by Nancy Toback
“Yeah, why?” Frank finally said, his voice bouncing off the walls in the large, marble-floored reception area. He punched the elevator button, and the doors opened immediately. “Forget to slip off your wedding band?”
Touché. They stepped into the mirrored elevator, and the doors closed with a soft bing. As they descended to the lobby, Tom watched a grinning Frank drag his hand through his dark hair, appearing pleased with his ill-conceived plan.
“I guess this is your way of helping me get over Jess?” Tom ground out the words before exiting the elevator.
“That is rich.” Frank snorted a laugh and gave him a jab in the arm. “You requested the honor of my presence at this gig.”
Tom hesitated, clamped his jaw, and pushed open the glass door. No sense arguing with a guy who just didn’t get it. They strode to the curb, waiting in the light drizzle for a taxi. “Even you know this is in bad taste.”
“Ouch.” Holding his hand over his heart, Frank feigned hurt feelings. “Lighten up, will you?” He waved and whistled, bringing a cab to a screeching halt at the corner. “The only way to get through this is to face it head on. Be a man.”
They hopped in, and Tom gave the young, bearded cabbie Flavors’s upper eastside address. He settled back, expelled a breath, and unbuttoned his suit jacket. He scrubbed his fingers through his damp hair, eyeing Frank. “What if Jess is working tonight?”
“So what if she is?” Frank shook his head. “I’ll tell her I was the one who made the plans. Happy?”
Tom turned to the window and fixed his gaze on the wet pavement. He hummed to the music traveling from the radio through the plastic divider, but uninvited thoughts nudged their way to the fore.
When he’d decided to start his new life, he never intended to hurt Jess. He liked order. No diverging paths. Perhaps Jess was right about his mathematical mind, but he had tried to prepare for every eventuality. No surprise twists and turns—like Jess’s speech after the service on Sunday. Prepared? With her dark hair wild, her blue eyes flashing, he’d been a half step from pulling her into his arms and pressing his lips to hers.
The cab swerved and skidded to a stop, jolting him out of his daydream. He’d like nothing more than to pick up some Chinese take-out, go back to his apartment, and maybe phone Jess. They’d watch a movie together via phone, chat between commercials—
And he’d be right back where he started. Tom sighed and gave Frank a sidelong glance. “I’ll take you up on that. If Jess is working tonight, you tell her you made the reservations.” It was time to move on. He had reconciled to the fact that this was ordained.
Frank grunted in the affirmative as the cab turned the corner.
Tom looked past the cloudy divider at Flavors’s green awning, flapping a greeting against the wind. Two women stood beneath it, chatting.
“That has to be them.” Frank rubbed his hands together like a happy camper.
“Yeah, must be.” Tom glanced at the meter, counted out bills for the fare plus a tip, and stashed the money in the metal tray. “We’ll get out here,” he told the driver.
“Good idea.” Frank pulled out some cash. “In this traffic it could take ten minutes to get to the middle of the block.”
Tom pushed his hand away. “I’ve got it.” Judging by Frank’s demeanor, he was in repenting-for-his-blunder mode. As much as he wanted to cut him some slack, he couldn’t help suspecting his friend’s motives. “What do you have against Jess?”
“Nothing.” Frank laughed. “Except the fact that she makes you pathetic, and I’m sick of watching it.” He craned his neck and wiggled his brows. “Hey! From here the ladies are looking mighty fine.”
“Right.” As they drew closer, Tom’s heart flipped at the sight of the willowy brunette. If the fragile blond hadn’t been standing beside her, he’d declare the woman was Jess waiting for him to give her a lift. Jess. He had to push her out of his thoughts right now.
The women stopped speaking and looked up simultaneously before Tom approached the brunette. “Are you—”
“Linda,” she said. Her bluish-green gaze held his, and she returned his smile.
Tom shook her proffered hand, while Frank made small talk with the blond. “And this is Brittany.” Linda gestured to her friend.
After they’d met each other, Tom held open the door, then followed the threesome. What kind of twisted logic had compelled Frank to choose Flavors as their meeting place? With a Jessica clone, no less. He mounted the steps to the hostess station, where the owner’s daughter Brea nodded a greeting.
“Table for four,” Frank said.
Tom bit back the question burning on the tip of his tongue. Is Jessica in tonight? He scanned the tables as far back into the restaurant as he could see. His gaze stopped at the corner booth. The dark head of long hair grabbed his attention first. The man sitting across from her—
“Tom?” Frank’s voice broke into his jumbled thoughts.
Forcing his attention away from the man—from Jess—Tom’s gaze traveled from Frank, to the hostess, then to Linda, who seemed to be restraining a smile. “What?”
“Our table is ready.” Frank indicated with a stern look.
Tom nodded. Following behind the group, he fixed his gaze on the booth—and Jess, chatting with a distinguished-looking character.
Tom pulled out a chair for Linda, then chose a ringside seat for himself—directly opposite Jess’s table.
Seven
Jess’s gaze strayed from Jim Hunt’s face to her forkful of salad. Her stomach grumbled as her date continued his rags-to-riches saga. Scarlett O’Hara’s story didn’t drag on this long.
“I opened my third location in 2001.” Jim paused. Not long enough for her to answer, but just enough to make sure she heard every angst-filled memory.
Jess took the cue, nodded interest, and plunked down her fork. If only she could enjoy the getting-to-know-you phase, but she and Jim didn’t click. The sad realization hit the minute Jim strode through Flavors’s dining room, pumped her hand brusquely, and dropped into the booth with an air of let’s-get-down-to-business. Jim was obviously used to getting what he wanted. Jess prayed she wasn’t it.
Judging by the glances shooting her way, the employees silently concurred. This was not a match made in heaven. But she was on Flavors’s safe turf, and the staff knew not to let on that she worked there. If Tom’s Internet warnings proved valid, there’d be evidence—witnesses.
Jess bit back a grin. At five-feet-seven, she towered over Jim. Her poor choice to wear heels didn’t help the matter, and her self-consciousness over her height troubled her far more than the fear of being accosted.
“This year I’ll be opening my fifth office.” Jim sat back and crossed his arms as if to say, “There—digest that.”
“Wonderful.” Jess ran her finger over the itchy hive blooming on her forehead. No need to stress. According to Marilyn, all this would be funny—in retrospect.
“A lot of hard work. I had to put my company first.” Jim’s eyes shifted as if he’d given away computer underworld secrets. “And I guess that’s how I ended up single at forty-one.”
“I see.” Perhaps the overhead lights picking up the silver-gray at his temples and the deep grooves in his forehead made him appear older. Or maybe she’d grown accustomed to seeing Tom sitting across from her. His intelligent eyes, usually etched with humor, gave her the perception he was the forever-young man she’d met in high school.
“So? What’s your excuse?”
Jess choked on her drink. “I beg your pardon?” Despite her initial misgivings, she’d promised herself to stick with the date until the Lord indicated otherwise. But things were sliding downhill fast.
Jim grabbed a slice of crusty bread from the basket. “Why are you still single?”
He delivered the blunt question with a sarcastic edge. Jess watched him slathering butter on the bread. “I’m single because—”
Dora bounded past their table for the third time. Jess forked
salad into her mouth, chewing while scrutinizing the waitress’s face. Dora’s green eyes widened, then shifted in a clandestine signal that left her clueless.
Frowning, Jess redirected her gaze to Jim and surveyed the crumb-littered table. She had to find a tactful way to end the date before the entrées arrived. And before she exploded like the cork on a bottle. “Same as you, Jim—I put my career first.”
He grinned around a mouthful. “But I’m a man. Most women regret putting off marriage and children in favor of a career.” He drank water, making a glunking sound, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “No offense. But Christian women especially. Aren’t you searching for the things of God?”
Jess’s spine snapped straight, drawing her upright from the hunched position she’d maintained to make herself appear smaller. But clothed-in-self-confidence-Jim certainly didn’t need a boost from her. “I may have put marriage on the back burner, but I’m not—”
“Sorry?” Jim’s sparse brows curved in a show of skepticism. He smiled and smacked his lips. “Great bread.”
Jess noted her clenched fists, eased them open, and inched aside the bowl of wilting lettuce. “I guess I’m not most women, because I’m not sorry.” Of course at times she feared she’d missed the boat, passed her one, true love on the street without ever knowing it.
“Forget it. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve.” Jim brushed aside the crumbs, scattering them over the surface of the wooden table.
“You—I—” She picked up her glass of iced tea. If she didn’t occupy her mouth, she’d have to repent later for what might tumble out of it. Tipping her head, she knocked back her drink the way John Wayne did before a showdown.
“Hello, Jess.”
Cold liquid splashed over her chin and onto her white blouse. She gulped, set down her glass, and stared up at Tom. Clutching the linen napkin, she dabbed her mouth in an effort at composure, fully aware she was gawking.
“Tom.” Jess’s lips pulled into an easy smile. Her pulse raced. Tom. He’d come to rescue her. Later, he’d help her find humor in Jim’s obnoxious comments. To hear the joyful rhythm of her heartbeat, anybody would think Tom was her one, true love.
“How are you, Jess?” Tom smiled, but his tone alerted her to something amiss.
“Great—I’m great.” She turned toward Jim. How could he not feel the dot of butter shining on his chin? She squelched the urge to reach across the table and spruce him up a bit. “Jim Hunt, this is Tom Winters.”
Jim popped out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yes, same here.” Gazing down, Tom shook his hand. He had to be remembering her insecurity about being taller than men, though Tom’s handsome face revealed nothing.
Jess took a sip of tea, waiting for Jim to sit, then chanced another glance at Tom. “So what brings you into Flavors tonight?”
“I’m here with Frank”—Tom gestured with a tilt of his head—“and a couple of friends.”
Her heart paused, then sank. But, no, after Sunday’s argument, Tom wouldn’t squire Internet Woman into Flavors. He wouldn’t rub salt into the wound. Holding fast to that belief, Jess peered around him.
She caught sight of the back view of Frank, sitting at a table about twenty feet away. Her gaze moved on to a smiling woman who could’ve easily passed for her sister.
Jess swallowed past the thick ache in her throat, nodded hello, and found her voice. “Oh, good—I see you snagged table 12. Your favorite.”
“Yeah, well, Frank made the reservations, but, um. . .” Tom cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder. “Anyway, I’ve got to get back to—”
“Okay, then—see you.” Jess stabbed her fork blindly into the salad, nearly knocking over the bowl in her zeal.
“Right—and nice meeting you, Jim.” Tom turned away.
Jim’s response mingled with the sound of her blood coursing through her ears. She watched Tom walk toward his date. The woman eyed him like a grinning Cheshire. Tom dropped into the chair beside her, leaned next to her ear. An invisible band tightened around Jess’s ribs. “That’s only Jessica,” Tom had to be whispering. “She’s just an old friend.”
“Er, as I was saying. . .” Jim’s voice pulled her attention from the numbing spectacle. She desperately wanted to shush him. “Is that your ex or something?”
Jess’s hand went to her forehead. She rubbed the hive that had swelled to a hard, inflamed tumor of anxiety. “No, why do you ask?”
“Because I don’t want to be involved in anything messy. We can leave now—go someplace else, whatever.”
“No, of course not.” Abort the date mid-salad? Skulk past Tom like a pathetic castaway with a spotted face and tea-stained blouse? “I’m fine. I—” The touch of a hand on her shoulder made her jump, mocking her words and garnering a scowl from her date.
“Oops. Didn’t mean to scare you.” Dora pointed to the bowls. “May I take these?” Her eyes flashed another code-red signal.
“Yes, sure.” Jess glanced in the direction of table 12 to indicate her awareness to Dora. Understanding passed between them, and the waitress pressed her lips into a straight line of condolence. “Don’t be sorry,” Jess wanted scream. How many times would she have to explain to Dora that she and Tom were just friends? After tonight there should be no more questions.
Their entrées arrived quickly, but the laughter drifting from two tables away zapped her appetite. Jess sliced her steak into manageable bites, but the food was tasteless to her. The small talk with Jim, agonizing. And the burden of not looking Tom’s way, unbearable.
She had to seize the opportunity now, while Jim was shoving beef Wellington into his mouth. Jess peeked out of the corner of her eye, sucked in a breath, and disguised her shock with a cough. Impossible! Thomas Winters, fastening a carnation into Internet Woman’s hair, on a first date!
Sixteen years of friendship, and she’d seen only Tom’s sweet, shy side. Perhaps it was the only side he’d chosen to reveal to her.
“Excuse me.” Jess pulled the napkin off her lap, placed it on the table, and slipped out of the booth.
Jim raised his gaze to her briefly. “Fine, fine.”
Jess jetted across the restaurant toward the lavatory, carrying with her the image of her best friend turned Romeo. She pushed through the bathroom door, swung it closed, and jiggled the latch with trembling fingers until it slid into the locked position.
Sagging against the door, Jess closed her eyes and tried to breathe. “What am I doing? Acting crazy.” Pushing herself off the door, she moved to the sink and clasped both its sides with her hands for balance. “Lord, please don’t let me faint. Please don’t let me faint.” Slowly she lifted her gaze to the oval mirror.
Jess sucked in a sharp breath at the hideous reflection staring back at her. She brushed her fingers over the fresh crop of red welts trailing down her cheek to the right side of her neck. No wonder Tom had never pinned a flower in her hair.
She unzipped her purse in haste. She wasn’t acting crazy. She’d lost her father. She couldn’t bear to lose her best friend, or whatever would remain of him after Internet Woman was through.
Fishing her notebook from her purse, she ripped out two sheets of paper, then shook her bag until she excavated a pen.
An impatient rat-a-tat-tat on the bathroom door made her jump.
“Just a minute,” Jess called, scribbling the first note to Jim Hunt.
❧
Smiling on the outside, Tom poured himself another glass of sparkling water. Of all the nights for Jess to be here. He had a hunch she’d seen him help Linda affix a flower to her hair, and he’d actually been tempted to apologize to Jess.
Tom shot another glance across the room. Jim sat alone, eating at an alarming speed. Jess’s sudden, mad dash to the ladies’ room apparently had no impact on the guy, while his own stomach did somersaults. He had to let it go—let her go.
Tom switched his gaze to Linda. The restaurant lights had been dimmed, and he admitted
to himself with some reluctance that she looked radiant by candlelight.
Another part of him—the piece that still felt obliged to protect Jess—prompted him to keep watch for Jess’s return from the rest room. Jim must’ve said or done something to upset her.
“Tom, we’re losing you again.” Laughing, Frank looked from Brittany to Linda. “You have to forgive Tom. He has a brilliant financial mind, but he’s socially challenged.”
Brittany giggled. Linda patted his arm. “I think Tom’s doing great—socially and otherwise.”
Tom offered Linda a smile of appreciation. “Why, thank you. I—” He sobered at the sight of Jess making a hasty retreat toward the exit. His protective instincts raised him out of his chair slightly, and he shifted in an effort to cover his jerky motion. None of his business anymore.
Frank, never one to miss a trick, turned to Brittany, filling the awkward silence with cheery banter, and the two quickly resumed jabbering back and forth.
Tom twisted in his chair toward Linda, opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Where should he begin? He could start with an apology for not really being here tonight. But that would require further explanation—the truth—which in-cluded sixteen years of pining. He could almost hear the scrape of Linda’s chair against the wooden floor as she bolted for the nearest exit.
“Do you want to go after her?” Linda spoke softly, but her words stung.
“That obvious, huh?” Tom looked toward Jim’s table again. Dora stood there, her hand pressed to her cheek, no doubt apprising him of Jess’s disappearance. Dora would try to smooth things over, not unlike his efforts to protect Jess for far longer than he cared to remember.
“Are you in love with—?” Linda asked without inflection.
“Jessica. I was.” I am? The double date seemed more a burden now than a blessing. He craved some private time with Linda, a woman who seemed not to judge him. But baring his soul on a first date would be the epitome of selfishness and more than he cared to share tonight. “You weren’t set up. I didn’t plan on coming here. We ended up—”