First Impressions

by Aria Ford

  She really remembers me that well? My heart flipped. If that was the case, maybe I was here with a chance.

  I looked up again, finding it hard to tear my eyes away from that sweet, gentle face. I could feel the warmth of her leg just near mine under the table. It suddenly seemed so surreal to be sitting here with her in a crowded restaurant It felt almost as if the intervening eight years had never happened; as if we were still freshly-graduated students together, still young and in love.

  “Um, ready to order?” The waiter asked. I jumped once more. I hadn't even been thinking about what to order. My eye fell on the Thai-style veggie wraps.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “Um, we'll have the Chili con Carne and Thai wraps, please.”

  “Great.”

  When he had gone, Ainsley and I looked at each other.

  “What do you bet he gets it the wrong way round?” I asked. She nodded.

  “I know! I was thinking the same thing.”

  It was an old joke between us – I was vegetarian, she wasn't: somehow people seemed to assume it was the other way around, leading us to have to swap plates more often than not.

  “I bet you a coffee,” I said, before really thinking about it. It was what we always used to say. It was only when it was passed my lips that I realized that. I had fallen so quickly back into our old way of being together that it seemed as if we'd last seen each other yesterday.

  Our eyes met and held. I sighed.

  “Sorry,” I said. I wasn't really sure what I was saying sorry for.

  “Don't be,” she said softly. Without my expecting anything like it, she reached across the table and her hand gently touched mine. I jumped.

  “Ainsley,” I whispered.

  She seemed to realize the casual contact she'd just made, because she pulled her hand away again, but not before my whole body was shivering, longing for her touch.

  “Uh, sorry,” she murmured. “I wasn't thinking.”

  I shook my head. “No offense taken.” I tried a crooked smile, but she looked quickly away, staring out of the window at the roadway beyond.

  “You're working in Miami?” I asked conversationally.

  “Yes,” she replied softly. “I'm a translator. At Edge Enterprises.”

  “Oh. What do they do?” I asked.

  “They publish books,” Ainsley said thinly. “Books from controversial perspectives. They're all about bringing people the full picture. Disrupting the status quo.”

  Was it my imagination, or was that meant to be pointed? She shot me such a poisonous look as she said it that I had to assume it was. But why?

  “Um, Ainsley?” I asked. “Stupid question, I know. But are you mad at me?”

  “No,” she said tightly. “Why would I be mad at you? What could you possibly have done?”

  I closed my eyes. She couldn't have hit me much harder if she'd slapped me. “I know,” I said. “I'm sorry. I really am.”

  “You said that already.”

  “Yes,” I acknowledged. “But not for all the things. I mean...I never said sorry for what I did to you.”

  “Did to me.”

  “I mean...you know,” I sighed. “What I did eight years ago.”

  “No,” she said. “You don't have to apologize for that.” She had an odd expression on her face, as if she'd bitten into something sour.

  “I don't?” Now I was badly confused.

  “No. You didn't do anything wrong eight years ago. What I wouldn't mind an apology for was what you did after.”

  “What...Oh.” I looked down, trying to figure out what to say next. “Coming back without telling you. That.”

  “Yes. That.” Her voice was like ice.

  I sighed. “I know I was wrong. I was a coward, Ainsley,” I said slowly. “I guess I don't deserve your forgiveness. But can I ask for it anyway?”

  She didn't say anything. I looked up. She was looking at the table-top. Her brown eyes were wet with tears.

  Oh, no... I felt my own heart tighten as I saw that. I reached into my pocket and fished out a tissue. I passed it to her. Her fingers touched mine.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “No worries,” I said awkwardly. I felt terrible. Here I was, sitting with the girl of my dreams who I'd treated in the worst possible manner, and I'd made her cry. “Ainsley?”

  “Mm?”

  “I can't tell you how sorry I am.”

  She gave me a watery smile through her tears. “It's okay,” she said. Her voice was wobbly. I wanted to stand up and give her a big hug, but it would have been awkward so I didn't.

  We sat quietly for a while. I put my hand close to hers, not quite touching, and she didn't pull her hand away. I left mine where it was. It was strangely comforting to be sitting like this with her after so long.

  She sighed and shifted, reaching for her handbag. She pulled out another tissue and wiped her eyes. I looked out of the window, trying to figure out what to say.

  “Sir? The Chili con Carne?”

  The waiter put the bowl down in front of me. I looked at Ainsley. Ainsley looked at me. We didn't say anything; just let him partition the meals as he saw fit. Then, when he'd gone, we looked at each other again and burst out laughing.

  “I bet a coffee,” I said with a big grin. .

  “I can't believe it actually happened. Again.” She shook her head, shoulders shaking as she laughed

  “There's something very wrong with our culture...” I murmured as I passed her the plate.

  “You always say that.”

  “And there always is,” I answered.

  We were both laughing as we swapped our orders. It felt as if no time had passed. As if I had never been so stupid as to think I could turn my back on her.

  “Mm,” she commented, taking an appreciative sniff as I put the bowl down in front of her.

  “It does smell good,” I commented.

  A savory steam drifted up to my nose, tantalizingly pleasant. I was suddenly back in time, sitting opposite her in a Thai restaurant. We were students and dating and happy. Life was so different then.

  The memory was like a stab in my heart. I had forgotten I knew how to be happy: my life had become a maelstrom of subterfuge and conflict. She was a bright spot, a safe place. I absently sampled the meal, my thoughts elsewhere.

  “Drake?” she said.

  I frowned. “Sorry?” I murmured. “You said something?”

  “Yes,” she chuckled. “I sometimes think you never listen to me.”

  I blushed. “I do listen.” Again, it was one of our old jokes. I was often distracted, it was true. She had a habit – a good habit – of bringing me back to the present.

  “Fine,” she nodded. “What did I say, then?”

  I blushed and looked at my hands. “Okay. You win. What was it?”

  She laughed. “All I asked was, how's the meal?”

  “It's good. Really good.” It was – not too spicy and not too subtle either, a really good vegetarian take on Thai curry, wrapped in nice, moist rice sheet. I was enjoying it.

  “So's mine,” she agreed. “It's a good place.”

  “I notice it's mostly vegetarian,” I commented.

  She blushed. “Yes.”

  “I can't believe you remembered,” I said gently.

  “Of course I did.”

  I grinned at her. I was really touched. She smiled back. Under the table, our knees touched. I drew in a surprised breath.

  Oh my. I tried not to think about the feel of her knee on mine. But it was hard. My body was receiving a thousand complex messages, all of which were making me want to leap across the table and kiss those pink, moist lips.

  “I thought I remembered a lot about you,” she added, frowning.

  “Sorry?” I asked. I wasn't sure if I'd heard her properly.

  “I thought I remembered you. But it seems like I was wrong about you all along.”

  I put down the remains of the wrap I was eating and frowned at her. “Why do you think that?
”

  She snorted. “Look at you.”

  I did. My eyes traveled briefly from my Pierre Cardin lace-ups to my Levis, to my shirt – the only thing I was wearing that wasn't branded – and then down to my Rolex.

  “I'm wearing a lot of branded clothing,” I said hesitantly. “I couldn't afford that at college. I'm not that different.”

  She sighed. “It's not that. You're a lawyer. You can afford it. I understand that.”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “It's...” she sighed. “Never mind. If I have to tell you, I guess you won't understand.”

  I tried to smile. “I'm not that different inside the clothes.”

  She caught my eye and blushed. “Oh.”

  I felt a wash of heat through my body. I let my knee press against hers. She looked into my eyes, leaning a little forward on the table. I could just see her cleavage over the low-cut sweater neckline and my loins started to throb painfully.

  “Will I see you for coffee tomorrow?” I asked. “We had a bet.”

  She chuckled. “Maybe,” she said.

  “You don't have my number,” I remembered suddenly.

  “No,” she replied. I felt a moment's panic – what if she said she didn't want my number? Then, to my immense relief, she pulled out her phone. “What is it?”

  I gave her my number. She gave me hers.

  “See you tomorrow, then?” I asked as she reached for her bag.

  “We'll see.”

  We paid for the lunch after that and as we walked out together, her standing close to me, I had the feeling that maybe things were going to go well for me after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ainsley

  I went back home feeling strangely disconnected. I had loved seeing Drake and spending time with him. And discovering he was still vegetarian, at least, had been a funny kind of relief.

  It's been eight years and we still do exactly what we always did.

  That was the weirdest part. How quickly the past eight years had gone ceased to be important, replaced by the joy we took from being together again.

  “I wonder if we should go for coffee?”

  I asked it of my reflection on the way past the mirror. I shrugged. Why not? But did I really want to go opening all this up again? All this hurt?

  I sat down on the sofa with my feet up and considered the problem. As I sat there, I heard my phone make a message noise.

  Could it be..? I checked. Sure enough, it was Drake.

  Hi Ainsley. I hope you're not mad at me. See you for coffee at Roast and Ready tomorrow?

  I felt my heart start to beat faster. I was excited, despite my misgivings about Drake. I messaged back. Great. Eleven am? It's my treat. You won the bet.

  I sent it and then wondered if I was being too candid too soon. After all, this new Drake wasn't the guy I remembered. Or was he? I was actually too curious to miss the opportunity of seeing him again.

  In a few seconds a reply flashed back.

  Awesome. See you then.

  I felt my cheeks lift in a big smile.

  At ten-forty the next day I was driving down the road, worrying yet again if my hair looked right. I'd tried something a bit different – a kind of plaited bun that I was hoping was sophisticated and un-frumpy. Come on, A. You look fine. Let go of that rubbish Keith said. I was doing my best to do that. I had dressed in a new cream blouse, smart slacks and a tan leather jacket. With all that and the hairstyle, I was aiming for a sophisticated but simple elegance. I glanced in the rear-view mirror, hoping I'd managed that.

  “Roast and Ready...here we go,” I glanced at my GPS as it directed me down Flagler Street and to the place in question. “Right. Now where to park?”

  Fifteen minutes later, my heart in my stomach, I was standing on the doorstep of the stylish modern cafe, looking to see if I could spot Drake.

  Stay cool, Ainsley.

  My hands were sweating and my heart was thumping and I felt as if all the butterflies in Florida had taken residence inside my tummy. All the same, I would have to look cool, calm and collected. I took a deep breath and headed over the threshold. Looking for Drake.

  There!

  I spotted a head of curly black hair in the back, bent over an iPad. I licked dry lips, stilled my beating heart and headed across the floor toward the table.

  “Hello?”

  Drake looked up absently. Then he saw me and smiled. He was wearing a semi-formal suit, jeans and a cardigan. He looked amazing.

  “Hi,” he said. He stood and shook my hand and we sat down.

  I looked around at the other stylish-looking patrons, composing my thoughts. Journalists swapping leads, businesspeople taking a break and a magazine-issue family. The place was quiet and genuine. A nice choice.

  “It's a nice day,” I commented, inclining my head toward the windows on my right.

  “Yeah.” Drake smiled at me in that special way he had – eyes crinkled at the corners, brown depths glowing softly. “Glad you could make it.”

  “I'm glad too,” I said. Dammit, my throat was getting tight again and my tummy all fluttery.

  “Ready to order?” The waiter said, rescuing me temporarily from my awkwardness. Why did the infernal man across me have to be so stunning? It was distracting.

  “Um, yeah.” Drake looked at me and I nodded. “Two cappuccinos, please.”

  It was only after the waiter had gone that I glanced sideways at Drake. “You remembered,” I said.

  He laughed. “Of course I remembered,” he said softly. “How could I forget the sight of you with cappuccino foam on the end of your nose?”

  I felt my heart melt. “You remember that?”

  “Of course,” he nodded. “You were so mad at me.”

  “Only because you left it there!” I was laughing now, the memory as clear as if it had been yesterday. “I walked around town like that for a couple hours before I saw it in the mirror.”

  “I couldn't tell you – it was too cute.”

  We both laughed at the memory. I had blown up at him and refused to talk to him for about fifteen minutes, and then we had looked at each other and both burst out laughing. It had been a lovely day. And then that night we had...

  I stopped. I very much didn't want to think about that now. Didn't want to remember lying under him on the bed with him thrusting slowly into me, seeking out all my special spots with his slow, careful penetration. It had been the most amazing night. My body still shivered at the thought of it.

  “Ainsley?”

  “Uh...what?” I asked. My voice was hoarse and I cleared my throat, frustrated with myself.

  “I just wanted to ask if you were working this week?”

  “Um, no,” I said. The waiter appeared and left the cappuccinos in front of us, bringing two nice-looking cookies as well. He seemed to sense our closeness for he disappeared without a word.

  “Oh.” Drake smiled. “Well, then. If you're not busy, could I tempt you to a dinner?”

  I stared at him. Swallowed on a throat gone dry with sudden excitement. “I don't see why not,” I said, with an attempt at coyness. He laughed.

  “Well, then. That's settled. Tonight at seven-thirty. At The Drover?”

  “Sure,” I nodded. “I've heard good things about that place.”

  “It's very good,” he said, taking his coffee and taking a big sip, sighing appreciatively. “Ah. That's really great.”

  He took his teaspoon and ate a little of the foam and I tried hard not to watch the spoon disappear between those well-shaped, mobile lips. I tried even harder not to imagine them clamped on my nipple, as they had been in the past, but I failed. My whole body shivered at the thought.

  “It's a work-related thing?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming sexiness of the man.

  “Um, no,” he said, setting the spoon aside with a click on the saucer. “I just wanted to see you.”

  “Oh.”

  I felt my body glow with pleasure. I wanted
to see him too, I realized. So much. I wanted to bring him back into my life. But I also wanted to understand what he'd done with his life.

  Just then, his phone rang. He looked at it, then frowned. “Sorry, Ainsley,” he said. “I got to take this.”

  “Sure,” I said, shrugging. He headed outside with the phone. I couldn't hear anything he said, but as I watched him through the long window onto the sidewalk I could see his posture was hunched and worried.

  I wonder what that's all about. Probably some issues with his clients.

  I let my mind wander as I sat there with my cappuccino held loosely between my hands. I allowed myself to contemplate, just a little, those wonderful memories of being with Drake. The sweet naughty things he did to me with his hands and tongue and mouth. The way he had held me as if I was precious and valuable. The way he kissed me with such passion and pushed inside me with all the longing I could imagine.

  I sighed aloud. One of the customers looked at me oddly and I flushed with delicious shame.