Was I now in a competition with my own brother for Annie?
If so, I had two words for him.
Game on.
Annie
“Is he there yet?”
The message blinked onto my phone as I sat at a back table in the bar where I was to meet Andrew. The place was low-key, a classy wine bar where White Pines professionals done with a day at the office could mingle with upscale tourists.
“You’ll know he’s here when I stop messaging.”
I shifted nervously in my seat, my fingers on the base of my martini glass. So Andrew wanted to meet. It might not be all that bad. What if he simply wanted to make sure we were on good terms? There were worse things in the world than being friends with an ex, after all. And truth be told, how Andrew and I left things had always left a bad taste in my mouth, like there was unfinished business we’d been ignoring.
Him coming back into my life in that way wasn’t what I’d expected, but maybe it would be for the best.
“Just don’t fall for it,” Gia advised. “I bet you anything he’s going to try to smooth-talk you into dating him again.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Because guys are messed up that way. He might not’ve wanted you before, but now that he knows you’re with his brother? I bet that’s got him all kinds of competitive. It’s a dude thing.”
I didn’t even know to say to that, and thankfully, I didn’t need to say anything. Andrew appeared at the entrance to the bar the moment I looked up from my phone. He was dressed in an expensive suit, the watch I’d bought him on his wrist, a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
He was all smiles as he made a beeline over to me.
“OK he’s here!” I rapid-fire texted to Gia before taking my phone off the table and shoving it into my purse.
When he arrived at the table, he simply stopped and gazed at me. “God, it’s good to see you. Come here.” He opened his arms and, not knowing what else to do, I stood up and hugged him.
It was so strange being in his embrace. Andrew was quite different from his brother, but they both had the same solid built and tall stature. No doubt they were brothers by blood.
“Here,” he said, handing the flowers to me. “A little something.”
“Oh, how nice,” I said, taking them. “But it’s not necessary, Andrew. You know I’m not the type of woman who needs to be drowned in expensive roses.”
He nodded, agreeing with me totally. “I know. And that’s one of the amazing things about you – that you don’t care about money or material things.” He smiled. “Well, aside from your cello.”
“Violin,” I said, trying to fight back the urge to roll my eyes. Andrew had never cared about my music, always viewing it as a distraction from something I could do that might actually make me money.
“Right,” he said, sitting down. “Close, though – right? Wood thing with strings.” He sat down and flagged over the waitress. “Two Moscow Mules, please.”
I raised my hand. “Actually, another one of these.” I tapped the rim of my glass. “Vodka martini, extra olives.”
An expression of confusion appeared on his face. “What? You love Moscow Mules.”
Now it was my turn to be confused. “Andrew, I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed one in my life. All that ginger gives me major heartburn.” I turned my attention back to the waitress, who seemed unsure what to do. “One Moscow Mule, one more of these.”
She smiled, relieved that someone had taken the initiative.
“And besides,” I went on, returning my gaze to him. “You know I don’t like it when people order for me.”
He waved his hand through the air dismissively, as if I were hung up on some silly point that didn’t matter. “Anyway,” he said. “It’s great to see you.”
I swallowed my bristling pride. “It’s…good to see you too, Andrew.” I glanced at his watch – the one I’d gave him. “Nice watch,” I said with a smile. “But not exactly what I’d expect to see you wearing.”
He grinned. “You’re right. You’d probably think a guy making the kind of money I do would trade this thing in for a Rolex the second I could. And I did. One of the first big purchases I made when the money started rolling in was a gorgeous Rolex driver watch. I got home, tossed this one into a drawer, put on the Rolex, and checked myself out in the mirror, ready to see how freaking good I looked.”
The story, if you could even call it that, was pure Andrew. But I heard him out.
“And…” he shook his head “…it didn’t look right. I took it off, tossed it on the dresser, and put yours back on.” He smiled. “And that’s what looked right. It reminded me of you, of how it didn’t matter how expensive your clothes were, how fancy your watch was. What really mattered was something as simple as the thought the woman you loved put into her gift.”
OK, it was pure Andrew. But it was sweet, in his own way. And for a materialistic guy like him, it was a big step.
The waitress set the drinks on the table. I finished my first one and passed the empty glass to her, but not before removing the olive-covered toothpick and plopping it into my fresh drink.
“I’ve been a total jackass,” he said after she’d left. “All this time I was certain it was money and success that would make me happy. But it isn’t.” He reached across the table and took my hands into his. My body tensed up, my eyes widening. “It’s not money at all. It’s love.”
He let his words hang in the air, my gaze drifting down to his big hands totally covering my own. Slowly, I slipped them out from underneath his.
“That’s…really sweet of you to say, Andrew. And I’m seriously glad to hear that you’ve learned there’s more to life than money.”
He smiled and shook his head again. “But enough about me. What about you? Have you found a new job yet?”
“I did. Doing some writing for a classical music magazine.”
“Wow,” he said. “That sounds right up your alley. Probably doesn’t pay a ton, but that’s no problem. It’s not all about money, right?”
I tensed up, annoyed at how inelegant he could be with his words.
“It’ll be a good stepping stone to whatever’s next. No reason you have to spend too much time making peanuts.”
“Wait, didn’t you just say money doesn’t matter? What if I love doing what I’m doing?”
“Well, money doesn’t matter. But it also really, really does. It’s important to be comfortable, to be taken care of. And…that’s part of the reason why I’m here.”
“And why are we here, Andrew?”
He sipped his drink, and I could sense he was preparing for what to say next. “Because I want us to be together again.”
And there it was. His words tumbled out of his mouth like a procession of bowling balls, landing with thuds and crashes on the table.
It was like everything came to a standstill. Sure, in the back of my mind I’d been preparing for something like this. And the flowers he’d sent – not to mention the ones lying flat on the table at that very moment – weren’t exactly a subtle statement of intent.