That truth hits harder than anything I’ve ever felt. She still wants me.
***
The bathroom mirror judges as I ruffle my hair, and apply a bit more gel. My reflection somewhere between a man ready to propose or one confessing to murder.Are you sure you deserve her?
My white shirt is starched within an inch of its life. I brush my teeth again, and rewash my sweaty hands before slipping on my suit jacket.
It’s now or never. Tonight, I make my intentions clear and lay it all on the line. It’s my chance to reconnect with her.
The journey in the limo to the restaurant is short. I’m deliberately fifteen minutes late. I want everyone to already be seated so she can’t move away. She needs to be stuck beside me for at least an hour so I can attempt to build some bridges between us.
The restaurant is one of the best bistros in the city. A private dining room at the rear hosts various intimate dinners and business events. I’ve eaten here numerous times. The décor is walnut and soft velvet. Red candles placed in green bottles burn on every table. Everything feels theatrical; it's fitting considering the performance I’m about to give.
I push open the door to the dining room. I’m the last one to arrive, as planned. Soft brown eyes focus on me, and she swallows, then glances at the vacant seat beside her.
Squaring my shoulders, I walk around the table while apologizing for being late to everyone, before I pull out my chair and sit down.
Amy turns away from me, speaking to the woman on her other side.
“Good evening, Ivan Harley,” I say to the gentleman on my right, and we shake hands. He introduces himself as a board member of the bodybuilding society, then starts to drone on about difficulties within the sport. I fake interest, but I’m acutely aware of the woman next to me who is pretending I don’t exist.
“What are your thoughts on implementing an upper age limit on competitors?” he asks, piquing my interest.
“Why would that be necessary?”
“Well, there are people who think that after a certain age that women, in particular, shouldn’t be flaunting themselves on stage.”
“And would these men be ageing entitled bastards who like to fawn over young women dressed in next to nothing?” His face falls, jaw almost hitting the tablecloth.
“Women and men of all ages should be encouraged to compete. All bodies are beautiful in their own way, and no one has an expiration date until we’re in a box, heading off to meet the maker.”
“Um…” he stutters.
“If that rule is implemented, I’ll be pulling all my financial support. My business was built by customers of all ages, not just the ones in pink spandex.” Flustered, he wobbles to his feet, grasping at his napkin.
“Your opinion is noted, Mr. Harley.” He limps off, perhaps in search of better company. I smirk at myself?entitled old bastard didn’t expect that response.
Just then, the waiter places my first course in front of me. As I turn to my plate, I feel her eyes on me. That familiar heat that I’ve missed for months.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
I glance at her. “For what?”
“For standing up for me and all women who only find themselves when they’re on the wrong side of forty.” Her eyes flick away to the ceiling.
“There’s no wrong age, Amy. Everyone, male or female, deserves to live the life they want to, regardless of what old bastards like that think.” I lean over and whisper in her ear. “You looked amazing in my favorite bikini today.”
She flushes.
“I have fond memories of that G-string.”
Her lips quip upward, then she picks up her knife and fork.
The meal passes with limited small talk. I’m aware of each breath of hers?every movement her body makes, my body feels at its core. Her perfume hits me every time she moves. Her hand brushes my thumb, and my heart sounds like a drum.
People rise from their chairs and shrug into their coats. Panic sets in. I need to ensure I’ll see her again. She stands, still talking to the woman next to her.
“Amy,” I say as she moves toward the exit. She pauses and turns to face me. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”
