“I’m so sorry, Knightley.” Can he hear my broad smile?
He clears his throat. “All is well. So, will you join me?”
“Yes,” I say a little too emphatically. “What time?”
Why is he calling me? Why is he inviting me to join him?
Oh, who cares!
Does this mean what I think—hope—it means?
“In thirty minutes. See you there, Emma.” He hangs up, and I continue to hold the phone to my ear, mouth agape. The way he one-names me sends those bees in my stomach to start stinging again. My body is numb from theirvenom, and—
“I have to fix my makeup!” I shout to myself. I dig in my white purse, hunting for my on-the-go makeup bag. Once I’ve made myself presentable, I start the car and drive over to The Flats. I’m fifteen minutes early, but that’s good. I have time to collect myself and try to tame this ridiculous smile that hasn’t left my face since Knightley told me the news.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself that just because he’s single doesn’t mean he’s going to date me. It doesn't mean he loves me as anything other than a sister or friend.
But at the very least, I don’t feel guilty for finding him attractive and loving him as something more. And I can talk to him again. Like old times.
A knock at my window causes me to jump, and I look over to see Knightley. His blue eyes dance under the setting sun. I know I should wave or get out of my car or something, but I sit there, staring into his eyes. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, and I suddenly want to cup his face in my hand. Feel his beard beneath my palm. With just that little announcement that he’s now available, my world has shifted.
I have to try.
Like his mother once told me, I have to at least let him know that I am an option.
He places his hand on the window, and for some reason, I bring mine up to match his. I think I can feel the heat through the glass, but that could also be my brain running haywire. When his middle finger slides down as if he was touching my hand, goosebumps ripple down my arms. The phantom touch speaks in a language I haven’t yet discovered with Knightley. I yank my hand away,willing my face to cool as I start to get out of the door. He grabs the door and continues to open it as I get out, and I duck under his arm.
When he closes the door, the sound is like a warning call.
A sense of finality settles over my soul.
“Hi,” he says, breathing out the word. He changed out of his blue jeans and polo from earlier and is now wearing black dress pants with a white, tucked-in button-down.
He matches me.
Was that intentional, or…?Calm your brain, Emma Jane!
“Ready to go inside?” he asks, and I realize I never said hello.
I shake my head. “Hi, yes. I’ll follow you.”
Why am I acting unbelievably awkward?Get it together, Emma Jane. Just because you are practicing not being perfect doesn't mean you should turn into a lovestruck mess of a woman.
We walk down the cobblestone path to the restaurant. It has floor-to-ceiling windows but we can’t see inside. An outdoor chandelier hangs above the entranceway, and ivy climbs up the old brick wall around the glass door. It’s a beautiful place.
Romantic.
I glance up at Knightley as I pass him to walk through the open door. A serious expression replaces the playfulness of moments earlier, and for the first time, I wonder if he’s okay. Did losing Mallory genuinely hurt him even though the relationship was barely over a month-long?
Once we are seated—and I’ve admired the beautiful golden trim of the restaurant, the crystal lights creating a soft, warm glow, and the adequate spacing between tables that many restaurantsdon’t pay attention to—I fix my attention fully on the handsome man sitting across from me.
“Hi,” he says again, this time with a deeper, rougher tone.
Mine is the opposite as I squeak out, “Hi.” I collect my composure before I speak again. “Are you okay? What happened?”
He releases a breath, red crawling up his face. His blue eyes turn pleading as he fiddles with the white tablecloth. “I have a confession, Emma Jane. You have every right to be upset with me. I’m so sorry.”
A million possibilities flicker through my head as he talks, but nothing compares to his blurted truth.
