She took a deep breath. No woman liked hearing these words from a man for whom she was falling, but the only response circling in her head was, Me too.
Like J.C., although probably not to the same extent, Libitz had engaged in a lot of gratuitous sex since high school. She didn’t shit where she ate, which made anonymous one-night stands her favorite, unlike J.C. who had hunted on home ground…but she certainly had no room to judge him.
That said, however, deep inside she had an almost-painful longing to know that he was finished with that sort of serial polyamory. She had no right to ask it of him or expect it of him, of course. They were many things to each other—co-godparents-to-be, bound through a strong and beloved family connection, business associates, fellow art lovers, and coconspirators in researching Les Bijoux Jolis. And sure, they’d kissed a few times, and he’d felt her up. But when she combined all that together, what did it make? Friends? No, that didn’t feel right. But they weren’t in a relationship either. She had no claim to him, regardless of the whisperings and yearnings of her heart.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds before he nudged her in the side. “I brought the ledger. I left it inside.”
Grateful for a more welcome topic of conversation, she turned to him and smiled. “Great! We can go take a look at it if you—”
Her phone started buzzing on the table, and she turned from him to find Neil’s name and number lighting up the screen.
“Nice Neil?” he asked, looking pissed.
She nodded. “I have to take it.”
“Fantastic,” he muttered, sitting back in his seat.
Apparently, he wasn’t going to give her any privacy. Okay. Fine. She pressed “Talk” and raised the phone to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey, honey. I saw you called.”
Sometime between this morning, when she’d called Neil determined to break up with him, and now, several hours later, she’d decided that it was downright cold-blooded to break up with him over the phone. But she’d definitely hoped that she wouldn’t have to talk to him again until she saw him on Monday.
“I, um…yeah. I got your texts. Not sure if I’m free for dinner on Friday.”
“But it’s Shabbat,” he said.
“I know. I just…I have a meeting that might run late.”
“Lib,” he said, “I know your job’s important to you, but Shabbat is sacred. I think you should make an effort.”
Heretofore in their relationship, Neil hadn’t made comments like this, and it annoyed her that he was being so heavy-handed. “We can talk about it on Monday.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice flat. “About Monday…jeez, honey, I hate to do this.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I have to go up to the King Arthur campus in Norwich, Vermont, from Monday to Wednesday. My father was supposed to go, but he came down with the flu, and Aaron’s running point on the Yom Kippur orders, but we need to renegotiate our flour prices with them, so I have to—”
“That’s great!” exclaimed Libitz.
“But it means I can’t pick you up,” said Neil, his voice confused.
“Oh,” she said, clearing her throat, trying not to sound as relieved as she felt. “Oh, right. Well, no worries. I’ll just see you on Wednesday, okay?”
“Wait, wait, wait! Why don’t you come with me?” asked Neil. “They’re putting me up in this quaint little inn. It’s beautiful, Lib. We’d have our own room. We could…”
His voice trailed off, hope and longing thick in its tone.
She scrambled, trying to think of an excuse for why she couldn’t run off to Vermont for mediocre sex with Neil that would seal a dismal fate for her future. Looking up at Jean-Christian, she felt a smile spread across her face.
“I can’t. I bought a Kandinsky for Mrs. Carnegie from a gallery in Philadelphia. I need to deliver it on Tuesday. In person.”
Jean-Christian’s dark-green eyes looked deeply into hers, soft with promise, brimming with the same relief she herself felt. He reached for her free hand and she let him take it, let him lace their fingers together.
“Aw,” said Neil. “That’s too bad, but I understand. Maybe you can switch things around to make Friday Shabbat work?”
“Um,” she stalled, the feeling of Jean-Christian’s flesh pressed flush against hers distracting her. “We can talk about it on—on…”
“Wednesday,” said Neil. “I should be back in the city around six. I’ll pick you up for dinner at seven?”
“Come in for a drink first,” said Libitz, knowing that they’d never actually make it to dinner.
“Will do,” he said. “Can’t wait to see you, honey.”
“Bye, Neil,” she said, pressing “End” and lowering her phone as she stared deeply into Jean-Christian’s eyes.
“Neil’s got a business trip to Vermont,” she murmured. “He can’t pick me up on Monday.”