by Aria Ford
“Well, then,” I said, briskly, trying to hide how deeply his words had affected me. “I guess I should go. Shall we meet at eight?”
“Eight sounds great,” he said with a little shrug of those big shoulders. I laughed.
“You haven't changed, have you?” I teased.
He smiled. His grin was genuine and happy. “You think that?”
“I know that,” I said. My voice grated with feeling. Dammit, why did he have to affect me like this. “Inside, you'll always be Drew.”
My voice gave up and if I'd had to say anything more I'd have started sobbing. I looked at the handle of my car's door and made myself breathe slowly and deeply.
“See you at eight, then,” he murmured. He, too, seemed disinclined to speak and I wondered if he was also finding it hard.
“Yes. Eight it is.”
“Uncle's Bistro?” he checked.
I laughed. “That's the one. See you there.”
“See you,” he called. “I'll ask my GPS to find it.”
“Do that,” I called as I climbed into my car. “It's easy to find.”
I shut the door, turned the keys in the ignition and sped off home. I had to slow down, as my eyes were blurred with held-in tears.
When I reached home, I almost flew up the stairs to my apartment and started to change clothes as soon as I got there. I rummaged through my closet, desperate to find something suitable for a date. A date with Drew.
“How about that dress?” I asked myself. I reached over to the back corner, where all my favorite, special things were stored. The things I didn't think I'd ever find cause to wear.
The dress in question was a brown dress, clinging in the bodice and sort-of figure hugging, but with a bit of a ruched design over the right hip. I decided to pair it with a tan leather jacket and tan heels, to kind of tone it down a bit.
Wriggling out of my work uniform and into the dress, I stood before the mirror.
Not bad.
The dress clung to my curvy body, highlighting my full bust and narrow waist. I felt good in it. I slipped on some heels and redid my hair, making a kind of half-up, half-down style that I'd seen on an instructional video.
“I think I'm ready,” I said. I put on new lipstick, took my eyeliner out and fixed my eye-makeup and then turned once more at the mirror before heading lightly downstairs. My heart was thumping and I felt almost giddy. I was so excited.
I reached Uncle's Bistro at five minutes after eight pm. I walked steadily out of the door, focusing on my breath, my heart pounding with excitement inside me.
Act natural, Alexandra. Just act natural.
“Good evening,” the waiter said politely. “Table for one?”
“Uh...I'm expecting someone,” I said, scanning the surprisingly-elegant, hipster interior of Uncle's Bistro. I caught sight of a black suit in the corner. “I think he's here already?”
“Oh. Great. This way, ma'am.”
I followed the waiter, feeling self-conscious as Drew looked up. He stared. I blushed.
He stood and I pulled in my chair and sat down opposite him, smiling at him. I felt almost as if this were some kind of challenge. Who could stay more aloof? If this was a contest, I was going to win it.
“Hi,” I said in a polished, neutral voice. “Sorry I'm late.”
“I was early,” he demurred. “Didn't want to hit traffic.”
“I just avoided it,” I said.
“Oh. Great.”
He was staring at me and I looked at my hands, wishing I'd taken time to clean my nails. There was pink food-dye on my index finger. I surreptitiously made a fist to hide it and reached for the menu.
The silence stretched between us.
“How are you...”
“Have you...”
We both started talking at the same time. He chuckled. I laughed. He looked uncomfortable.
“Just wanted to ask if you have anything you want to try on the menu?” I said. “What were you going to say?”
“Just wanted to ask how you are for water. Shall we order a bottle for the table?”
I felt a soft glow in my chest. He remembered I didn't drink. I nodded. “Yes. Thanks. I'd appreciate it. When you're working in a kitchen you forget to drink enough water.”
“I can imagine,” he nodded, signaling for the waiter. “Actually, I can't. It's a job I can't even imagine.”
I giggled. “You make it sound like forensic pathology or something.”
He chuckled. “When I'm in the kitchen, that's what it is like.”
I couldn't help it. I laughed out loud. “Oh, Drew,” I sighed, shaking my head. “You aren't so bad. Really.”
“Remember my spicy nachos?”
I compressed my lips into a line, fighting down the laughter. I remembered his foray into Mexican cooking very well. It had been a Mexican disaster. “I couldn't possibly forget,” I said. Then I let the laughter bubble out freely. He had misread the recipe and put twice as much chili pepper as we needed. We had just about needed the fire-brigade to put us out – or the ambulance, as it turned out Drew is allergic.
“It was fun,” he said.
I raised a brow. “You didn't look like it then,” I said skeptically. “I honestly thought we'd killed you.”
“I thought so too.”
We both started laughing again and the waiter appeared to ask us for our orders.
“A water for the table,” Drew said. “And... ready to order yet?” he asked me politely.
“Sure,” I nodded. I knew what I would have. I always had the lasagne when I came here. “The lasagne please.”
“Oh. I guess I should do that too, since it comes recommended,” he said with a grin. “But I think I'm going to take the grilled salmon.”
“Great,” the waiter said. “I'll get that water straight away.”
When he had gone, Drew and I sat and looked at each other. I still couldn't quite believe it.
“I'm sorry,” he said with a laugh. “It's just...it doesn't seem possible. Not after all these years.”
I nodded. “It doesn't.”
“It's crazy how we met up again,” He said. “I just...Allie. I wanted to say I'm sorry.”
I closed my eyes. Was I really hearing this? It fell on my parched soul like water in a desert.
“Drew,” I said, clearing my throat harshly. “It's...okay.”
“No,” he said. “It's not okay. The way I behaved was inexcusable. I can't believe I did that to you. I was younger, and stupider. Can you forgive me?”
I stared at him. In my heart, the rain soaked into dry soil, making spring come. I already had forgiven him. I did that the moment we sat down to dinner together, the moment he showed me his vulnerable side and asked for my forgiveness.
“Oh, Drew,” I said. I shook my head, voice hoarse. “Of course I forgive you.”
“Thank you,” he said.
The silence stretched between us.
“Water, and... water.” The waiter brought the jug and two glasses, and then went off quietly, leaving us in our shared silence.
“Allie, I...” he cleared his throat. “I wanted to thank you. I'm leaving tomorrow and I... couldn't have left without seeing you.”
I swallowed hard. “I'm glad you did.” A small part of me wished he wasn't leaving so soon, that we could have had more time. But better something than nothing. And it was so precious just to talk, just to know there was no bad feeling between us.
“I needed to say that – Allie, I regret what I did back then. I let myself get talked into it. You don't have to believe me when I say I never wanted to do that, but it's true. I didn't.”
I raised my eyebrows. That was news to me. “Oh?”
He looked embarrassed. “Let's just say I listened to advice I shouldn't. I let people persuade me and I should have stuck to my guns. It was wrong of me.”
He was hedging around a point and I wasn't sure what the point was, or if I wanted to know. I had my own ideas of what he meant. “We
all listen to stuff we shouldn't,” I said instead. “I mean, I let myself get talked out of cookery school for the longest time. Started studying graphic design.”
“No way.” He was chuckling now. “I didn't know that.”
I chuckled too. “The things you don't know about someone, eh? It was my dad's idea. There were lots of careers in that field at the time.”
“Oh.” He looked strangely pleased to hear that, as if the idea of my having been persuaded into something helped. “What made you change your mind?”
“I dunno,” I said, pausing to think about it. “Change of heart?”
His eyes stared into mine. I felt my heart thump steadily as I drowned in those gold-flecked depths.
“I identify with that,” he said, his voice tight. “I had a change of heart too.”
He looked at the table, clearly emotional, and I almost asked what it was he'd been persuaded to do. Then again I wasn't sure I wanted to know. We sat quietly a while.
“Lasagne?” the waiter asked, returning. He disturbed our reverie.
“Oh. Thanks,” I said. He put the dish with the grilled salmon down for Drew and I realized at around the same time Drew did that we hadn't touched the water.
“Here,” he said, pouring me a glass.
“Thanks,” I said, settling my napkin on my lap. “Smells good.”
“Looks great,” Drew nodded approvingly. “I think you chose well here.”
“I like this place,” I said. “Simple but great quality.”
“I notice,” Drew nodded, taking a bite of the salmon and closing his eyes a moment. I tried not to react as the fork slid between his lips but I couldn't help it. His firm, hard mouth was so beautiful, and seeing it slide over the metal made me think of when it was clamped on my mouth, or somewhere else. My body flared with arousal.
I coughed and forced my hands to relax on my lap. Then I reached for my water. “Good?” I asked.
“Man, this is good,” he said.
I smiled approvingly. “I'm glad to hear it. So's mine,” I added, taking a bite. The lasagne was creamy and thick, flavorful and rich. I always looked forward to it here.
“Now,” Drew said as we ate, “maybe you can tell me a bit more about your daily life. So you run this bakery, right?”
“Yeah,” I said. I was proud of the business and happy to talk about it for ages. “I own it. Started it four years ago, started making a profit three years ago. It's challenging, but great fun too.”
“Wow.” He sounded impressed. I looked up at him and he was watching me with some interest. “So, you make all the goods yourself?”
“I do,” I said. “It's a demanding job. But worth it.”
“I can imagine,” he nodded. “Long hours standing.”
“Uh huh,” I said, reaching for water.
“So, it's just you?” he asked casually. “Your partner doesn't do anything?”
“Partner?” I frowned. Then I blushed as I realized he was trying to ask, in an oblique way, if I was married yet. “Oh. No. Just me. I don't have um...a partner.”
He stared at me. “Yeah?”
I laughed. “Hell, Drew. You don't need to make it sound like a criminal act.”
He flushed. “I didn't mean it like that! I was just...” he shook his head. “Well, I was surprised. I thought that maybe...when I saw you first...”
I stared. He thought Frank and I were partners? Well, I guess I'd forgotten he saw that. It must have been very easy to get that impression, since we went around together and we trusted each other. We were good friends.
“Frank and I aren't...we are.not partners,” I said, not sure how to say, politely, that we hadn't slept together.
“Oh,” he said. Was it me, or did that cheer him up? I tried to convince myself I was being fanciful. Come on, Allie. He's just being polite.
But was he?
“And you?” I asked, feeling my own need to pry. “You have a partner?” I didn't actually want to know – if the answer was “yes” I would have rather not known.
“Uh, no,” he said briefly. He was looking at his plate again and I couldn't read the expression in his eyes. Why was he hiding that? “I...it didn't work out for me,” he said briefly.
“Oh,” I said. Again, I didn't ask what hadn't worked out. “I'm sorry to hear that.”
“Don't be,” he said tightly. “It was...just one of those things. I should know better.”
“Sometimes we don't know better,” I said gently. “That's not a crime.”
“No,” he said. He looked up at me and his gaze held mine. “Thanks, Allie.”
I swallowed. His hands were resting on the table-top just inches from mine. I resisted the urge to reach across and take them in my own. It would have been so easy to hold hands, to feel those warm, strong fingers enveloping mine, take comfort from his strength.
“Allie,” he said again, softly this time. This time, his hands did move. Gently, he gripped the ends of my fingers in his. The way he always had, years ago. Our special touch, in restaurants or theaters. I felt a hole in my heart close and the light shone inside me.
“Drew,” I whispered.
We looked at each other and there was a sort of timelessness as I stared into his eyes and he stared into mine. There was longing in the depths of his eyes, a wild need that mirrored my own. There was also so much care it hurt. I cleared my throat and held his gaze.
Under the table, I let my knee move the inch that let it rest on his. He moved his own foot and let it rest beside mine. We sat like that, our bodies touching, heart beating steadily, his fingers gripping on mine.
“Drew,” I said again.
“Allie.”
He leaned forward as I did. Our eyes locked as, very gently, his lips twined with mine and I felt their smooth warmth graze over my own. We kissed. I closed my eyes as his tongue gently parted my lips and my body ignited as it probed into my mouth.
“Allie,” he murmured when we sat back, breath rasping. His eyes were wild.
I breathed out, my breath a little giggle of surprise. “Oh. Well. I...” I trailed off, not sure what to say.
Under the table, his knee went between mine. I gasped. We looked at each other and finished our meal, then wordlessly signaled for the waiter.
“The bill, please?”
He nodded. We paid and then we headed out quickly into the night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Allie
He held me against him as we kissed in the car-park outside Uncle's Bistro. I felt the way my body pressed against his chest and my heart thumped, longing building up in me slowly. I let my lips slide apart to admit his exploring tongue and I sighed as his arms held me close. My body was starting to shiver. I could smell his scent – musky, spicy and some undertone that was uniquely him and that I had missed without knowing it for years. I was impossibly aroused now.
“Allie,” he murmured. His hands stroked my back, pushing me against him, reaching for my narrow waist. I tried not to gasp as he gripped my ass-cheeks and let them go. I giggled breathlessly.
“Should we...” I whispered as I looked into his eyes. My heart was beating so hard I thought I might have a coronary and my blood thumped in my ears, making the tops of them feel warm.
He chuckled. “We'll have to use your car,” he said. “I took a taxi.”
“Oh,” I said. “Oh. Well. Okay...” I felt my breathing tense and then regulate as I thought about the slightly-awkward prospect of welcoming Drew Liston into my home. I had a perfectly decent apartment, but that was the best I could say for it, really. It was decent. He was fastidious and particular about decor. He'd probably feel quite uncomfortable in my home.
He frowned. “What's wrong?”
I blushed. “Just trying to remember when I last washed the bathroom floor.”
He stared at me, then he burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked crossly.
“Allie! How can you think that would matter? I don't mind. Really I don't.”
I smiled. “Thank you, dear.”
It came out so automatically that I didn't even think about it. It was only after I'd said it that we both saw how easily we'd slipped back into our old way of closeness. I always called him dear. He always called me sweetie.
He stroked my hair and looked down into my face. “Okay,” he said, clearly trying to focus. “You'll have to drive.”
I chuckled. “Just as well,” I said. “Last time you saw a 90's model Honda was probably when you were in high-school.”
He smiled at me fondly. “I remember the Ballade,” he said, looking at my car. “And was it from the 90's?”
“This one was,” I said boldly. He laughed and we sat down in my car and headed off through the darkened and uncrowded streets towards my home.
My mouth was dry and my heart was thudding in my chest. Of all the things I had imagined in my wildest dreams, driving through town with Drew Liston in my vehicle, heading home, had never happened.
“Almost there,” I said. I realized I was sneaking looks sideways instead of focusing on my way and clenched my teeth, making myself ignore the dark, handsome presence on the seat beside me. I remembered to stop at the stop-light and then we were in my street, heading to the apartment block.
