup her cheek and move my thumb ever so slightly.

  She hesitates a second before nodding, but I can see that it costs her something to give her permission. I proceed with utmost caution, brushing my lips lightly over hers and making sure she’s with me before I do it again. As she curls her hands around my wrists, I’m not sure if she wants to keep me close or push me away. Her eyes are closed, so I can’t gain any insight there.

  “Ava…”

  “Hmm?”

  “Look at me.”

  She slowly opens her eyes, and I see they’re full of unshed tears that break my heart.

  “Sweetheart… We don’t have to… Not if you don’t want to.”

  “I want to. Please don’t stop.” Her arms curl around my neck, and she brings me down to her for another kiss. This time, her lips are parted as she kisses me.

  The tears have rattled me, but I have a feeling that rejecting her advances would do more harm than good, so I follow her lead and fully participate in the kiss. I slide an arm around her waist to bring her in closer to me.

  Her tongue touches my bottom lip, and for a second, I almost forget my plan to be careful with her, to go slowly, to let her set the pace. She’s so sweet and sexy and timid… The combination of those things is endlessly appealing to me after having been bulldozed by a woman who’s never had a timid moment in her life.

  Before things can progress too far, I withdraw from the kiss, even though that’s the last thing I want to do. “My parents are having a party tomorrow. Come with me?”

  She seems undone by the sudden change of direction. “Are you
sure you’re willing to risk getting your mother’s hopes up?”

  “I’m sure you’re worth the risk.” I kiss her again. “I had a great time tonight.”

  “I did, too. Thank you for dinner and the show.”

  “You’re welcome. Pick you up around noon?”

  “What should I wear?”

  “It’s casual. Shorts or whatever’s comfortable. And we have a pool, so bring a suit if you want to swim.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “I’ll let you get some sleep.” I reluctantly release her, and she walks me to the door. “Thanks again for tonight.”

  “Thank you.”

  I kiss her one last time and head down the stairs, my step lighter than it’s been in eight months. There was a time, not that long ago, when kisses in the kitchen might’ve led to something more in the bedroom. But with Ava, those chaste kisses feel like a victory for both of us—and right about now, I’ll take the victory.

  * * *

  AVA

  I kissed him. I kissed him, and I didn’t fall apart. But my heart… It splintered into a thousand pieces. My chest aches and my stomach is queasy. None of this has anything to do with Eric, who is wonderful and sweet and sexy. He’s everything anyone could want in a man. But he’s not John.

  After the lovely evening with Eric, I hate myself for thinking that. I hate myself for comparing them, for kissing Eric when I’m still in love with John, and mostly I hate John for the impossible mess he made of my life when he let me fall in love with him, knowing he might have to leave the way he did.

  I kick off the heels and claw at the dress, wanting it off right now. In the bathroom, I scrub my face free of makeup and brush my teeth.

  I can’t do this. I can’t be with someone else when my heart still belongs to John.

  I thought I could do it, and I wanted to. I really did. I was all in until he kissed me. Until it got real. Until I remembered the last time a man kissed me, on the way out the door and out of my life.

  I break down into grief-stricken sobs, sinking to the floor of the bathroom and curling myself into a tight little ball, arms around my legs, head on my knees. I have no idea how long I’m there, but I’m still there when Skylar comes home and finds me.