He laughs. “Very lucky.”
My father takes me to one of his favorite Italian places, a spot where the servers and staff probably all recognize him. We’re led immediately to a nice table at the back, in an alcove away from the public eye and dressed with heavy velvet curtains.
“Your usual bottle, sir?” the server asks.
My father nods, one hand raised in brief acknowledgment. “Yes, thank you.”
I unfold a napkin and drop it into my lap, picking an easy topic of conversation to try to keep Dad’s mind off whatever was bothering him earlier. “So, I stopped by Cousins on the way in.”
My father chuckles. “How was it?”
“Just as fantastic as always. You know, maybe I’ll just work there. I’d eat all the sandwiches I want.”
“But you’d be bored.”
“I saw an old friend there,” I say as the waiter returns to pour us both glasses of wine. I’m not sure I could call Noah a friend since I didn’t really know him in high school, but I don’t know what else to call him.
“Is that so?”
There’s a small smirk on my father’s lips. I shoot him a playful glare and tip my glass back, taking a sip before I answer.
“It’s not like that. I barely knew him. He just wanted to catch up.”
“Catch up with a woman he barely knew?”
“Dad.”
“No, it’s nice,” he says, his smile concealing a laugh. “You’re young. It’s good to go out, have fun. Date.”
I groan, but it’s half-hearted. I know my father loves me. He’s always wanted something for me like he had with my mother.
He never really spoke about her. I always had the feeling it was fresh for him, painful. He never really recovered from her death. The only time I ever saw him close to tears was when he looked at pictures of her.
“Oh, have my things shipped yet?” I ask. “There’s an ink drawing I’d love to frame for you.”
My father raises an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you weren’t an artist.”
“I’m not,” I agree. “Which is why I’m so proud of it. It may be the one and only decent drawing I’ll ever create.”
We both laugh, and I’m about to say something else when a shadow falls over our table. I look up, expecting to see the waiter coming around to see if we need more wine or something. But as I register the face of a handsome, dark-haired man standing beside our table, I almost drop my glass.
Aiden.
It’s like having double vision. Part of me can still see traces of the boy I once knew, the boy I loved. The one with a brooding face but a secret smile just for me. Dark brown hair and the most vivid blue eyes. Strong arms and broad shoulders, and so tall that it felt like he blocked out the entire world when he hugged me.
But the other part of me can only see the reality of the man who stands before me now. His gaze is zeroed in on my face like he’ll never look away. He has the same dark hair, the same blue eyes. But he’s bigger and broader, if that’s possible. And he has tattoos now. Lots of them.
I’m too stunned by his sudden appearance to speak, and I search for something in his face, some clue to indicate what’s happening. I don’t know why he’s here, and I can’t think past the fact that heishere, standing before me after all those years apart.
His face is blank, giving no hint of what he’s feeling or thinking. It seems like he’s just… nothing. I’m not sure whether it’s better or worse than all the possibilities I’ve thought of over the years.
He was so sweet to me at first, then so cruel. Like a monster.
Now, he’s just cold.
“What are you doing here?” my father bites out, his voice breaking through the torrent of questions whirling in my mind. “I told you—”
“We’ve decided we need to amend our deal.”
