He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t let go of my arm, either, or crack a smile. We stand in silence, neither of us moving, until it becomes obvious that he has no intention of getting out of my way.
I lift my brows and give him a look. “Excuse me, please.”
He tilts his head. Even without being able to see his eyes, I can tell how closely he’s examining me.
Just as it’s about to get weird, he drops his hand from my arm. Without another word, he pushes through the men’s room door and disappears inside.
Unnerved, I stand frowning at the closed door for a moment before heading back to Sloane. I find her with a glass of white wine in hand and another waiting for me.
“Your pirate just hit the restroom,” I say, sliding into my chair. “If you’re fast, you can catch him on the way out for a quickie in a dark corner of the hallway before he takes you back to the Black Pearl for more ravagement.”
She takes a big swig of her wine. “You mean ravishment. And he’s not interested.”
“How do you know?”
She purses her lips. “He flat-out told me.”
I’m shocked. This is unprecedented. “No!”
“Yes. I sidled up to him with my best Jessica Rabbit sashay, stuck the girls in his face, and asked him if he’d like to buy me a drink. His response? ‘Not interested.’ And he didn’t even look at me!”
Shaking my head, I take a sip of my wine. “Well, it’s settled. He’s gay.”
“My gaydar says he’s straight as an arrow, babe, but thanks for that vote of support.”
“Married, then.”
“Pfft. Not a chance. He’s totally undomesticated.”
I think of the way he smelled when I crashed into him outside the restroom, the musk of pure sexual pheromones coming off him in waves, and decide she’s probably right.
A lion roaming the Serengeti doesn’t have a wife. He’s too busy hunting for something to sink his fangs into.
The waiter arrives to take our order. When he leaves, Sloane and I spend a few minutes chitchatting about nothing of importance, until she asks me how things are going with Chris.
“Oh. Him. Um…”
She gives me a disapproving stare. “You didn’t.”
“Before you start pointing fingers, he broke up with me.”
“I’m not sure if you realize this, but a man expects to eventually have sex with the woman he’s dating.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I can’t help it if my vadge closed up shop.”
“If you don’t get a dick up in that hot pocket soon, it’s gonna grow over. You’ll never be able to have sex again.”
That’s fine with me. My libido vanished along with my fiancé. But I need to distract her before this conversation turns into a therapy session.
“It never would’ve worked out anyway. He thinks cats are as smart as humans.”
She looks appalled. “Good riddance.”
Knowing that would change her tune, I smile. “I’m thinking of setting him up with Marybeth.”
“Your colleague? The one who dresses like she’s Amish?”
“She’s not Amish. She’s a schoolteacher.”
“Does she teach butter churning and buggy maintenance?”
“No, science. But she is into quilting. She also has five cats.”
Shuddering, Sloane raises her glass in a toast. “It’s a match made in heaven.”
I clink my glass against hers. “May they have a long and hairball-filled future together.”
We drink. I guzzle my entire glass of wine, knowing Sloane is watching me as I do.
When I set the empty glass back on the table and motion to the waiter for another round, she sighs. She reaches across the table and squeezes my hand.
“I love you, you know.”
Knowing where this is headed, I look out the windows toward the lake. “I think all that kale you eat has warped your brain.”
“I worry.”
“You don’t have to. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re not fine. You’re surviving. There’s a difference.”
And this is exactly why I should’ve stayed at home.
My voice quiet, I say, “It took two years before I could drive a car without thinking, ‘What if I didn’t break for this curve? What if I ran straight into that brick wall?’ Another year after that before I stopped googling ‘painless ways to commit suicide.’ Then another before I stopped randomly bursting into tears. It’s only been the last few months that I can walk into a room without automatically scanning it for his face.
“I live with the ghost of a man I thought I’d grow old with, the suffocating weight of questions that will never be answered, and the crushing guilt of knowing the last thing I ever said to him was, ‘If you’re late, I’ll kill you.’”
I turn from the window and look at her. “So all things considered, merely surviving is a win.”
Eyes shining, Sloane murmurs, “Oh, honey.”
I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. She squeezes my hand again, then says, “You know what we need?”
“Electroshock therapy?”
Releasing my hand, she sits back in her chair, shaking her head. “You and your dark humor. I was gonna say guacamole.”
“Are you paying? Because the guac here is ten bucks for two tablespoons, and I’ve heard I’m cheap.”
She smiles fondly at me. “It’s among your many shortcomings, but perfect people are boring.”
“Okay, but I’m warning you right now, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Babe, I know you well enough to keep my hands at a safe distance when you’re eating. Remember that time we shared a bowl of popcorn while we watched The Notebook? I almost lost a finger.”
“I can’t wait until we’re old and you have dementia. This photographic memory of yours is the worst.”
“Why am I gonna be the one with dementia? You’re the one who refuses to eat a vegetable!”
“I’m about to have some smashed avocadoes. Doesn’t that count?”
“An avocado is a fruit, genius.”
“It’s green, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Then it’s a veggie.”
Sloane shakes her head. “You’re hopeless.”
“I so agree.”
We share a smile. At that moment, I happen to glance over to the opposite side of the restaurant.
Sitting by himself at a table, his back to the window, a pint of beer in his hand, the stranger I bumped into outside the restroom stares at me.
Because he removed his dark sunglasses, this time I can see his eyes.
They’re the deep, rich brown of Guinness stout, set wide beneath a stern brow, and surrounded by a thicket of black lashes. Focused on me with startling intensity, those eyes don’t move or blink.
But oh, how darkly they burn.
2
Nat
“Earth to Natalie. Come in, Natalie.”
I rip my gaze from the oddly powerful trap of the stranger’s eyes and turn my attention back to Sloane. She’s looking at me with lifted brows.
“What? Sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”