“Up there is an apartment.” I pointed to the door that led through to the hallway. “I don’t rent it out or anything; it holds my excess junk right now.”
He snorted. “And I’m sure it came in handy a couple of times when you and Matthew cohabitated.”
“Maybe,” I hedged. Whether he was implying that I had used the living area to get away from him in particular or from one of my brother’s paramours was inconsequential.
“So where are we going?” I asked, swiftly changing the subject.
We’d made our way back to the front door, and he stood before it, his hand on the knob. My question made him stop and shrug.
“I know a place not too far up the road that’s pretty good. Unless you just want to grab some fast food somewhere?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Okay. We’ll go there. It’ll be a better place to talk anyway. If they’re super busy, it will be so loud in there no one will notice us and if it’s dead, we’ll grab a corner table and hide. You’re done with work, right?”
He nodded. I had a feeling that he wouldn’t have called if he was on his own lunch break and needed to get back quickly. Being self-employed had its advantages; I answered to no one when it came to taking off. Of course, the freedom went both ways - there were more times than I could count that I’d skipped a lunch break completely to focus on a project, ending up with a massive headache from lack of food in the process. But today felt like an extended meal kind of day.
He waited on the sidewalk for me as I locked up the place. “I’m kind of disappointed that you didn’t bring your ambulance. The Civic is so boring in comparison. So, I’ll drive if you don’t mind.”
“Okay.”
I led him around back to where both of my vehicles were parked. With the warmer weather coming to an end shortly, I’d taken to driving my Miata back and forth and leaving the Trailblazer here. Logistically, owning two cars and living alone was a nightmare when I decided I wanted them both at home, but luckily I could con either Matthew or Lauren into helping me out when I decided to put the truck in my garage. He wavered when he saw both of them, waiting for me to direct him to which one I would pick. I laughed to cover the fact that I felt a bit ostentatious.
“The convertible. Its days are numbered.”
We climbed in, him not attempting to take the lead and rush over to open my door. He was deferring control of the situation to me entirely, something that I inherently understood. As much as I was walking on eggshells around him, he wanted me to know that the feeling was mutual.
“You Snyders and your cars,” he commented as I lowered the top.
“You’re just jealous,” I smiled. “Considering the vices that we could have chosen, I’d say cars are pretty tame.”
Had I been thinking, I would have directed him to the truck instead. The Miata’s interior was small enough, amplified tenfold by the fact that my ex-boyfriend occupied the passenger seat. My very hot ex, sitting mere inches away from me fresh from a shift of saving lives and being a hero. And little old me in the driver’s seat, sexually frustrated and without a hook up in nearly a year.
I could blame the sweating on the late summer heat, right?
True to my word, the restaurant in question was just a few miles away from my shop, a drive that took maybe five minutes total. By way of the parking lot, it looked as though most of the lunch crowd had come and gone. We’d have our pick of tables, though the fact that I’d overseen the decoration of the interior when they’d remodeled would have guaranteed that anyway.
“Ever been here before?” I asked as we got out.
Chris shook his head. “No, can’t say that I have.”
“Don’t worry. It’s kind of an off-the-beaten path place. But their Mexican food is authentic and way better than what you can get in a drive through. You’ll see.”
He followed me up the sidewalk to the entrance, hovering awkwardly behind me like he didn’t know how to behave. Gone was the outward show of affection that he would have provided when we were dating: an arm slung around my shoulder or waist as he escorted me in. And we weren’t even to the hand holding point that we’d experienced the night of the wedding. I swallowed down a bit of disappointment at that; maybe this wasn’t a social visit, but instead a kiss-off meeting. He did reach ahead of me to hold open the door, so that was promising.
I immediately heard my name called as we stepped foot into the place. Within seconds, the owner rushed over to us, menus in hand and ready to seat us. We exchanged pleasantries as Chris good-naturedly lagged behind. I didn’t need to ask for a specific table; she headed straight to the back corner of the dining area.
“Some privacy for you and your friend,” she said conspiratorially, though loud enough for him to hear. Her emphasis on the word “friend” suggested anything but.
Good thing the place was darkened for effect. My face must have been beet red as I settled into the booth across from him. I did frequent this place quite a bit, sometimes solo, others with clients or with Matthew or Lauren. Yet she had picked up instantly on something between Chris and me that had her jumping to the correct conclusion.
“Do you know everyone?” Chris grinned, choosing to ignore her implied meaning.
“Look around,” I said, taking a chip from the basket that had been placed in front of us and dipping it into my personal bowl of salsa.
He did as instructed, understanding crossing his features. “You did this, too?”
“Yep. And I’m slowing giving them back what they paid me one meal at a time.”
“So how many places in Fort Wayne have you decorated?”
I shrugged. “More than you probably think. I’ve been in business for almost six years now. Like most start-ups, it was slow going at first, but I do okay now.”
“Why do I have a feeling that you’re making an understatement?”
“‘Okay’ is a relative term.”
I wasn’t speaking merely about interior design and he knew it. His brown eyes dropped suddenly to his menu, scanning the selections absentmindedly as he debated with himself on what to say. I stared down at my own menu even though I didn’t need it. I always ordered the same thing; the owner just brought it to me as a prop so that whoever I was with didn’t feel uncomfortable poring over it. Grateful for the distraction, I flipped through the pages blindly.
“I forgive you, Blake.”
He said it so quietly that it took a moment for me to comprehend his words. When I was certain that I’d heard him correctly, I looked up and met his gaze. I bit my lip and remained silent. We both knew that wasn’t all he’d shown up to say.
The rest waited while we placed our respective orders. Even once the owner had disappeared, we still stared at each other. My heart threatened to pound its way out of my chest and I clasped my hands in my lap to try to stop them from shaking. But still I said nothing, waiting for him to expand on the subject.
“I wanted to be mad at you,” he continued finally. “I wanted to hate you. Not for losing the baby, but for keeping it from me for so many years. For letting me go along with life, completely in the dark. For not knowing what the true reasoning for you yelling at me that day was. For being stupid enough not to realize what was going on when it happened. For you not wanting me there to share it with you.”
I averted my eyes to the table in front of me. I really didn’t want to cry in public, secluded booth or not. But the tears that formed beneath my lashes were very real and very close to making their presence known.
“Look at me, please.”
I sniffled and did as he told me.
“Then I figured out that you were scared back then. You were only eighteen, not the person that you are today. You were just a kid yourself, thrown into a hundred adult situations overnight. And I wasn’t much better myself. You were right; our relationship at that point was irreparable. We both needed to grow up. And even though having a baby together would have forced our hands to do just that, it wasn’t in the cards for us.”<
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“I wanted that baby,” I interjected, unable to bear the thought of him thinking otherwise. The miscarriage hadn’t been a happy accident, a convenient way out of a sticky situation. It had broken me completely. Even though I hadn’t shared it with anyone else until recently, it was constantly on my mind - sometimes just a dull roar in the back of my head, but always, always there.
“I know. And in a way, I did, too. I had dreams of us raising a family, getting old together. I just never knew how close to reality that actually was. Bad timing, maybe, but it could have happened.”
We fell quiet as our lunch was placed before us, waiting until we were alone again to move, to even breathe. The words that he had chosen did nothing to alleviate my tension. It could have happened. Deliberate or not, it tore me to shreds that he didn’t include the glimmer of hope that suggested it could still happen.
Truthfully, that was the heart of the matter. As much as I pretended like I couldn’t care less, there was comfort in the knowledge that there was still a chance for Chris and me to rekindle what we’d lost. As much as Matthew and Lauren were willing to testify to that fact, the person who knew best was effectively closing that door on me.
“It could have,” I repeated, trying out the words against my own lips.
“I’m sorry it didn’t.”
“Me, too.”
“It must have been hard for you to find out about Lauren’s pregnancy.”
“I threw up.”
A small smile flitted across his lips, though it appeared to be more out of sympathy than in jest. “And yet you still didn’t tell anyone.”
I shook my head. “I’d kept it quiet for so long, I guess I thought I’d end up taking it to the grave with me. After a while, it just became easier not to say anything. I mean, how weird would it be to just bring it up in normal conversation ten years later? Besides, it wasn’t fair to not tell you first.”
“It must have killed you to act all excited.”
“I was excited for her. I still am. But it was bittersweet, you know? The wedding planning, the baby - I felt like it should have been me instead. Then I felt awful that I thought that.”
“So why now?”
“Because I’d run from you for so long that I was just tired. And there you were, staring me straight in the eye, almost like you were begging me to tell you. I’d avoided you for so many years, I didn’t know what I’d do when we actually had to be in the same room again. I’d worried about it for ages; when it was finally time, I felt so many things I was numb. And then you were touching me, holding me like you still loved me and I just crumbled.”
“It wasn’t like I still loved you.”
I lowered my eyes to my plate, pretending my enchilada was suddenly the most interesting thing on the planet. There were so many ways to interpret that I didn’t know where to begin. I knew what I wanted it to mean, but I didn’t want to open myself up for yet another round of sorrow.
But I had to ask. “Was it just an act?”
“No, Blake. As pitiful as it sounds, I’ve always held on to the hope that we would eventually find our way back to each other. I never gave up on that dream, even when you moved onwards and upwards.”
“I never moved on.”
He snorted. “I believe you gave your brother a run for the money in the one night stand department.”
I winced. “Not the same thing.”
“No?”
“Not when I thought only of you when I was with someone else.”
It was his turn to stare down at his meal. The look on his face registered many things: resignation that I’d confirmed his deepest fears, yet also a touch of smugness that he’d been on my mind while performing my destructive actions.
“So what did you accomplish by doing that?” he asked finally. “Didn’t you realize what you were risking? You could have found yourself in the same situation with a guy you didn’t really even know. Or worse. You could have gotten yourself hurt.”
“I was careful. In more ways than one. I never used my real name, I never drank too much, I always drove separate. Trust me, guys that participate in those activities are just as afraid of getting someone knocked up as I was of being pregnant again.”
“I suppose you meant that to be comforting, but it wasn’t.”
“I’m sorry, Chris. You’re right. I didn’t accomplish anything by doing that. It didn’t help with the pain or the loneliness. It only made me feel dirty afterward. Maybe I was trying to punish myself. Or I was trying to prove that I didn’t have to equate sex with love.”
“Isn’t that what it should mean?”
“Well, yes. But carrying around a secret like mine fucks with your head. I didn’t want to feel anything anymore. I almost succeeded.”
“But then?”
“But then it was Thanksgiving and you were on my doorstep. And I wanted to tell you then. I wanted to let you in and talk to you. I wanted you to hold me and tell me that everything was going to be okay. But I couldn’t let you. I got scared. And that night was the last time.”
“So you haven’t since?”
“No. I tried again, but I just couldn’t do it. And the pain and loneliness are still there, but the dirtiness is gone. And now you know and the world didn’t end, so I guess it turned out as good as could be expected.”
“So this is it? This is as good as it gets?”
His question and my resulting answer were interrupted by the owner stopping by the table and depositing the check in front of us. I snapped to attention, flashing her my rehearsed smile, an expression that fell as soon as she disappeared. We both stared at the black, faux-leather folder that contained our bill. Then we both reached for it at exactly the same time, our fingers brushing against each other.
“Sorry,” I said, jerking my hand back.
“No, it’s my fault.”
“Why don’t we just go Dutch? Otherwise it will start to look like a date.”
I rummaged around in my purse for my wallet, taking longer than I needed to just so I wouldn’t have to look at him. My hand burned with his touch, a warmth that was slowly making its way to my cheeks. I cursed my fair complexion for being so transparent - both literally and figuratively. I blindly reached for the folder, placing some cash inside and setting it back where it came from.
“Would that really be such a bad thing?” Chris asked as he did the same.
With the bill settled, he leaned back in the booth and studied me. I attempted to keep my gaze away from him, but he was making it difficult. Why did I have such a problem looking at him when he had no qualms ogling me? I did a mental run-through of my appearance: standard summer work ensemble of capris and a short sleeved blouse, unbuttoned just to the point of revealing a hint of cleavage. Nothing suspect there.
“What?” I asked, deciding to stare back.
“Would dating me again be such a bad thing?”
Of course, the owner chose that exact moment to return to the table to collect our money. Her eyebrow raised as she looked pointedly at me.
“Keep the change,” Chris and I told her in unison, effectively dismissing her. I half expected her to remain firmly planted at the side of our table, waiting for my response. But she took our hint and made herself scarce. She knew she’d get her answers the next time I stopped by solo, along with me getting a healthy dose of the third degree. I owed her as much for her respecting our privacy now.
“We’re different people now, Chris.”
“Exactly. We’ve both had a lot happen in the last ten years. We’ve both matured. And what was good back then could be even better now.”
“Or it could backfire.”
Where had that pessimism come from? I wanted to slap myself.
“Don’t we owe it to ourselves to find out?”
“Let’s get out of here,” I stalled.
He remained silent as we exited the restaurant and got back into my car. Again, he let me take the lead, walking directly to the passenger side of the Miata a
nd climbing in. I stood outside for a split second longer, trying to compose myself.
“You’re cute when you’re nervous,” he chuckled when I finally sat down next to him.
“Oh, stop it.”
“So what do you say? Just one little date?”
I glared at him from behind my sunglasses, then swung my eyes back to the road.
“I promise if it goes badly, you’ll never hear of it again. We’ll just coexist peacefully from there on out. Hatchet buried, no hard feelings. No running from each other anymore. Maybe not friends, but never enemies again.”
“Fair enough,” I said, hoping I disguised the excitement in my voice accordingly. I knew from his expression that I’d failed.
Our negotiations had lasted the length of the ride back to my store. I parked my car and waited for his cue. He pushed open the door and got out, prompting me to do the same. He’d parked the Civic on the street out front and he began walking toward it, leaving me to trail behind him, stumbling on my wedge sandals as I raced to catch up. He was leaning against the side of his car, smirking as he watched me come around the corner.
“How about Friday at seven? I’ll pick you up at your place?”
“Fine,” I huffed, pretending to be mad.
I slapped him playfully. He countered by grabbing my arm, pulling me into an embrace. I gasped for air, both surprised by his action and wanting to breathe him in. The busy downtown traffic blurred in my vision as I melted into him, tracing my fingers down his arm. He rested his chin on top of my head.
“Blake?” he whispered.
“Hmmmm?”
“Everything’s going to be okay.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“You look just fine,” Lauren observed wryly as she watched me primp from her perch on the vanity stool in my master bathroom. I’d deferred the seating to my insanely pregnant friend, choosing to stand at the mirror instead.
“Do I?” I picked up a kohl pencil, lining my eyes for about the fifth time. Any more makeup and I’d resemble a raccoon.
“You always look great. Unlike some of us, who just feel bloated all the time.”
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