Would she forgive him? Hell, he didn’t care if she forgave him as long as she’d let him try to make it up to her. He aimed for Ashworth 10 and started running.
The dorm was sealed shut, and he waited, the rain finally slacking, for five agonizing minutes before a couple of women coming out of the building held the door open for him. In those five minutes, he fully felt the consequences of his hike in the rain. He was freezing and every layer of clothing he wore was drenched. He passed the common room, climbed the stairs to the first floor, and stopped. He didn’t know Emma’s room number. Perfect.
He called her cell. Unsurprisingly, it went directly to voice mail. Well, what worked for her could work for him. He started down the hall, calling her name. She must have been really determined to find him to do this the previous night. He felt like an idiot, especially when the floor was silent and not a single door opened to reveal a possibly crying, probably angry, half-Chinese, half-French beauty.
His sneakers squelched irritatingly on the vinyl stairs to the second floor. Ahh. Signs of life. Strewn about the hall were the remains of a party, empty cups, a few abandoned Ping-pong balls, and even an overturned keg. Must have been the site of the rager Emma and Cory told him about. Which meant this was Emma’s floor.
He called her name as loudly as he dared. His heart leaped with anticipation when a door finally opened then sank when a beefy guy in a Weston T-shirt poked his head out of his room. “Shut the fuck up.”
Nate stepped back, startled, and stumbled over the keg. It was empty, but just as painful as a full one to his foot and his knee when he hit it, then the ground, hard. “Shit.” The guy in the Weston shirt shook his head and slammed the door.
“I’m all right; thanks for asking,” Nate said to the closed door. He rubbed his sore knee, kicking the keg with his other foot for good measure. It made a hollow thump and rolled a few inches toward the wall. This was turning into one hell of a night. Still sitting on the ground, he pulled out his phone and tried Emma again. Voice mail.
He took a deep breath. “Emma, it’s Nate. I’d like to talk with you. Call me anytime. I’ll leave my phone on.”
He took his time walking back to Ashworth 9, grateful to be able to strip off his wet clothes and step into a piping hot shower. He kept his cell phone within reach at all times even as he stood under the spray of the water as long as he could stand. He felt as if he’d been hit by a truck, and it was because he wanted to clear the air with Emma and couldn’t. The things he’d said to her, the stricken look on her face when he’d backed away from her, kept rolling around in his brain. He lay in the bed they’d shared together not so many hours before and contemplated the fact that he may have irreparably messed up the best thing that ever happened to him. Sleep didn’t come for a long time.
***
The next morning, as he surveyed the green filled with crowds of graduates’ families and other well-wishers, Nate felt awful and knew he must look worse. He was limping, his eyes were red from lack of sleep, and his throat felt unmistakably scratchy, as if he’d picked up a bug and all the wandering around in the rain had turned it into a full-blown cold.
Emma hadn’t returned the two messages he’d left on her phone, and now, though his calls no longer went directly to voice mail, she wasn’t picking them up either. He’d texted her, too.
Please call me.
How much more desperate could he sound?
The more he dwelled on the interaction with her the night before, the more he understood she was probably upset, if not pissed, at him. Perhaps they’d been moving too fast, and neither of them had been able to withstand the first real pressure on their fledgling relationship. As he searched the green in vain for her petite form, her straight black hair, her beautiful wide face, he couldn’t fight off the suspicion that this debacle had happened for a reason. He wasn’t ready for all of this. He wasn’t over Alison in the sense that he was still broken, still healing. He’d rushed things, thinking that he was better. This was a sign that even if he hadn’t screwed things up now, he’d only be screwing them up down the line. He wasn’t cut out for a real relationship; at least not yet. Emma was probably right not to respond to his overtures. Maybe they could both leave this weekend with a few good memories mixed in with some of the bad.
He carefully turned the ringer off on his phone and turned back to Ashworth to pack.
***
“We’re here, lady,” the cabbie barked. Emma realized he’d been idling in front of the train station for a good minute, waiting for her to stop staring at her cell phone and get out of his cab.
She got out and hoisted her bag, handing him some bills, not waiting for the change. Her movements were mechanical, her body at the train station, but her head and heart back at Weston, wondering what Nate was doing, how he was feeling, why he kept calling her. He’d been pretty clear in his messages and texts. He wanted to see her, and the tone of his messages made him sound worried, even apologetic, rather than angry.
The part of Emma that knew she’d somehow fallen in love with him over the last forty-eight hours wanted to return his calls, to see him, to hold him, to talk it all out and put this whole thing behind them. The part of Emma that had been burned by too many guys she’d thought she had feelings for and were worth the pain and the hurt stood strong. It was that part that forced her to ignore the messages, ignore the texts, and get on the train heading south.
She’d give herself some space, some time. She didn’t like leaving things so unresolved, but she couldn’t imagine what he could say to her that would erase the wounded feeling she had inside.
She stared blankly at the presentation open on her laptop for the entire ride to New York, blinking when the travelers around her began gathering their belongings as the train pulled into Grand Central. From there, she’d take the subway into Brooklyn then walk a few short blocks to her brownstone.
Her overnight case dragged like a bag of bricks by the time she dropped it heavily inside the doorway of her home. Home. It had never felt so much like an oasis of peace and calm.
She walked through her house, taking it in with fresh eyes. The entryway was small, but light and airy, especially with the late-May sun streaming in unchecked through the mullioned windows that surrounded the front door. The ten-foot ceilings retained their nineteenth-century carved details, and she’d turned the main front room into a functional dining room. She usually worked on the large wooden dining table instead of at the desk she’d installed off the master bedroom upstairs. She’d used lots of cool colors, creams and lavenders, some grays and blue-greens. Even though everywhere she looked she saw a project waiting for her time and money, she also congratulated herself on making the once dark and depressing space into a fresh and livable one. This was her baby, and she could make it whatever she wanted. She worked hard, and her house was what she had to show for it.
She tried not to think of the two smaller bedrooms, the attic that she thought would make a perfect playroom, or the modest backyard with its concrete patio where she’d envisioned putting a plastic kiddie pool in the summer and building snowmen in the winter. She ignored the pang of inexplicable longing when she thought about Nate’s offer to come in and do some work, imagining him scruffy and sweaty, surrounded by tools as he stripped away the old, moldering wainscoting in the downstairs hallway.
It hurt, much more than it should, and the hurt brought back some of her anger. This was her home, her refuge, and no man would make her feel less than comfortable here. How could he affect her so much here when he’d never even set foot over the threshold?
Damn him. She’d survive this, as she always had before.
Chapter Seven
Five days. Five days, he’d been back in Brooklyn, five days in which there had been absolutely no word from Emma. He reminded himself it was better this way, but couldn’t shake the feeling that it was wrong to leave so much unspoken. He was worried about her. How did he even know she’d gotten back to the city safely after
the reunion? He hadn’t tried her since Sunday, but he couldn’t bring himself to call only to be consigned to voice mail.
Even though he knew she worked in Manhattan, he found himself taking walks down 4th Street whenever he had a free moment. He never ran into her, and he wouldn’t have known what to say if he had. She was clearly done with him. And he deserved it.
He sighed and pulled his focus back to the built-in bookshelf he was designing for a client in Prospect Park. His plate was full; business was good. He’d been terrified to take the leap and open his own design-and-build workshop, but, so far, it was working out. If his business kept growing as it had been, he’d have to hire an apprentice of his own soon.
His thoughts, as ever, turned back to Emma. Was she getting quotes from someone else to do the work in her brownstone? God, he was such an idiot, he told himself for the millionth time. He’d been so close to something great with her, and he’d fucked it up.
It’s better this way. He grunted as he hoisted a cherry wood board onto his worktable. It was his mantra. His depressing, hollow mantra. Because this wasn’t better than anything. This sucked.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he fumbled in his haste to grab it before it went to voice mail.
The screen slowed his heart rate. Just Cory.
“What’s up, man?”
“Kicking ass and taking names, the usual. Friday night, and Lizzie’s working late. It’s beer o’clock, buddy.”
Nate checked the time and was surprised to find it was nearly seven. He’d been working steadily for twelve hours.
“Yeah, sounds good. Sammy’s?” he asked, naming a bar they frequented a couple of blocks away.
“How about Tilly’s?” Cory countered.
“The Irish place on Union? Okay. Give me thirty minutes.”
After a quick shower to loosen the day’s dust and sweat from his body, Nate headed out. He was starving and hoped Tilly’s wouldn’t be busy. He wanted a hot meal and a cold beer and some mindless conversation about sports with his friend.
***
Cory was at the bar, chatting with the bartender, a bottle in front of him. Nate smiled when he saw Cory slip the bartender his business card.
“Trolling for clients at bars now?”
“Hey, he asked me for some investment advice. Everyone should have a shot at reaping the rewards of the economic recovery,” Cory said.
“So you’re one of those bankers with a heart of gold. Oh, wait. Those don’t exist,” Nate teased.
“Hey, you make fun, but I haven’t done too badly with your nest egg, have I?”
Nate had to admit he hadn’t, and he trusted Cory with more than his money.
“This time, it’s you who looks like shit,” Cory observed as he pushed a menu toward his friend.
“Thanks,” Nate said dryly before glancing at the menu and ordering.
“How’s business?”
“Good, actually. I’ve been putting in some long days.”
“Screw your days. I want to know about your nights. How’s it going with Emma?”
Nate took a hard swallow of his beer and coughed. “What do you mean?”
“Man, don’t hold out on me. I saw you at the reunion. You looked freaking happy and couldn’t stop glancing over at her. You said the two of you were hanging out, and I’m giving you some credit for sealing the deal already. Doesn’t she live around here? You guys could be neighbors.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a detective,” Nate said. He took a steadying sip as Cory waited with uncharacteristic patience for him to go on.
“Okay, yes, we hooked up at reunion. Things were going well. Then she told me something I didn’t want to hear, and I kind of overreacted and stormed off. We haven’t spoken since.”
“Damn. That explains the mopey attitude. What are you waiting for? Call her.”
“I have called her. I called her and texted her, and she’s ignoring me.”
“That’s rough. Well, there are plenty of women in this city waiting for someone like you to take them home. You gotta open your eyes to the buffet that is New York.”
“I don’t want a buffet. I don’t think I should be with anyone for a long time. This whole thing has made me realize I’m even more screwed up than I thought, and I’m not good for anyone. I’m going to work, focus on the business, and that’s it.”
Cory slammed down a fist on the bar, making cutlery and glasses jump. “Fuck that!”
“Whoa, dude—”
“No, Nate, I am sick of your self-indulgent shit. I was there when you married Alison. I was happy for you, but I could tell she wasn’t the right girl for you. You never had half the spark in you for Alison that you have when you talk about Emma. There’s something wrong with that.”
Nate started to protest, but Cory plowed on. “When Alison did what she did and things ended, I was happy because it meant you could find someone you really fit with. Then I watched you spend a year ignoring everything except your work, and, believe me, I know about doing that. I can tell you, man, it’s no way to live. I work hard, but life wouldn’t be worth living without Lizzie by my side.” Cory’s voice softened at the mention of his wife. “This is the first time in forever I’ve seen you open up to feeling anything about someone else, and it’s amazing because I can tell this girl is good for you. You’ve given up before you even gave it a real shot. What is wrong with you?”
Nate stared in shock at his friend. Cory was a ball buster by nature, but Nate had never realized the extent of his friend’s insight and supportiveness. He was touched.
“You think she’d still want me after I screwed things up?”
“If she’s smart, she’s going to grab onto you and not let you get away with any of this self-pitying shit. Yes, Alison screwed you over, but you’re better off without her. Stop thinking of yourself as broken and start thanking your lucky stars fate is giving you a chance with a woman who could be everything to you like Lizzie is to me.”
“Damn, Cory, you’re a real romantic son of a bitch, aren’t you?”
“Call me Cupid,” he cracked. “Now drink your beer and celebrate. The Yanks are slaughtering the Sox.” He raised his bottle to the screen showing the game behind the bar.
Nate laughed and drank to that.
Chapter Eight
Emma scanned the dim interior of the French bistro around the corner from her office. A single elegant woman at the bar was holding a glass of champagne and speaking in French with the bartender, a young man who was clearly captivated by the conversation in his native tongue. She grinned, and her heart lightened.
“Mom.” She approached Juliette Delvaux and was wrapped in her mother’s strong embrace. She blinked away the tears that sprang into her eyes. Sometimes there was nothing better than a hug from one’s mom.
“Hello, beautiful girl,” Juliette said, kissing the cheek of her only daughter. Emma smiled. Her mother had always used that pet name, and even though Emma was in her thirties, it still tended to embarrass her when they were in public. Besides, in Emma’s eyes, her mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. Well into middle age, she’d kept her thick black hair long, and it was now twisted up into a chignon. Her violet eyes stood out on her oval face, and though she was over sixty, she looked much younger. Emma exclaimed over her mother’s new drop earrings and how well she looked, even though she’d spent the day in airports, airplanes, and taxis, making her way from coast to coast.
“When I don’t travel with your father, I indulge myself,” Juliette confided as she bid adieu to the disappointed bartender, and they took seats at a corner table. “I always forget they won’t seat you until your whole party is here, so I got started on the bubbly without you.”
“I’m glad you did. Are we celebrating something?”
“Getting to spend three whole days with my daughter isn’t enough of an excuse? It’s been too long since you’ve been to Palo Alto, but it’s always nice to have a reason to come to New York.”
“I gave my big presentation this afternoon, and I think it went well, so that does call for champagne.”
They ordered, clinked glasses, and fell into rapid conversation about everything from family news to her mother’s latest initiatives at work. They ate slowly as they talked. It was hard to imagine they had so much to catch up on, considering they spoke at least a couple of times a week by phone, but, for Emma, there was no substitute for the comfort of seeing her mother in the flesh.
When Emma’s exquisite chocolate cake and Juliette’s traditional crème brûlée had been presented with a flourish, they settled back in their chairs with an espresso for Juliette and a hot tea for Emma. Only then did Emma’s mother raise the topic of the reunion.
“And tell me about Weston. You didn’t really share how it went.”
Emma had glossed over the weekend when she’d spoken to her mother earlier in the week, not sure how to explain what had happened with Nate. Knowing she was going to see Juliette shortly anyway, Emma felt it was better to get her perspective in person. She’d been thinking about him all week, against her better judgment, and she needed another opinion.
“It started off not that well. It seemed like everyone was there with their spouses and kids, and it was good to see a few of them, but, in general, I felt like all my classmates had moved on with their lives, and I was still stuck in this post-college twilight zone.”
“Oh, honey,” Juliette said, “you were probably the most beautiful, successful woman there. I’ll bet none of them own their own homes or run entire creative departments at ad agencies.”
Emma smiled at Juliette’s predictable defense of her daughter’s life choices.
“Maybe not. But I wasn’t in a great place emotionally. And then I ran into an old friend.”
Juliette’s raised eyebrows spoke volumes.
“Nate Hirsch. You might remember him? He and I were friends during college, but we lost touch after graduation.”
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