Meet Me in Manhattan (True Vows)

by Judith Arnold

  Praise for TRUE VOWS

  "What better way is there to prove romance really exists than to read these books?"

  -Carly Phillips, New York Times bestselling author

  "Memoir meets romance! In the twenty years I've been penning romances, this is one of the most novel and exciting ideas I've encountered in the genre. Take a Vow. It rocks!"

  -Tara Janzen, New York Times bestselling author of Loose and Easy

  "An irresistible combination of romantic fantasy and reality that begins where our beloved romance novels end: TRUE VOWS. What a scrumptious slice of life!"

  -Suzanne Forster, New York Times bestselling author

  "The marriage of real-life stories with classic, fictional romance-an amazing concept."

  -Peggy Webb, award-winning author of sixty romance novels

  MEET ME IN MANHATTAN

  THE FIRST REALITY-BASED ROMANCE"

  Judith Arnold

  AS A NOVELIST, I'M USED TO MAKING THINGS UP. I invent, I tell stories, I lie. I create characters who do my bidding. So when Olivia Rupprecht and Michele Matrisciani approached me on behalf of HCI Books with the idea of writing a love story based on actual people, I was hesitant.

  Then I learned about Ted Skala and Erika Fredell. Their story transported me like the very best romance fiction. Two teenagers deeply in love yet too young to know how to deal with their wildfire emotions extinguish that blazing love ... or try to. Years pass, they build strong, successful lives for themselves, but a stubborn ember of their long-ago love refuses to die. Can they fan the ember back into a flame? If they do, will it burn them and destroy everything that matters to them now?

  I'm enormously grateful to TRUE VOWS Series Developer Olivia Rupprecht for having given me the opportunity to write this glorious, passionate story, to TRUE VOWS Series Creator Michele Matrisciani for her sensitive guidance, support, and allaround brilliance, to Veronica Blake for suggesting to her HCI colleagues to enter the romance genre, and to Peter Vegso, the President and Publisher of HCI Books, for his open mindedness and encouragement as we developed the entirely new concept of "reality-based romance," and most of all, to Ted and Erika Skala for entrusting their wonderful story to me. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  I love to hear from my readers. You can reach me through my website, www.juditharnold.com. And I encourage you to visit the official TRUE VOWS site: www.truevowsbooks.com, to interact with the couples and novelists, learn the latest news on the TRUE VOWS line, read about the upcoming books in the series, and even have the opportunity to tell HCI Books your true love story for a chance to be the subject of a future TRUE VOWS book.

  RELAX, ERIKA TOLD HERSELF. IT'S JUST TED.

  Standing in the drizzle on a busy SoHo corner outside Fanelli's Cafe, Erika Fredell acknowledged that there had never been anything just about Ted. And ordering herself to relax didn't make her nerves stop twitching. She'd raced here from the gym after working out, showering, and blow-drying her hair-a lot of good that did, since it was raining-and putting on some makeup so she'd look good, even though it was just Ted she was meeting. Fanelli's was only a few blocks from the gym, and she'd covered those blocks at a trot in an effort not to be too late. Halfway there, she'd realized that she'd left her wallet at home.

  Relax. Yeah, right. She was really relaxed, she thought with a sarcastic laugh.

  Fanelli's had been a good choice for her reunion with Ted. A bright yet cozy establishment, the one-time speakeasy attracted a cross-section of patrons: artists, professionals, locals, anyone who preferred a good hamburger and a cheap beer to pretentious ambience and inflated prices. It was her kind of place.

  Sixteen years had passed since she and Ted had been a couple, and she no longer knew whether Fanelli's was his kind of place, or, for that matter, what his kind of place was. But he was inside the neighborhood pub right now, waiting for her-assuming he wasn't running even later than she was. She was supposed to have arrived half an hour ago, but time had slipped away from her. Maybe he'd given up and left already, figuring she'd chickened out. Maybe he'd concluded that she'd stood him up, that she was only going to break his heart again.

  Oh, please. That had been so long ago. Teenagers' hearts get broken all the time. Then teenagers grow up, their hearts heal, and they move on. If Ted hadn't grown up, healed, and moved on, he wouldn't have contacted her out of the blue and suggested they meet for a drink.

  She gave herself three seconds to check her reflection in the rain-streaked window beneath Fanelli's red neon sign, adjusted the stylish chunky necklace circling her throat above the scooped neckline of her tank top, then decided what the hell and entered the pub. Anxious last-minute fussing wasn't going to improve her appearance. She looked how she looked. Sixteen years older. Her hair was long again, the way she'd worn it in high school. Not the short, playful style she'd been wearing when they'd had that painful, awkward meeting at the airport in Denver, after she'd started college. Back then, she'd been pretty sure he hadn't liked her short hairdo. Back then, she hadn't cared what he thought. She'd wanted a new look to mark the start of a new phase of her life. No more New Jersey. No more high school. No more horses.

  No more Ted.

  But now her hair was once again long. She wondered if this time he would be the one who didn't care. She wondered why she cared whether he cared.

  She commanded herself to get a grip. She reminded herself that she and Ted were two old friends who happened to have both landed in New York City and were meeting for a drink on a drizzly June evening. They weren't ex-lovers. They weren't high school sweethearts. They were grown-ups, living their own lives. Nothing more. She had no reason to be nervous.

  Right. Tell that to her stomach, which at the moment was performing acrobatics like an Olympics gymnast hoping to score a ten.

  Inhaling deeply for fortitude, she squared her shoulders, pushed the door open and stepped inside. A wave of raucous chatter washed over her; every person in the place seemed to be talking at once. And there were a hell of a lot of people crowding the tables and hovering near the bar. Maybe the boisterous crowd would buffer them, diluting the intensity of their meeting.

  Not that it would be intense. Just two old friends meeting for a drink.

  She surveyed the room but didn't see him. A waitress tried to stop her as she worked her way through the crowd, but she mumbled something about meeting a friend-"An old friend," she'd said because defining her and Ted as old friends soothed her bristling nerves-and then she spotted him, seated at the far end of the bar, a glass of beer in his hand.

  He looked terrific. Damn it.

  He'd always looked terrific, of course. But he'd changed so much from the lanky, gangly boy she'd been infatuated with that summer after high school. He was still lean and muscular, but more solid. His face had filled in a little. His dark hair was shorter, the tumble of curls tamed, and he'd acquired enough facial hair to grow legitimate, neatly trimmed sideburns. In his preppy cords and collared polo shirt, he looked crisp and fresh, impervious to the sultry heat of New York City in June.

  He must have seen her the instant she saw him. His eyes widened, his smile widened, and he tilted his head slightly. She strode the length of the bar, spotting the empty stool next to him, and slid onto it. Bar stools at Fanelli's were at a premium, especially on a busy night like this. She wondered if he'd had to fight people off to save it for her. He'd always been a scrapper in high school, willing to fight if he had to. More than willing, sometimes.

  But maybe he hadn't fought to save the stool for her. Maybe it had been vacated only a moment ago. Maybe some other woman had been sitting with him. A beautiful woman. Erika was so late, he might have chosen
to make the most of her absence.

  The notion shouldn't have bothered Erika. They were old friends meeting for a drink, after all. Not old, mature. Surely she was a great deal more mature than she'd been the summer she'd spent mooning and swooning over him, and trying to figure out what love was all about.

  "Hey," he greeted her, then shook his head. "Wow."

  "I know. Wow," she responded, wondering whether they were wow-ing the fact that they'd both landed in the same city, or that they were both sitting at the same bar, or that after all this time, all these years, there they were, face-to-face. Her wow reflected her opinion of how fantastic he looked, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

  So there they were. Were they supposed to hug? Air-kiss? It occurred to her that if they were truly old-or mature-friends, she would know what to do. But the truth slapped her in the face. Sixteen years after Ted had told her he wanted her out of his life for good and forever, they could never be just friends any more than he could ever be just Ted.

  Her stomach executed a vault worthy of a gold medal. "Listen," she said, smiling nervously. "I know it's been forever since I've seen you, but I don't have any money on me." Oh, God, she thought, I am such an ass. And a nervous wreck, even though this is just Ted.

  He grinned. "Don't worry about it. We'll be fine."

  She managed to smile and prayed he wouldn't notice how flustered she was-even more flustered because he seemed so damned calm and collected. He gestured toward the bartender, then thought to ask Erika, "You want a drink?"

  God, yes. The bartender moseyed over, gaunt and fashionable, emanating unemployed-actor vibes like eighty percent of the servers in New York. Rather than have Ted order for her-that would imply something other than friendship-Erika requested a beer. If Ted was drinking Budweiser, she would drink Bud, too.

  The bartender turned to Ted. "You ready for a refill?" he asked, nodding toward Ted's glass.

  Ted appraised his glass and shook his head. "Not yet," he said, then took a drink. He set his glass down and Erika watched the residue of foam drip down its sloping sides. For some reason, it was easier than looking at Ted.

  "So," he said. "How are you?"

  She laughed, partly to shake off her tension, partly because the question was so banal, and partly because she wasn't sure how to answer. How was she now? How had she been last year, or five years ago, or ten? How had she been the day she'd left New Jersey for Colorado? The day she'd seen him in the airport? The day he'd told her he would never love her again?

  "I'm fine," she said. "And you?"

  "I'm also fine." He grinned. "Thank God we got that over with."

  Okay. Maybe this wouldn't be too awkward, after all. Maybe they'd be able to chat-not like old times, but like two people who shared some pleasant memories. If they could both chuckle about the awkwardness between them and the stilted start of their reunion, she could survive this encounter.

  She'd survive it a lot better if she had her beer. "I'm sorry I'm late," she said. "I hope you didn't have to wait too long."

  He shrugged as if to reassure her that her tardiness was unimportant, then gestured toward the crowd mobbing the front room. "I had to fend off hundreds of people to hang onto that stool."

  "Hundreds?"

  "I'm lying. It was really thousands."

  She smiled. All those years ago, she'd fallen in love with his sense of humor as much as his intensity, his energy, his native intelligence, his sexy green eyes, and his mop of tousled curls. The curls were gone, but he still exuded intensity and energy. And his eyes were still terribly sexy.

  Her smile grew pensive. In sixteen years, she'd never met another man who could make her feel the way Ted had once made her feel. She was fine with that. She loved her life. She wasn't one of those desperate thirty-something single women, willing to settle for any guy just so she could get a ring on her finger. She'd never fallen in love after she'd ended things with Ted, and she'd never felt that this was a tragic deficit in her life.

  But ... being Ted's girlfriend all those years ago had been sweet.

  "How's your family?" she asked, deliberately steering her thoughts in a new direction.

  The bartender materialized in front of them with her drink, and Ted waited until he was gone before answering. "They're good," he reported. "My folks are still up in Maine."

  "Your dad always loved it up there," Erika recalled.

  "Yeah. East Machias." He shrugged. "Most older people head south to Florida when they retire. I guess those New Jersey winters just weren't cold enough for my parents."

  "And your brothers?"

  "Still obnoxious," he joked. "They're all good. Married, raising families, doing the usual stuff. My sister's hanging in there, too. How's your family?"

  "They're doing well." Erika recalled how in awe she'd been of Ted's big, boisterous family. Four boys! She'd always felt kind of sorry for Ted's absurdly outnumbered younger sister, although she supposed a girl with four older brothers boasted a certain cachet. The Skalas had lived in Chester, a small town on the rural outskirts of Mendham, in an antique house that had once been the site of a cemetery, according to Ted. He'd insisted the place was haunted. She imagined that any creaks and thumps heard in that house were most likely caused by five athletic kids storming up and down the stairs.

  "And work?" he asked. "What are you doing to pay the rent these days?"

  "As a matter of fact, I just got a new job with one of the big international banks."

  "Yeah? Doing what?"

  "I'm-" she hoped he wouldn't think she was bragging "-a vice president."

  He looked not surprised nor impressed but oddly satisfied. "You were always so smart. I figured you'd be running the world by now."

  "It's a job," she said, which it was. A good job, a high-paying job, a prestigious job. She'd been excited enough when she landed the position to splurge on a Cartier watch for herself, and she'd booked a celebratory vacation trip to St. Bart's. She'd felt powerful, successful, proud to be a vice president at a major financial corporation.

  But as she was learning, even a VP at a huge financial company could feel wobbly and anxious sitting at a bar next to her first boyfriend sixteen years after they'd broken up, after they'd broken each other's hearts. No exalted title or humongous salary could change that. "How about you?"

  "I work at East River Marketing."

  "Doing what?"

  He gave her a smug grin and lifted his beer. "I'm a vice president," he said before drinking.

  A warm bouquet of emotions flowered inside her. Delight that he'd achieved so much, because back in high school he hadn't been all that ambitious. Pride that he'd risen so high without-at least, the last she'd heard-a college degree. Relief that he wouldn't find her own fancy title intimidating. Bewilderment that she should feel relieved.

  "Are you still doing art?" she asked.

  "Well, there's some art involved. I'm in charge of design and production. I design environments that reflect the clients' brands. We try to find intuitive ways to brand the client, subliminal ways to communicate what the client is all about to the customers they're trying to reach. It's pretty creative."

  "You were always such a talented artist."

  At that he scoffed modestly. "I drew cartoons."

  "Wonderful cartoons. And other things, too. Gorgeous stuff." She almost blurted out that she'd saved every drawing he'd ever given her. But she wasn't entirely sure why she'd saved them, and she decided it was best to avoid that subject. "You were very talented," she assured him. "Obviously, you still are."

  He shrugged. "I finally found a job that can hold my interest. It's fun. Every day I'm doing something different. I can't get bored. They throw money at me and treat me like a god."

  "Really." It was her turn to scoff.

  "Well, they put up with me."

  "They must be very tolerant."

  He accepted her ribbing with a good-natured grin. "It's a great job. All these years, I finally found what I was mean
t to do."

  "I knew you weren't meant to pump gas," she said, then bit her lip. She shouldn't have mentioned his old summer job. He might think she was condescending or contemptuous of the work he'd done. He might think back to that romantic summer after high school, and how it had ended, how they had ended.

  If her comment bothered him, he didn't let on. "You're looking great, Erika," he said. He leaned toward her and an odd shiver of excitement seized her, but then she realized he was only reaching for his beer. His eyes never leaving her, he took a sip and lowered his glass. "It's obvious life is treating you well."

  "I can't complain."

  "Do you still ride?"

  "Horses?" She sighed. "Not often. I just don't have the time to commit to it."

  He opened his mouth and then shut it without speaking. What had he been about to say? Something about time, perhaps? Something about commitment?

  She might have explained that she was a perfectionist, that to ride the way she'd ridden during her competitive days would entail more effort than she could devote to the sport. As a child and a teenager, she'd spent every spare minute she wasn't doing schoolwork at the stables, training. She'd been good. Better than good. Her parents still had all her ribbons and trophies stored in their house-enough ribbons and trophies to fill several shelves. She'd qualified for Nationals. She'd ridden in the Meadowlands and at Madison Square Garden. For her, riding hadn't been just a girlie thing. It had been her life, her one true passion ... until she'd started dating Ted.

  Now, she was doing other things, pursuing other passions ... although, for the life of her, she wasn't sure what those passions might be. The job she'd just landed was a major score, but it wasn't her passion. How could high-stress paper-pushing at a financial company be anybody's passion?

  "So," he said with disconcerting nonchalance, "are you seeing anyone?"

  She imitated his casual tone when she replied, "I'm seeing lots of people." Which was both true and false. In Fanelli's alone, she could see several dozen people.