by Aria Ford
I rinsed the breakfast-dish, then set about the long-overdue task of unpacking the clean ones from the dishwasher. I was still busy when my phone made a noise.
“What's that?” I frowned. When I picked it up, my frown deepened. It was an email from an address that I didn't recognize.
“DL at Steelcore dot com. Oh...”
Drake. No. It couldn't be.
Stop being silly, Ainsley. How would he even know your email address?
I opened it. It was Drake.
Dear Ainsley, I read. I know it's been too long since I wrote to you. I wanted to say sorry. It was wrong of me to not at least tell you when I got back. Anyway. I hope you are well and all is good in your life. Best wishes Drake.
I frowned. The words all felt so vague, so non-committal. It sounded like a business mail, just with slight emotional overtones. I am a translator and words are my thing. None of those words really radiated intense feeling, at least not to me.
Sorry. Wrong of me. Best wishes.
Not exactly passionate stuff, was it? He didn't seem too interested. I sighed and then a thought occurred to me.
He wrote to me.
That meant he remembered seeing me and it made a bit of an impact on him. And he had taken the time to look me up. That wasn't trivial.
It isn't the sort of thing you'd do if you wanted to avoid someone, now is it?
I frowned. I guess I would have written the similar sort of thing if I wasn't sure about what was going on in someone's life.
He doesn't know anything about me, I reminded myself. He didn't even know whether or not I was single.
I chuckled. If I had only recently become single, he probably wasn't. He was thirty-four now, and the chances were as a stunning lawyer he was being chased around the town by many girls by now.
I probably don't have a chance with him.
I put my phone down on the table and went over to the window, thinking. Should I answer him? The thought made my throat close up with so many emotions I had to take a moment or two to pick through them all.
The main thing stopping me, I realized, wasn't nerves. It was disappointment. Disappointment in the new Drake. Would I have anything in common with this new identity? This corporate, commercial version of Drake who had sold out and joined the thing he was hellbent on fighting?
Only one way to find out.
Lacey's advice about the research came back to me. She was right – I didn't actually know for sure that he had sold out. I was very much judging this book by its cover.
I took a deep breath, sat down and answered the mail.
Hi Drake, I wrote. It was good to hear from you. And to see you.
I paused. Did that sound desperate? Maybe.
It was good to hear from you. I was surprised to find you as a corporate lawyer. I guess we have a lot to catch up about. Would be interesting to chat sometime. Best wishes, Ainsley.
I closed my eyes and hit the “send” link. Then I leaned back in my chair feeling like I'd run a marathon.
“Well, that's that,” I told myself. “Great thing about making a fool of yourself is that it doesn't kill you.”
That was the only comforting thing I could think at that point. I was sure I had made a fool of myself. Why would Drake want to hear from me?
I stood and made more coffee to relax myself. My plans for Saturday were straightforward. Clean the house. Work out. Have lunch. Finish my tax form.
I have a simple life. There isn't any room in it for the likes of Drake Leblanc.
I had just walked out of an abusive relationship. Did I really want to take up with someone who hadn't had the decency to tell me they hadn't been shot by rebels in the Congo?
“Drake Leblanc can go take a hike,” I told myself as I passed the mirror again, heading to my room to change for a jog.
I went through my morning as usual and almost succeeded in forgetting about Drake. It was only when I reached for my phone and handbag, heading out to lunch at Lacey's apartment, that I remembered. I checked my mails.
There were five new e-mails. The top one was from Drake Leblanc.
Breathe, I told myself. I suddenly felt like the air had turned to treacle and trying to draw breath into my lungs was really hard. I breathed, poised my finger over the mail, and clicked it.
Hi Ainsley. Thanks for getting in touch. We do have a lot of catching-up to do. How about lunch tomorrow? Drake.
I stopped breathing. I almost dropped my phone, then put it down slowly on the table.
Drake Leblanc had written back. He was asking me out to lunch?
I shook my head with sheer surprise. It didn't even seem possible.
My heart was racing as I headed down the stairs. Think, Ainsley.
Should I answer immediately? I checked the time on the mail. I didn't want to look over-eager. He'd left me without word for eight years, after all. He could hang on for a few hours at least.
I was seething with nerves by the time I finally reached my car. I was in two minds as to whether to leave him waiting or to answer at once.
I took a deep breath and answered.
Hi, Drake. Lunch tomorrow sounds good. Maybe at the new place on Flagler St? Green Table. See you then.
I put my things on the passenger seat and steamed off to Lacey's. About ten minutes later, my phone made a noise. I tried to ignore it.
Probably just something from the bank. Or some advertising or something. Nothing important.
Nothing from Drake.
I held my breath and my curiosity until I got to a stoplight. Then I had to check.
Hi Ainsley, the message said simply. Great. See you there at one P.M. Drake.
I was still staring when someone honked behind me and I noticed, finally, that the light had changed. With an embarrassed wave out the window, I sped off.
My heart was soaring and my hands were clammy with excitement as I gripped the steering-wheel.
I was going to see Drake tomorrow and talk to him for real. For the first time in eight years.
CHAPTER FIVE
Drake
I sat at the table in the nice, crowded lunch spot. I felt like my shirt collar was going to choke me to death.
Come on, Drake. You're not facing the High Court Judge for crying out loud. It's lunch, not a billion-dollar lawsuit.
All the same, given the billion-dollar lawsuit or Ainsley Johnson, I knew which one I'd rather be getting involved with right now. The thought of seeing her again terrified me. Having seen her at the party just made it worse. She'd seemed so mad at me then and I couldn't blame her.
“She should hate me.”
“Sorry, sir?” the waiter asked.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just talking to myself.”
“Oh. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Um...water, please. I'm waiting for someone,” I added, nodding my head in the direction of the empty seat opposite me. I was starting to feel just a tad awkward.
“Coming up.”
As the waiter wandered off my phone buzzed. I reached into my pocket, half-expecting it to be a message from Ainsley, telling me that she wasn't going to join me. I felt surprisingly upset. It wasn't a message from Ainsley, though. It was from Liam, a friend of mine.
Hi, Drake. Bad news. Someone's blocked my access. Just possible someone's onto us.
Oh. Nice. I leaned back and closed my eyes. That was all I needed to make me feel calm and relaxed.
The access Liam was talking about was to the data bank at Steelcore. With the login information I'd managed to find for him, Liam, my computer-whiz of a friend and ally, had found a way to gain access to files no one was supposed to see. Files pertaining to where the company sourced their iron and how much the workers there were paid.
Someone's onto us.
I could only hope that wasn't true.
How do you know? I messaged back.
He was clearly busy typing, and, while I waited for his reply, I searched through my mails, looking to see if there was anything untow
ard from the company. Nothing. My phone beeped.
Just a hunch, Liam had written. Will know for sure later.
Oh. Good. Later when exactly?
“Drake?”
I jumped as the voice broke through my concentration. Then I looked up and my heart melted.
With her fluffy blonde hair loose on her shoulders, her trim, neat figure under a blue sundress, she took my breath and dried my mouth and made my body scream for more.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hi.”
We looked at each other awkwardly. I couldn't stop staring at her. She looked amazing. My eyes wandered from her big dark eyes to her full bust and back up again. I felt like a kid in a candy store – surrounded with gorgeousness and unable to touch or taste.
She was forbidden to me.
“Um, did you have a long drive here?” She asked evenly as she drew out her seat, hooked her handbag over the back primly and sat down, cross-legged, opposite me.
“Um...yeah. I mean, it wasn't too bad, actually,” I said. “Lots of traffic. But then, you'd expect that, right?”
She nodded. “I guess. Drake?”
“Yes.”
She was looking at me in that very particular way she had – the way that told me she was very deep in thought. I cleared my throat, feeling nervous. “What's up?”
She sighed. Her small, white teeth bit her lip in a gesture that tortured my poor loins but left us no closer to clearing up whatever was between us. “Nothing,” she said softly.
We lapsed back into silence.
“Uh...have you looked at the menu?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “I think I know what I'm having, though.”
“Oh?” I asked brightly, trying desperately to think of something – anything – to break this desperate stilted tension between us. “What's that, then?”
“Chili con carne,” she said. “They do a good one.”
“Okay,” I said without much thought. “I'll have one too, then.”
She stared at me. “Drake...”
“What?” I asked. She was giving me such a horrified look that I felt a sudden stab of nerves. What was the matter?
“Don't tell me you eat meat now too,” she said with big eyes. “If you've changed that much, I don't know what I'm going to do.”
I frowned. Then I laughed – I couldn't help it. “Oh! No. I don't. I just wasn't thinking. Sorry. Let me have a look at the menu.”
“Whew!”
She looked so relieved that I found myself laughing again.
“Ainsley,” I said, shaking my head. “How could you think I'd change that much? You know I feel strongly about beef farming. I mean, didn't I even half-convince Chett about it?”
“I know you did feel strongly,” she said in a small voice. “I didn't know if you still did or not.” She sounded so grave that I frowned.
“Ainsley,” I said gently. “I'm not that different.”
“Really?” she said icily.
I sighed. “Really.”
That left us with another awkward silence as I paged through the comprehensive menu. The place had mainly vegetarian dishes, which was, I realized with some surprise, probably why she'd elected to come here.
She really remembers me that well? My heart flipped. If that was the case, maybe I was here with a chance.
I looked up again, finding it hard to tear my eyes away from that sweet, gentle face. I could feel the warmth of her leg just near mine under the table. It suddenly seemed so surreal to be sitting here with her in a crowded restaurant It felt almost as if the intervening eight years had never happened; as if we were still freshly-graduated students together, still young and in love.
“Um, ready to order?” The waiter asked. I jumped once more. I hadn't even been thinking about what to order. My eye fell on the Thai-style veggie wraps.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Um, we'll have the Chili con Carne and Thai wraps, please.”
“Great.”
When he had gone, Ainsley and I looked at each other.
“What do you bet he gets it the wrong way round?” I asked. She nodded.
“I know! I was thinking the same thing.”
It was an old joke between us – I was vegetarian, she wasn't: somehow people seemed to assume it was the other way around, leading us to have to swap plates more often than not.
“I bet you a coffee,” I said, before really thinking about it. It was what we always used to say. It was only when it was passed my lips that I realized that. I had fallen so quickly back into our old way of being together that it seemed as if we'd last seen each other yesterday.
Our eyes met and held. I sighed.
“Sorry,” I said. I wasn't really sure what I was saying sorry for.
“Don't be,” she said softly. Without my expecting anything like it, she reached across the table and her hand gently touched mine. I jumped.
“Ainsley,” I whispered.
She seemed to realize the casual contact she'd just made, because she pulled her hand away again, but not before my whole body was shivering, longing for her touch.
“Uh, sorry,” she murmured. “I wasn't thinking.”
I shook my head. “No offense taken.” I tried a crooked smile, but she looked quickly away, staring out of the window at the roadway beyond.
“You're working in Miami?” I asked conversationally.
“Yes,” she replied softly. “I'm a translator. At Edge Enterprises.”
“Oh. What do they do?” I asked.
“They publish books,” Ainsley said thinly. “Books from controversial perspectives. They're all about bringing people the full picture. Disrupting the status quo.”
Was it my imagination, or was that meant to be pointed? She shot me such a poisonous look as she said it that I had to assume it was. But why?
“Um, Ainsley?” I asked. “Stupid question, I know. But are you mad at me?”
“No,” she said tightly. “Why would I be mad at you? What could you possibly have done?”
I closed my eyes. She couldn't have hit me much harder if she'd slapped me. “I know,” I said. “I'm sorry. I really am.”
“You said that already.”
“Yes,” I acknowledged. “But not for all the things. I mean...I never said sorry for what I did to you.”
“Did to me.”
“I mean...you know,” I sighed. “What I did eight years ago.”
“No,” she said. “You don't have to apologize for that.” She had an odd expression on her face, as if she'd bitten into something sour.
“I don't?” Now I was badly confused.
“No. You didn't do anything wrong eight years ago. What I wouldn't mind an apology for was what you did after.”
“What...Oh.” I looked down, trying to figure out what to say next. “Coming back without telling you. That.”
“Yes. That.” Her voice was like ice.
I sighed. “I know I was wrong. I was a coward, Ainsley,” I said slowly. “I guess I don't deserve your forgiveness. But can I ask for it anyway?”
She didn't say anything. I looked up. She was looking at the table-top. Her brown eyes were wet with tears.
Oh, no... I felt my own heart tighten as I saw that. I reached into my pocket and fished out a tissue. I passed it to her. Her fingers touched mine.
“Thanks,” she said.
“No worries,” I said awkwardly. I felt terrible. Here I was, sitting with the girl of my dreams who I'd treated in the worst possible manner, and I'd made her cry. “Ainsley?”
“Mm?”
“I can't tell you how sorry I am.”
She gave me a watery smile through her tears. “It's okay,” she said. Her voice was wobbly. I wanted to stand up and give her a big hug, but it would have been awkward so I didn't.
We sat quietly for a while. I put my hand close to hers, not quite touching, and she didn't pull her hand away. I left mine where it was. It was strangely comforting to be sitting like this with her after so lo
ng.
She sighed and shifted, reaching for her handbag. She pulled out another tissue and wiped her eyes. I looked out of the window, trying to figure out what to say.
“Sir? The Chili con Carne?”
The waiter put the bowl down in front of me. I looked at Ainsley. Ainsley looked at me. We didn't say anything; just let him partition the meals as he saw fit. Then, when he'd gone, we looked at each other again and burst out laughing.
“I bet a coffee,” I said with a big grin. .
“I can't believe it actually happened. Again.” She shook her head, shoulders shaking as she laughed
“There's something very wrong with our culture...” I murmured as I passed her the plate.
“You always say that.”
“And there always is,” I answered.
We were both laughing as we swapped our orders. It felt as if no time had passed. As if I had never been so stupid as to think I could turn my back on her.
“Mm,” she commented, taking an appreciative sniff as I put the bowl down in front of her.
“It does smell good,” I commented.
A savory steam drifted up to my nose, tantalizingly pleasant. I was suddenly back in time, sitting opposite her in a Thai restaurant. We were students and dating and happy. Life was so different then.
The memory was like a stab in my heart. I had forgotten I knew how to be happy: my life had become a maelstrom of subterfuge and conflict. She was a bright spot, a safe place. I absently sampled the meal, my thoughts elsewhere.
“Drake?” she said.
I frowned. “Sorry?” I murmured. “You said something?”
“Yes,” she chuckled. “I sometimes think you never listen to me.”
I blushed. “I do listen.” Again, it was one of our old jokes. I was often distracted, it was true. She had a habit – a good habit – of bringing me back to the present.
“Fine,” she nodded. “What did I say, then?”
I blushed and looked at my hands. “Okay. You win. What was it?”
She laughed. “All I asked was, how's the meal?”
“It's good. Really good.” It was – not too spicy and not too subtle either, a really good vegetarian take on Thai curry, wrapped in nice, moist rice sheet. I was enjoying it.
“So's mine,” she agreed. “It's a good place.”
