Davis’s jaw locked, and his frown deepened. “What does that mean?”
I shrugged.
“Who do you want it to be, Emma?”
The raw timbre of his voice sent gooseflesh over my skin, and I willed myself to speak the name on my tongue. To clear the air. To be brave when it counted. Even if it meant ruining my quest, our friendship. Everything.
The gentle purr of an expensive car drew our eyes to the road, breaking the intensity of our connection. Davis’s dad climbed out of his Mercedes and raised an arm. “There you are, Junior. I thought we’d find you at that pub for sure.” He buttoned his suit jacket and turnedto smile at a gentleman emerging from the passenger side. “Davis, this is Avery Lindor, the investor I told you about. We had to move the meeting up by an hour. You don’t mind, do you? Avery, this is my son.”
I looked to Davis, who seemed equally shocked by the turn of events.
And I felt the last thread of hope I didn’t realize I’d been holding on to slip away.
He straightened, and a wall fell between us. His baffled and somewhat murderous expression schooled into something fake and cold. “Excuse me,” he whispered, tipping his head toward the door to indicate I should go inside. Then he moved quickly down the walkway to meet the men.
I willed my legs to move and pushed thoughts of my confession from my mind. Tonight, I would meet my letter-writing friend, and we’d have a cup of coffee. Then, I’d head home to kick my own ass for trying to confess my feelings to Davis without any sort of plan.
The bell above the door jingled as I entered the café, drawing a few sets of eyes. I didn’t recognize any of the faces, and no one seemed particularly interested in me. I chose a table near the window, where I could watch Davis speak to his father and the other man. I also had a good view of everyone entering the café.
I set my phone on the table to watch the time, then gave the shop’s interior an appreciative exam. The space was warmly lit with exposed brick walls and patterned tile flooring. A white service counter protruded from the back wall, where it disappeared into the kitchen, and a series of large chalkboards detailed the menu options.
A young woman with a pink apron and logoed shirt approached a moment later. Her white-blond ponytail bounced behind her in a corkscrew. “Hi,” she said brightly. “What can I get you?”
I returned her smile. “I think I’ll have—”
The café door opened, and Davis moved inside, followed by his dad and the other man. Davis’s eyes found mine immediately, and the apologetic expression on his face said it all. He couldn’t sit with me while I waited, but he also wouldn’t leave.
I offered him a thumbs-up and my most believable grin.
The men chose a table next to the wall with exposed brick. Davis took a seat facing me and dipped his chin stiffly in acknowledgment when he noticed me staring.
“Do you need a minute?” the young woman asked.
“Sorry. No.” I flipped my attention back to her. “I saw a friend and got distracted. I’ll take a chai-tea latte and a pumpkin spice scone, please.”
“Sounds good.” She turned and hustled away on white sneakers. “Be right back!”
I admired her confident enthusiasm. I, on the other hand, was struggling to feel anything other than anxiety about who would show up and what I would say. About how the conversation would go, and if this moment might actually end a friendship instead of solidifying one.
I fretted over the way I’d wondered if this could be a story to tell our grandkids. Why were some desires so difficult to let go, or even modify? And why was the first man to hold my heart in a real and wonderful way someone unwilling to tell me if he felt the same? The chemistry between us was undeniable, and the comfort I felt in our small silent moments was divine. He’d hinted at his feelings and gone out of his way repeatedly to spend time with me, go on adventures with me, and listen. And I’d told him my mission to give up on love was over. Even that hadn’t motivated him to make a move or speak his heart. So if he truly cared for me, I guessed it just wasn’t enough.
I checked the time on my phone when my drink and scone arrived, and I told myself it was easy for anyone to be a few minutes late. I checked again when I finished my tea and the scone was nothing but crumbs on my little plate. After forty minutes had passed, I walked to the bathroom, fighting the sting of rejection.
I’d been stood up.
Long-buried memories of being skipped over and left out crept through me as I washed my hands. And the fear of being unwanted attacked brutally as I checked my hair in the mirror.
I tried a few silent affirmations in combat, but the negative thoughts were far too strong.
Tears welled in my eyes, unbidden. Then Cecily’s sweet words returned to mind, and I replayed them on a loop until I felt strong again.You are worthy, Emma Rini. You are loved. And you are worthy of love. Just. As. You. Are.
Whatever happened to my admirer tonight had nothing to do with me. I’d put myself out there, and it hadn’t gone as planned. That was all. I was just fine. And this feeling of abandonment had nothing to do with Davis. Nothing at all.
I lifted my chin, squared my shoulders, and left my old, unwanted thoughts in the restroom behind me.
I was calling an Uber and going home.
I found Davis leaning against the wall outside the restroom, hands deep in his pockets, sympathy on his brow.
