by M. E. Nesser
“I’ve heard the food is excellent, but I must admit that I’ve never eaten here. I haven’t really eaten anywhere the past year, though, so that’s not saying much. Wow, your brother must put in long hours being the chef. That’s tough work. So now that the restaurant has become successful, why doesn’t he hire someone to cook for him?”
“He tried hiring other chefs, but they were never consistent. They’d get lazy or take shortcuts, and the food would suffer. The only way to ensure the food is prepared properly is to do it yourself. It is a lot of work, but it has been a dream of his for as long as I can remember. He did hire more sous chefs, but he’s still here six days a week, sweating away in the kitchen,” he explained to me.
I opened up the menu for about two seconds and then closed it again. Making choices wasn’t my forte these days.
“Why don’t you order for me?” I suggested.
“Is there anything you’re allergic to or don’t like?” he asked thoughtfully.
“Tripe and liver are the only things I’m not fond of. Other than that, I’ll eat just about anything,” I assured him.
He ordered several courses, and every morsel was delicious. I don’t think I had eaten that much food in the past month in total. It was wonderful, as was the conversation. He sounded like a financial genius. I can honestly say that I’ve never cared about how much money anyone made. I was always attracted to people’s minds and their hearts. But Ian made fiscal strategy sound fascinating. He explained to me that he owned several companies that he kept controlling interest in. He had also made quite a few successful investments.
We spent a great deal of time talking about our children. His eyes lit up when he talked about his daughters. It was endearing when he explained that, after the divorce, they had decided to come live with him. Apparently, his ex-wife didn’t really want the responsibility of raising them, but it was still their decision to make. I thought it was interesting that his daughters would prefer to live with their father—it said a great deal about his character. I was fascinated by everything he shared with me; it felt good to think about something other than my grief for once.
At one point, he asked me about what happened at the bar. He prefaced the discussion by saying that I didn’t have to share anything with him that was confidential. I appreciated his concern and, for some reason, felt safe enough to tell him what had happened. I told him briefly about my marriage and then about Bryce’s untimely death. He seemed genuinely sympathetic about the tradegy that Jackson and I were forced to endure. At that point in the conversation, I wanted to continue. I told him about the pact that I made with my husband. It was comforting that he listened attentively, responded compassionately, and didn’t seem surprised when I shared the story about the pimentos. I wasn’t exactly sure where this man came from, but I was glad he was introduced into my life.
I thoroughly enjoyed my evening. It was such an unexpected and pleasant surprise. The mixture of wine and food, however, exhausted me. He could tell I was tired, so he called his driver to take me home.
3
Holy cow, Katie, you did it! You finally went on a date. I’m so proud of you. See, it wasn’t so bad. This guy is great. He’s smart and attractive—and, well, rich. I would hate for some man to use you for any reason and especially take advantage of your financially. He has been divorced for several years, so I’m sure he isn’t on the rebound. I love that he has two daughters around Jackson’s age. Maybe they can all meet one day and be friends.
It was so good to see you laugh again. I can’t stand watching you cry whenever you’re alone. And when you’re with other people, your mood is always so somber. Your personality has changed so much since I died. I have missed the feisty and vibrant woman that I fell in love with. It seems like such an effort for you to be cheerful. I knew you had it in you to try again. Maybe this is the man who can help you through your sorrow.
I’m also thrilled with how much you ate. You’ve gotten so thin, and it’s such a shame. You’re so lovely, and you always had the most beautiful body of any woman I had ever known. I want to see you healthy again! It’s so hard not to worry about you.
I love the fact that he acted like such a gentleman. He seemed genuinely sympathetic when you told him about me. The way he held your hand as you told him about how hard this past year has been—it was really sweet. I’m glad he had a driver to take you home. You looked like you were going to collapse by the end of the meal. The way he kissed you on the cheek and thanked you for accompanying him to dinner was so gallant; please see him again! It’s time, my love. And remember: I will always love you, my precious Kitten.
4
I don’t know what compelled me to ask Katharine to dinner. There was something about how sad and forlorn she looked sitting at the bar all by herself. I felt like I didn’t have a choice; I had to talk to her. I hadn’t dated in so long, I almost forgot how to ask someone out. It took me several minutes to figure out what to say to her, and the best I could come up with was “Hi, I’m Ian.” I shouldn’t second-guess myself, though—it worked.
Since my divorce, I hadn’t been interested in meeting other women. I lost a lot of faith in women after what my ex-wife did to me. She was cruel and heartless, and I was still reeling from her deceit. But I didn’t let it consume me. I focused on my daughters and my businesses and simply put my personal life on hold for awhile. I did have a few one-night stands, but they were never fulfilling. They were just about the sex.
In order to curb what sexual appetite I did have, I spent more time at the gym. It was easier than looking for a relationship. It was a lot less complicated, too. The only problem was that I bulked up quite a bit from all the extra working out and had to have my suits tailored to fit my new physique. I secretly dreamed that someday I would find someone to share the rest of my life with, but I hadn’t expected today to be the day.
I can’t explain it, but it felt like there was a little voice egging me on and urging me to speak to Katharine. It was incessant, and I’m not sure where it was coming from. I admit that I was watching her from the moment that I sat down at the bar. She seemed so incredibly sad and lonely. There was something that compelled me to talk to her—I wanted to make her smile. I know that New Yorkers like to protect their privacy, but I couldn’t stand the despair on this woman’s face.
I was watching her and wondering what was making her so sad when I noticed her whole demeanor change as she stared at her glass. It looked like she was drinking a gin and tonic with olives in it—kind of a strange garnish, I thought fleetingly. She picked out one of the olives and stared at it like she had discovered some kind of treasure inside. I couldn’t imagine what was so interesting about that olive, but as her eyes filled with tears, I knew I had to say something to her. Everything about the scenario was intriguing.
When I looked into her eyes, I felt a magnetic pull toward her. I wanted to kiss the tears away. I felt like a schoolboy reliving my first crush: I wanted—no, needed—to find out more about her. It was obvious she had a story, and I wanted to know what it was. So I did what most guys do when they want to meet a woman: I offered to buy her a drink.
I was disappointed when she turned me down, but I decided to be bold and ask her to dinner instead. I never expected her to accept my invitation, but I was extremely happy that she did. I hadn’t had dinner with a woman in months. Katharine looked like she needed a good meal, so I knew I had to take her to Pane Vino, the restaurant I owned with my brother. I knew I could get a table, and I was very proud of my brother’s cooking.
As we talked, I was increasingly impressed by Katharine’s work ethic and intellect. She was a partner at Stryder, Ross, and Burton, an excellent law firm, and I knew that the kind of law she practiced was difficult and demanding. I had a few friends who worked for the firm and had even used them for a few of the projects I was involved in. I was surprised that our paths had never crossed before this. But I believed in fate—I always had. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to meet h
er until now. There was probably a reason, although what that reason was, I couldn’t fathom.
Once she started eating, she became more talkative. Watching her at the bar, I had the impression that she was shy. I couldn’t have been more mistaken. She was witty and engaging, and the conversation never lagged throughout the entire meal. At one point, I told her about two of the attorney’s I had worked with at her firm. “That sounds a bit chauvinistic. Do you only employ male attorney’s Ian?” she asked me sternly. “Of course not,” I replied nervously. “It was a coincidence that they were both men. I would never discriminate on the basis of a person’s gender.” I couldn’t tell if she was serious or not. She must have sensed my unease and she looked at me straight in the eye and said with the most adorable smirk in her voice, “Since most of the attorney’s at our firm are men, I will forgive you this one time.” Then we both started laughing.
When she told me about her husband’s death the year before, it was hard not to feel her despair. It sounded like she was having a hard time just getting through a day. She had never expected to be widowed at such a young age, and she wasn’t dealing with it very well. It explained a lot. She admitted that she never had much of an appetite anymore and that eating alone made her sad. “It’s a shame I wasn’t overweight when Bryce died, because becoming a widow is a pretty easy way to lose a few pounds. It’s a lot less agonizing than counting points at Weight Watchers,” she commented with a small smile. Although her comment was sad, I was impressed that she was trying to find a little humor in her predicament. She told me she slept on her couch with her cat because her bedroom had too many memories. I was blown away by her candidness. She was young, bright, and beautiful. She was also wasting away from her grief. I had to do something to help her find joy in her life once again. I couldn’t let her follow in her husband’s footsteps. There was something incredibly special about this woman, and I needed to be a part of her life.
5
When Ian dropped me off at my building, he got out of the car and escorted me to the door. There was always a security guard at the front entrance, twenty-four hours a day, and Jimmy had been working the night shift for as long as I could remember. He was very saddened when Bryce died; it’s hard not to build a rapport with someone you see every day. Jimmy had been very protective of me since my husband passed away. He always asked how I was doing and even asked about my son on a regular basis. He was genuinely fond of Jackson; the two of them loved to talk about basketball and cars. He looked surprised to see me get out of Ian’s car that night. He said good evening to us both and gave me the sweetest smile. Maybe I was overthinking it, but I think it was a smile of approval. Ian turned to me, thanked me for accompanying him to dinner, kissed my cheek, and walked back to his car.
Inside the apartment, for the first time since Bryce died, I didn’t feel a foreboding presence in the air—everything seemed lighter. I picked up the cat and gave her a hug. She meowed at me, which meant she was hungry. I opened up a can of food and put it in her dish. She ate quickly while I got a glass of water. When she finished, she brushed against my leg and purred. I loved it when she did that. It was very comforting.
I reached down and petted her, and she took off to the couch. She liked to wait for me on the armrest. I walked into the living room and told her that we were going to try the bedroom tonight. She just stared at me. Either she didn’t understand me, or she didn’t believe it. I called her name several times as I walked into the bedroom to get out of my work clothes. I put on one of Bryce’s T-shirts and collapsed into bed. I fell asleep instantly.
It was the first night that I’d slept until morning without interruption since Bryce died. There were no nightmares, and there were no tears. I woke up feeling rested and rejuvenated. It was a new feeling. It felt good. I went into the kitchen, made a cup of coffee, and thought about Ian. He made my heart race like only Bryce had done. It was such a welcoming feeling. Our dinner had been the first pleasurable thing that had happened to me in a very long time. I hoped I would see him again, and the thought made me smile. Then it occurred to me that we had never exchanged numbers. I wanted to thank him for the evening, but I wasn’t sure how to contact him. He knew where I worked and lived, so I guess I would have to wait to see if he tried to contact me. Now that I thought about it, though, I wasn’t sure I’d ever told him my last name. He’d told me about all of the different things he did for work, but I wasn’t sure if he had an actual office or not. I’d never even gotten his last name. The hostess had called him Mister something, but I couldn’t remember what. Boy, was I rusty at dating.
I went into the bathroom to shower, pausing to look at myself in the mirror. I looked ridiculously thin. Even my boobs had shrunk. Two or three months ago, I had been forced to buy smaller bras because all of mine had gotten so big on me. I needed to make eating a priority. My dark circles were better today, but my hollow cheeks were horrid. I needed to get my skinny ass to the gym, and I needed to go grocery shopping.
I took a quick shower, grabbed my gym bag and my clothes for work, and headed out the door. Today was a new beginning. I didn’t want to die, but if I didn’t make some changes, dying could be a distinct possibility. Bryce wouldn’t want me to be sad, I told myself. I’d made a promise to him, and I wasn’t honoring it. I loved him too much to betray the pact that we’d made to one another. Also, to be honest, I was tired of being sad. It took more energy to be depressed than I ever could have imagined. Maybe this Ian man wouldn’t be the knight in shining armor who brought me from my depths of despair, but he was definitely a sign. Bryce had sent me a reminder: I truly believed it. It was time I honored the promise I had made to him and started to live again.
6
Until now, I really didn’t know if I’d ever be interested in starting another serious relationship. To say that my divorce got pretty ugly at the end would be an understatement, and I didn’t want to get hurt like that again. My wife, Monica, became so cold and calculating that it was virtually impossible to remember the fun, loving woman I had married. She became completely self-absorbed, driven by money and possessions; I couldn’t get my daughters far enough away from her example. Her goal was to get an obscene amount of money from me so she could live extravagantly and never have to work for the rest of her life.
She started an affair with a personal trainer at the gym at some point during our marriage. I probably will never know for sure when it actually began. It was so humiliating. Our sex life was amazing in the beginning, but then things began to change. The changes were subtle, but they were indications that something was amiss. When I initiated sex she started to push me away, citing headaches, fatigue, and the stress of raising the girls. I knew they were all excuses, but it took awhile for me to catch on. I didn’t want to believe she could be unfaithful to me, but her behavior had changed so drastically: it occurred to me that if she didn’t want to have sex with me, she was likely having it with someone else. I was so lonely the last couple years of our marriage. She even lost any interest in spending time with our girls. It got to the point where our nanny was doing all of the caring for them.
It wasn’t until I hired a private detective that I learned of her infidelity. It broke my heart. I loved my wife. She was the mother of our beautiful daughters. I loved the family we had made. What the hell had happened? My wife had turned into someone I didn’t even recognize, selfish and greedy. My girls didn’t want anything to do with her either. It was so sad. I gave her a decent settlement and ended the marriage with as much dignity as I could muster. Last I heard, she was living in a high-rise apartment with her personal trainer.
Now Katharine had come into my life, and I couldn’t wait to see her again. But I realized last night, lying in bed thinking about all of the things we’d talked about, that I’d never gotten her cell number. Heck, I didn’t even know her last name. Fortunately, I knew where she worked. I could barely sleep trying to figure out the best way to contact her again.
I didn’t want t
o scare her, but I had to see her again. Our dinner was one of the best nights I’d had in years. Every woman I had gone out with since my divorce had left me feeling empty and discouraged. There was a part of me that had given up on the notion of falling in love again. Katharine was different. She challenged my intellect in ways I never thought I’d experience again—and she was beautiful.
Love? What was I thinking? I’d spent three hours with this woman, and my mind was already reeling with emotion. It was crazy. Now I had to decide how to proceed. First, I needed to send her a thank-you. Yes, that was what I needed to do. When we were doing the twenty-questions thing last night, I had asked her what her favorite color was. She’d said it was yellow, because it reminded her of sunshine. It was fitting. I could see hints of a sunny personality dying to emerge from her saddened state. That’s when I got the idea.
I called the florist I used for my businesses and asked her to put a variety of yellow flowers together. Roses seemed too serious after one meal, and since I didn’t know what her favorite flower was, I asked for an assortment. The florist said I needed an accent color to make the arrangement prettier, so I suggested purple. When we were talking about our favorite colors, I’d told Katharine that I was always drawn toward the color purple because it was fun and daring. I hoped the purple accents would make Katharine think of me. I decided to send the bouquet to her office; her home might have been too personal.
The next big decision was what to write on the card. I scribbled a variety of different sentiments on a notepad. Some were corny. Others were too long. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be. I felt like a silly teenager all over again. I ended up writing, “Thank you for last night. I hope to see you again—Ian.”