“Thanks,” I mumble as I get out and shut the door.
Steam from greasy cheeseburgers assaults my nostrils as soon as I open the door. I pretend to scan the restaurant, but I spot him before the door closes. Bo Cavanaugh stands out in any room he’s in. He nods as soon as I let my eyes meet his, and I head to the table. There’s a glass of water with lime waiting for me and an internal smile allows me to acknowledge his thoughtfulness. He pushes back from the table and crosses to my chair, pulling it out for me as I reach the seat.
“Thank you.” Sandalwood still trickles through his pores. I have to close my eyes for a second and breathe through my mouth to regain my equilibrium.
“How’d the meeting go?” he asks as he sits back in his chair. His smile is present, but his voice is distant.
“Fine, the ink’s drying as we speak. We’ll be up here three days a week until the project is complete.” I chuckle. “Though, I suppose you knew that since your signature was already on all of the contracts...and it’s your organization.” I roll my straw between my thumb and index finger, watching the ice bob around the limes.
His heavy sigh pulls my eyes upward. “November—”
“I’m sorry about what happened this morning,” I cut him off. “I just ...” I pause to breathe and slow myself down, preventing a ramble.
“No, it’s OK. I was surprised to see you. Honestly, I hoped that I would but—”
“You hoped you would? You said you wouldn’t even be at the meeting ...” Oops. He wasn’t supposed to know I saw the email. “Carrie told us it would just be David and Rae,” I add in quickly.
“I thought I should try to avoid you at first because I was scared of hurting you again. Then I made you cry anyway ...” As he trails off, he reaches across the table and grabs my hand. His heat travels to my heart and a million memories of his touch flash through my brain. I pull my hand away and anchor it on my lap before my resolve passes out.
“Bo. Stop. We can’t do this. You hurt me. And, now, I’m kind of your employee. We can’t go back. I just came here to tell you I’m fine. I’m ready to work with you, but only if you’re ready to work with me. What happened two weeks ago was a fling and we both could have gotten into a lot of trouble for it. I hope sometime we can sit down and really go through everything that happened, but today’s not the day.” I push my chair back from the table.
I actually believe the words I’m saying, and that scares me. It scares him, too, judging by the white pallor that’s overcome him.
“November, wait.” He follows quickly behind me as I make my way through the diner. When I open the door, he reaches in front of me and pulls it shut; the loud jingle of the bells forces gazes in our direction. Bo leans forward until his mouth is an inch from my ear. “I’m not going to stop trying to make this right,” is all he whispers before opening the door again and releasing me into the humid Concord air.
I turn back to look at him. I stare for a second too long; my memory feels his hands on pieces of my soul that no one else has touched. I part my lips to say something before realizing there is nothing I can say—sometimes when you fall head over heels in love you end up with a concussion. I force a well-meaning smile before turning back around and heading for Monica’s car.
*
Once back on the road, Monica gives me about a minute and a half before launching in.
“Go ahead,” she states, as if I’ve asked her permission to discuss what happened in the diner.
“That...did not go as planned, per se. He said he wasn’t going to stop making “this” right ...”
“You two haven’t talked about that night at all?” She takes her eyes away from the road to give me an accusing look.
“Not really. I’m not sure what it is that he could say. He admitted in the hotel that he knew it was me and basically panicked—didn’t say anything until I was attacked and he was forced to.” I try to force a strong tone through that line, but it doesn’t work. I rest my head against the window in frustration.
“I’m sorry, Em. But we haven’t really talked about it ...” Monica reaches across the car and puts her hand on my knee.
“I just don’t know why in the hell he wouldn’t say anything.”
“What would you have done if he did?” She resumes a two-handed grip on the steering wheel.
I hadn’t considered that. “I don’t know...I mean how hard would it have been for him to share the revelation as soon as he had it? Like ‘Oh holy shit, that was you? Listen—‘ and tell me the story.”
“No, I get it. It’s just bullshit. I really liked him for you. I’m sorry, November.” Monica rarely calls me November.
“I know you are. I’m just glad Josh has this house band thing lined up to help me take my mind off of everything. Adrian’s going to come to the show tomorrow.” I don’t really know why I’m smiling, but it feels good.
“Mmhmm ...”
“What?”
“Just watch your ass with him, OK? The end of that relationship did a number on you—”