Daniella narrows her eyes. “Was it?”
“Of course. Funk be gone. Enough about me, statistical goddess. Tell me how the math bra went,” I say, zeroing in on her.
“It was great. I feel great. But I didn’t come here to talk about lingerie. I came to talk about you.”
I blink. “What about me?”
She sighs sympathetically. “I was worried about you. Because of your blog. It’s not like you to post something like that. And I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
My heart squeezes at the gesture. The lovely gesture of a customer checking up on me. “I’m going to be fine.”
“You really liked the guy, didn’t you?”
A lump forms in my throat. “I did. Well, obviously I still do. The feelings didn’t go away overnight. Wish they did.”
“Why do you like him?”
I shake my head, not wanting to answer.
But she’s persistent. “How do you feel with him?”
Marley pipes up. “She feels amazing.”
I snap my gaze to my assistant, who’s not normally so outspoken. “Why do you say that?”
“Well, you’re always a good-natured person, but in the last week, you’ve come into the store with this spring in your step, a saucy secret in your eyes, and a grin you can’t wipe off your face.”
Damn. My cheery, go-getting assistant is an observational guru too. A traitorous smile twitches across my lips, but I wipe it off.
“Like that,” Marley says, pointing. “You can’t stop smiling. This guy, this project—he makes you happy.”
Yes. Yes, he does. He makes me feel like the sun and the moon and the stars. He treats me like a goddess and looks at me like I’m a work of art.
“He does. He makes me incandescently happy.” I sigh, full of the weight of unrequitedness. “But he doesn’t want the same thing I want.”
Daniella tilts her head. “Are you sure though?”
I nod, dejected. “I’m positive. And you know what? I have a whole store full of lace and silk to help me get over him.” I rub my palms together. “Now, as for you, why don’t you let me help you find another sexy little number that’ll make you feel like a Botticelli?”
“If you insist.”
“I do.” I happily help her because I love what I do, and I welcome the distraction.
She chooses a stars and planets bra, and as I ring her up, I ask about her plans for the week.
“I am on the hunt for a fun new girls’ night out activity. I’m in charge of planning it this time, and I have nothing so far,” she says.
Fortunately, I have just the answer. “Try goat yoga. My girlfriends and I are going to do that. We took Cirque du Soleil classes too, and they were horrible but also fun.”
“Those sound like a blast,” she says, then narrows her eyes at me, serious again. “And I’m going to pop in next week to buy more little darlings and to check on you.” She waves goodbye, then says in a hopeful tone, “But I have a feeling.”
When the door shuts, I see a familiar silhouette walk past my store.
My ex. He’s in a suit, hair slicked back, talking on the phone, heading uptown.
And I feel nothing.
I turn away from the window.
I don’t care where Gage goes or walks or what he does. He’s my past.
Even if he skirts near my present, I’m not bothered.
He’s just another guy on the streets of New York.
He’s not the one I want to see walking into my store, coming to my home.
My shoulders shudder as a wave of longing crashes over me.
“Hey.” Marley’s voice is soft but insistent, her hand gentle as she touches my arm. “Get some fresh air. You’re sad, but you shouldn’t be sad.” Her soft brown eyes are wise beyond her years.
“Why do you say that?”
She shrugs happily. “Like Daniella said, I have a feeling. Go for a walk. See if you get a feeling too.”
She shoos me out the door.
And as I walk along Madison Avenue, heading downtown, savoring the changing colors of fall, I reflect on their words. I have a feeling.
And my mom’s. You have a vibe.
Lola’s too. I’ve seen the way you two are together.
And then Tristan’s, in bed, before the first time. You have no idea.
And all the other things, said and unsaid, that have passed between Tristan and me over the years.
Back in college. When we were friends. When we kissed. When we returned to being friends again.
And over the last nine months since I’ve been single. How he makes me the owner’s special. And gives me chocolate. And listens to every word I say.
And the past few nights. The way he’s touched me, looked at me, whispered my name.
I saw so much in his eyes. So much truth and honesty.
I was searching for confirmation in words. But maybe he already gave it to me in other ways. Or perhaps I wasn’t seeing between the lines.
And maybe I need to find a way to give him more than a fishing expedition of effort. More than feel-him-out questions about my blog or the experiments or friends with bennies.
I need to tell him in no uncertain terms.
Because regrets are for haircuts and exes.
And I don’t want Tristan to be an ex-anything.
I turn around.
31
Tristan
I’ll give her till eleven to call me back.
That should be enough time for her to wake up, get dressed, go to work, settle in for the day, and listen to messages.
That’s civilized—give the woman a little time and space to deal with her business.
I go into work early, checking her blog on the way. But there’s no new post, and my heart sinks a little lower.
No worries though. She’s probably busy with Monday morning work stuff. At the restaurant, I handle the usual smattering of phone calls from suppliers and emails regarding inventory.
When eleven rolls around, my phone is still bereft of messages or texts from her.
I open the call log, about to call her again, when the door swings open. Likely a customer coming in for an early lunch.
I do a double take when I see who it is.
My jaw ticks as Gage walks over to the counter, grabs a stool, and flashes me a grin.
“Hey, Tris. What’s up? Saw a write-up for this spot in a food blog, so I’m meeting a client here for an early lunch.” He extends a hand to shake, like we’re buddies reconnecting after a long absence.
I don’t take it. I slide him a menu. “Here you go.”
“Whoa. What’s with the cold shoulder?”
Is he for real? “Excuse me?”
Gage looks around. “Isn’t this a place of business?”
“Yes,” I say, clenching my fists. “And here’s the way to do business. You look at the menu. You place an order. That’s how it works.”
Gage gives me a c’mon, man sigh, then flashes me a smile. “Look, Tris. I know you wanted Peyton long ago. You didn’t get her. It happens. I don’t have her either. Let’s just move on.” His eyes drift down to the menu, perusing the fare. “Now, what do I want to drink while I wait?”