Unforgettable

by Ann Christopher

  And there went her plan to avoid him, up in flames.

  “No,” she snapped. “He’s not bothering me. We’re having a private conversation. Which you interrupted for no reason. So don’t let us keep you.”

  She turned her back on Daniel.

  “There’s no need to get mushy on me,” she told Griffin. His amused gaze swung between her and Daniel, who was evidently still lurking behind her. “Just because I gave you good advice is no reason—”

  To her consternation, Daniel’s arm skimmed past her shoulder and appeared in her line of sight as he reached a hand out to Griffin.

  “Daniel Harper,” he said, his torso brushing against her back as he leaned in. Flustered by the unexpected contact (God, he smelled good!), Zoya edged away from him and tried not to squirm. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “Griffin Lowe.”

  The men shook.

  Zoya turned to Daniel with every intention of calling him out for interrupting her conversation a second time, and had the misfortune of meeting his eye as he eased back again. For that one agonizing second, she felt the warmth of his skin. The renewed thrill of his presence.

  She ran a hand through her hair and jiggled her foot, desperately trying to get a grip while he resumed his post close behind her.

  “I could have sworn I mentioned this was a private conversation, Daniel,” she muttered over her shoulder.

  “Did you?” he asked with complete indifference. “My mistake.”

  The bartender sidled up just then and nodded at Daniel. “What can I get you?”

  “He’s leaving,” Zoya said.

  “Glenfidditch. Neat,” Daniel said. His arm brushed her back again as he rested a hand on the bar. “You here with Zoya, Griffin?”

  “That is none of your business, Daniel,” she cried, outraged.

  “I’m, ah, Miranda’s ex-husband,” Griffin said, stifling a laugh.

  “So you and Zoya...?” Daniel asked.

  “Not in a million years,” Zoya and Griffin both said, shuddering.

  “I don’t appreciate the enthusiasm, Lucifer,” she added with a frown.

  “I’m married,” Griffin reminded her.

  “Like that’s ever stopped you before,” she said.

  Griffin glowered and opened his mouth to blast her, but never got the chance.

  “Dad! Hey, Dad!” called a pair of eight-year-old male voices in stereo. “Did you see us dancing?”

  They all looked around just as identical twins Jonah and Noah (the one with the glasses) raced over from the dance floor. Their beaming faces shone with sweat as they took turns hugging Griffin. Both looked especially handsome in their tuxedos, although their clothes showed some wear. Noah’s bow tie dangled on either side of his collar, while Jonah’s had disappeared altogether, and both twins had dusty gray patches on the knees of their slacks. Jonah held a glass of rainbow sherbet-orange juice-Seven-Up punch, but Zoya quickly divested him of it.

  “Hey!” Jonah cried. “You can’t just take that, Aunt Z!”

  She loved how they called her Aunt Z even though she wasn’t a blood relation.

  “Sure I can.” Bracing for the worst, she took a tiny sip and immediately felt her blood sugar level quadruple. “I’ve personally observed you drink ninety-seven glasses of this stuff since you got here. You don’t need all the sugar. You’ll be bouncing off the walls on the drive home to Brooklyn.”

  Noah noticed Daniel for the first time and gave him a suspicious up and down look. “Who’re you?”

  “Manners.” Griffin nudged Noah’s shoulder. “Use them.”

  Noah sighed, rolled his eyes and stuck out a small hand. “I’m Noah Lowe. Pleased to meet you. And you are…?”

  Daniel grinned and shook. “Daniel Harper. James’s brother.”

  Noah brightened. “There’s, like, fifty of you guys. Now you’re all related to me and Jonah! You’re like step-uncles or something. You missed our birthday this year, but you can get us a present next year. Just in case you’re wondering.”

  “Duly noted,” Daniel said, choking back a laugh.

  “We’re a size medium,” Jonah added. “We like hoodies.”

  “Do you think it’s at all inappropriate to ask a complete stranger for a gift?” Griffin asked the boys.

  “Ask and you shall receive,” Jonah said gravely.

  “You never know unless you ask,” Noah added.

  “So what are you fellas into?” Daniel eyeballed the twins speculatively. “Hoops? Scouts? Kayaking? Cycling?”

  “All of that!” Noah said.

  “Well, maybe I can tag along with you and James one day. Do some fun stuff.”

  “Cool!” said Noah. “We promise not to get on your nerves, right, Jonah?”

  “We hardly ever get on anyone’s nerves,” Jonah intoned solemnly, then turned to his father. “This doesn’t mean we love Daniel and James more than you, or anything, Dad. Just so you know.”

  “On that note,” Griffin said wryly, standing, “It’s time to hit the road. I hired a driver for the night and we’ve got a two-hour ride ahead of us. Let’s go find your mom and tell her good-bye.”

  “Hold up.” Noah turned to Zoya. “Did you hear our cello duet at the wedding? Didn’t we do a good job?”

  The boys stared up at her, looking breathless with anticipation, so she decided that now was not the time to mention that their rendition of Pachelbel’s “Canon,” while heartfelt, had reminded her that she needed to oil the creaky hinges on the closet door in her bedroom. To be fair, it wasn’t the boys’ fault. Their private instructor, a guy from the local community orchestra, was a lousy teacher according to Miranda.

  “You guys did an awesome job! Were you nervous?”

  “Jonah was, but not me,” Noah said, preening like a peacock during mating season.

  Jonah, meanwhile, did his best puffer fish imitation. “I was not nervous—”

  “So, anyway,” Zoya said quickly, fearing the onslaught of a sugar-fueled tantrum and wanting to head it off at the pass, “I’ll see you guys in a few days. Remember? You’re on fall break this week, so you’ll be with your father for a few days, and then you’ll come back and stay with me until your mom and James get back from their honeymoon. Cool?”

  “Cool,” they both said, fist bumping her.

  Griffin took their hands. “Good to meet you, Daniel. Zoya, it was...interesting.”

  “Don’t forget what we talked about,” she said.

  A shadow crossed over his features. A sharp nod, then he and the boys left.

  Leaving her alone with Daniel again.

  Dammit.

  She’d never gotten around to drinking her third shot, so she swiveled back to the bar and picked it up, mostly so she wouldn’t have to face Daniel just yet. Maybe if she got a bit more aggressive about ignoring him—

  “Thanks for changing your mind about having a drink with me,” he said, clinking her glass with his own. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

  That did it. “I’m not having a drink with you,” she said, incredulous. “Just because we’re both sitting at the bar—”

  “Right next to each other.”

  “—does not mean we’re interacting in any meaningful way. Let’s get that straight.”

  “Would you feel better if I ordered your shots?”

  “I’d feel better if you went off to be with your family like you were before,” she snapped.

  “You noticed what I was doing?”

  Caught, she scowled and tossed back the final shot even though the liquor was, clearly, making her dull-witted. Then she stood and faced him.

  Once again, he was way too close. He had a way of leaning toward her that really screwed with her tattered equilibrium. During the two years when they were together, they’d been very touchy-feely, always holding hands and stealing kisses. So it didn’t take much for those long-dormant impulses to wake up and start firing again.

  She wanted to whisper in his ear. To walk into the
protective strength of his open arms. To kiss him and taste the Scotch in his mouth.

  Backing away from his body’s powerful orbit would be a great idea right about now. Too bad she was way too proud to do it and give him the satisfaction of knowing how profoundly he got to her.

  “Fascinating as this debate promises to be,” she said, “I have wedding duties to attend to.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” He snapped his fingers. “You were telling Sofia you wanted to catch the bouquet earlier.”

  Her face burned. In her entire life, no one had ever managed to tease—or infuriate—her like this man did. “You’ve developed hearing problems in your old age. I was saying I have zero interest in catching bouquets.”

  “You never were one for real relationships, were you? That’s probably why you’re here alone. It’s awkward to come to weddings with casual dates, isn’t it?”

  She wasn’t one for real relationships?

  His hypocrisy nearly sent her into an apoplectic fit, but she managed to rein herself in by the skin of her teeth. She knew he was fishing. Knew he wanted to get a rise out of her. At her age, she ought to be way past too smart to nibble on the worm at the end of his stupid little hook. But once again, he’d taken a casual glance at her eyes, seen straight through to the blackest parts of her soul and called her out about it.

  Luckily, she also knew how to hit him where he lived. Now seemed like as good a time as any to see if she remembered how to ride that bicycle.

  “Don’t you worry about me,” she cooed, making a production of running her hands down her torso and belly to straighten her dress. His breath hitched, much to her satisfaction, and his avid gaze tracked the way she wriggled her hips. “I’m only alone when I choose to be. And the night’s still young. Who knows what I’ll decide to do later?”

  Bingo. He stiffened as if absorbing a slap. She silently proclaimed herself the winner.

  Until a smile crept across his face.

  “Looking for volunteers?” His voice was like a silken caress across her skin. “Where should I sign up?”

  Oh, how she hated him. How did he manage it? How did he take the most offhand words or gestures and use them to contaminate her thoughts? Did he also recall, in vivid detail, the exquisite way their bodies had once fit together? The way their mutual moans and cries had filled so many endless nights back when they couldn’t get enough of each other?

  Against all her better judgment, she found herself wondering—again—what the harm could be if they hooked up another time or two, just for old times’ sake.

  Whether another night with him would banish him from her system forever.

  But then she remembered that pain always followed pleasure when it came to Daniel, and he’d already doled out a dose powerful enough to last the rest of her life.

  “Thanks, but your services won’t be needed,” she said coldly, turning to go.

  “Did you play for the happy couple at the wedding?” he called after her.

  Damn him.

  Why couldn’t he let her go?

  Why couldn’t she walk away?

  She stopped and turned back. “Excuse me?”

  “Did you play a song during the ceremony?”

  “No.”

  He looked startled. “Why not?”

  She tried to look nonchalant while her heart lapsed into its familiar ache of longing as she thought about her cello.

  “I don’t play anymore,” she said.

  “What?”

  Zoya tried not to notice how stricken he looked and then, when that didn’t work, tried not to feel her turbulent emotions churning that much harder in her belly.

  “It’s no big deal, Daniel.”

  “You’re a cellist, Zoya. Music is your life. It is a big deal.” Once again, he took her wrist in his hand. Once again, everything inside her threatened to melt for him. Especially when he nailed her with those concerned eyes, as though he, and only he, knew what it cost her to let the musical part of herself go. “Tell me. Why don’t you play?”

  Pulling free, she smoothed her hair. Shrugged the whole topic off as best she could. “When my father was diagnosed with his brain tumor—”

  “What? He had a brain tumor? Jesus.”

  What an actor this man was, she thought bitterly. And there was yet another reason to hate Daniel a little bit more. They just piled up like firewood. “Don’t act like you didn’t know. I’m sure your mother or someone told you.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “How is that possible?”

  He gave her a hard stare. “I joined the Air Force. I had all my training. I didn’t want to talk to anyone back home. Not for a while, anyway. And anytime someone mentioned your name to me…” He shrugged. “It’s not like you asked about me, either, is it?”

  No, she had not.

  She’d essentially taken a blood oath to never ask anyone anything about Daniel, ever, nor had she looked him up online or checked out his social media. If he had any. Which was why she’d nearly lapsed into cardiac arrest last winter, when she first heard rumors that he might return to town.

  So neither of them had asked about the other.

  Fair enough.

  But he’d never known how close she came to losing her beloved father.

  And here she’d thought Daniel had known, but had decided not to reach out to her anyway.

  He wasn’t a liar after all. Nor was he as heartless as she’d assumed this whole time.

  This stunning information threw her for a serious loop. She didn’t want to reevaluate her feelings for him. She wasn’t ready to knock down one of the pillars of her ongoing bitterness.

  She opened her mouth. Floundered.

  “How is he, Zoya?”

  “He’s good now,” she said, not knowing what to make of his urgent concern. “The tumor was benign. Hopefully gone forever.”

  Harsh sigh of relief from Daniel. “Thank God. What’s that got to do with you and the cello?”

  She blinked. Got her head back in the game.

  “Well, he got sick a couple of years ago.”

  “He had surgery?”

  “Yes. And the expenses nearly put him into bankruptcy. He almost lost everything.”

  “His little upholstery shop—?”

  “I took it over and turned it into a fiber arts boutique. It’s called Spun Gold now.”

  “Spun Gold,” he echoed, the beginnings of a smile lighting his face. “I like it.”

  Zoya stared at him, arrested.

  If only his approval didn’t mean so much to her.

  If only he didn’t still possess the power to make her heart pound, stop or break.

  If only she could think.

  She managed a shaky breath. “Anyway, I sold my cello to pay his bills.”

  Daniel gaped at her, and there was another if only.

  If only this one man didn’t know her so well.

  “I had to.” She felt a driving need to make him understand. “After the way my father scrimped and saved and worked his fingers to the bone for me after he and Mom got divorced? After he mortgaged everything to send me to Cornell? Stop looking at me like that, Daniel. It was only a cello.”

  He made the strangled sound of someone who didn’t believe her for a second. She should have known.

  “It wasn’t only a cello to you, Zoya,” he said. “Don’t pretend it was. How did you keep touring with the symphony without a cello?”

  “I’d stopped touring. I hadn’t played in years.”

  His frown deepened. “I don’t understand. Haven’t you been with the symphony this whole time? It was your dream job.”

  Dream job. Dream man. Whatever.

  That was the funny thing about dreams, wasn’t it?

  They never came true.

  “We really don’t need to get into all this right now, Daniel.”

  “I feel like we do.”

  “Look. We graduated. We split up. You ran off to join the Air Force.”

 
He made a rumbling sound of dissent.

  “I toured with the symphony for two years. When I got tired of that, I joined the Peace Corps and used my Spanish in Guatemala. I joined Teach for America. Worked in Queens. Lived in DC with my mother for a while when she had a bout with breast cancer, but then we started to drive each other crazy, the way we always do. She’s fine, too. Don’t look at me like that.”

  He hesitated, lines of bewilderment grooving down his forehead. “I don’t get it. You did all that? Since I’ve been gone?”

  “All that and more.”

  “And then you came back here?”

  “Two years ago, yeah. When my father got sick.”

  “None of that sounds like you, Zoya. I mean, the volunteering is great, but this doesn’t sound like the woman I knew. You got tired of the symphony? Come on.”

  Zoya hesitated.

  If only he’d stop looking at her.

  If only he’d lost his ability to see her the way no one else ever could.

  “I thought we’d established to everyone’s satisfaction that you and I never knew each other at all,” she said, taking great care to infuse her voice with as much mockery as possible. “Or am I mistaken?”

  His jaw tightened. “Be as nasty as you want. That still doesn’t explain how you could give up your music.”

  Rehashing it all now—the loss and anguish, the fear for her father above all else—was not how she’d planned to spend her evening.

  “Haven’t you been listening? The musical part of my life is over. It’s dead. It’s been dead. My father got sick. He needed me. My cello was just lying around, gathering dust. So I sold it and paid for his medical expenses. Now I’m a small business owner. Not a cellist. And that’s just fine with me, so stop looking at me like someone died.”

  He blinked and rubbed his face hard enough to make his flesh peel away from his skull. “Sorry,” he said, dropping his hands. “But that cello was a piece of your soul, Zoya.”

  His perfect understanding combined with his perfect hypocrisy to form a toxic combination. As if she hadn’t lost far greater pieces of her soul. As if he cared. As if he hadn’t been God-knew-where doing who-knew-what while she flip-flopped through her life, trying to find something that made sense and eased the bottomless loneliness.