Chapter 8 The Meeting We’ve Yearned For #2
ChaosInPurple: Um… really? You want to know about my car? Right now?
SilenceInMidnight: Please, Purple.
The pause stretches, every second dragging like a taut wire against my nerves, until her reply finally appears.
ChaosInPurple: I don’t really know what’s going on. But since you asked for full honesty, I’ve never bought a car. The only vehicle I’ve ever purchased is a yellow Vespa scooter. It’s more practical for my work.
Relief crashes through me, and a breath I didn’t realize I was holding finally escapes.
SilenceInMidnight: I’m sorry for panicking like that. For a second, you reminded me too much of someone I know in real life, and I kind of lost it.
ChaosInPurple: Oh. But would it really be so bad if I were someone you already knew? Wouldn’t that be… I don’t know… kind of epic?
SilenceInMidnight: Believe me, Purple, you wouldn’t say that if you knew me in real life. And you certainly wouldn’t say that if you knew that woman. She’s absolutely unhinged. She often feels like she crawled straight out of a fortune cookie.
ChaosInPurple: Oh my God, you’re awful.
ChaosInPurple: I snorted so hard an elderly couple just gave me death stares, and judging by how fancy this place is, snorting might actually be a crime here.
ChaosInPurple: By the way, how far away are you? I’d much rather talk to your face than my phone. We’ve done that enough, don’t you think?
Fear slides back in, sharp and familiar. She still doesn’t know that tonight, my phone is my lifeline.
SilenceInMidnight: I’m not far.
I glance up again at the glowing windows, at the promise waiting on the other side.
ChaosInPurple: Come soon. I’ll be waiting for you.
The words hit just as hard as they did the first time she said them last week.
I’ll be waiting for you.
And right now, that’s all I can do too, wait for Violet Harper to leave.
I am not walking into that restaurant while she’s still in there.
No one except Archer knows I signed up for FYS.
No one knows about Purple. But if Violet sees me tonight, I won’t just lose my anonymity; I’ll be tomorrow’s headline in her gossip column.
Something along the lines of: Local media mogul spotted on a blind date. Spends the entire night talking to his phone.
Seconds stretch into minutes, minutes blur into nearly an hour, and Violet is still inside the restaurant.
I haven’t touched my phone, not once. I know exactly what I’ll find if I do.
Notifications of messages from Purple. And if I see her name light up the screen, I won’t be strong enough to ignore it.
And if I read even one of her messages, I won’t be able to justify what I’m doing right now, hiding in my car while she’s there waiting for me.
So instead, like a coward, I decide to ignore my phone.
But as the hour turns up, it’s clear that what I’m doing has crossed a line.
This isn’t just cowardice anymore, but it’s me being an asshole.
I imagine her sitting alone at a table meant for two, glancing at the door every time it opens, trying not to look like she’s waiting for a blind date who promised he was close.
If the roles were reversed, I don’t think I’d ever be able to trust the person again.
Fuck. I can’t do this to her.
My hand finally closes around my phone, fingers tight, pulse loud in my ears. The screen lights up instantly, and as expected, there are several messages, each one feeling like a quiet indictment.
ChaosInPurple: You said you were close. I just wanted to check how much longer it’ll take you?
Another message, time stamped ten minutes later.
ChaosInPurple: Come soon. The waiter has started giving me strange looks. I think I’ll order a glass of wine. That should at least quiet him for a few minutes.
ChaosInPurple: Night, is everything okay? Now I’m getting worried about you. You’re thirty minutes late. I don’t know why, but I always imagined you to be really punctual.
If only she knew. I arrived at Spring Falls last night.
I stayed at a hotel, as I didn’t want to risk traffic, weather, a car breakdown, or anything getting in the way of today.
I had planned this down to the minute. There was nothing that was going to stop me from seeing Purple. Nothing except Violet.
And then her next message lands like a punch.
ChaosInPurple: I’m starting to worry that you stepped into the restaurant, took one look at me, and left.
Fuck. My head falls back against the headrest with a dull thud.
What kind of hell have I put her through? I can’t let her sit with that thought.
SilenceInMidnight: Purple, there is no world where I could see you and turn my back.
I send another message immediately. She deserves to know exactly how guilty I am right now.
SilenceInMidnight: Believe me, I thought there was nothing in this world that could stop me from seeing you tonight. I don’t have words for how much I was looking forward to this evening.
ChaosInPurple: Night! Thank God you’re replying. Where are you? I was so worried—first that you decided not to come, then that something happened to you.
ChaosInPurple: When are you getting here?
My throat closes. There’s no gentle way to do this.
SilenceInMidnight: I’m really sorry, Purple. I won’t be able to make it tonight.
The silence that follows feels deafening, even through a screen. I can almost see her rereading the words, trying to make sense of them, trying to understand how something we’ve been planning so carefully could fracture so suddenly. This night was supposed to be ours.
We’d yearned for it. We’d imagined it together, and we’d imagined it separately, over and over again.
This night was supposed to fucking happen. Period.
ChaosInPurple: What happened? I thought you were on your way?
Before I can shape an answer, another message crashes in.
ChaosInPurple: Are you okay? You’re not hurt or something?
The agitation inside me turns unbearable, scraping against my ribs.
SilenceInMidnight: Physically, I’m fine. But inside I’m fucking burning, because you’re there waiting for me and I can’t get to you.
There’s a long pause, enough to make my hands tremble.
ChaosInPurple: Do you really mean that?
SilenceInMidnight: I mean every word, Purple. I know I’ve given you every reason to doubt me tonight. But please believe that it’s killing me to not be there with you.
Her reply is kinder than I deserve.
ChaosInPurple: I want to trust you. You’re my soulmate, after all
I know her well enough now to realize the smile isn’t humor. It’s her way of easing the weight of my failure, to lighten the moment so I don’t drown in guilt.
SilenceInMidnight: Believe me, I will never leave my soulmate waiting again.
ChaosInPurple: Then I’ll finish this ridiculously expensive wine on FYS’s tab and hope we can plan to meet again very soon.
SilenceInMidnight: I’m so sorry about tonight, Purple.
I should start the car and leave. That’s the sensible thing to do, and yet, my hand stays frozen over the ignition while my gaze drifts back toward the parking lot. I scan it carefully, searching for a scooter. But there isn’t one. Maybe she took a cab.
The thought barely finishes forming before a taxi pulls into a vacant spot two rows down, its headlights washing briefly over my windshield. My fingers curl hard around the key fob, knuckles turning white as my pulse spikes in response.
Purple said she’d finish her drink and leave. That should take time, shouldn’t it?
But what if she was already almost done? What if she’s standing up right now, tucking her phone into her purse, smoothing down her dress, almost ready to step outside?
If she walks out now, I’ll see her tonight.
The realization shoots through me like electricity, and for one heartbeat, excitement flares so bright it almost drowns out everything else. Almost.
But then guilt follows, heavy and suffocating, dragging me back down.
The way I’ve imagined our first meeting over and over again, in the quiet hours of the night when sleep refuses to come, has always been sacred in its simplicity.
Our eyes would meet across a room, tentative and unsure, followed by a quiet pause where neither of us knows what to do next.
With hesitant steps, we’d move closer and exchange the names we’ve chosen like offerings.
And finally, we’d see each other with a new awareness.
The person who had quietly unraveled us would finally have a face.
Seeing her like this, in secret, would ruin what we’ve built, for her and for me. I won’t do that to us.
I’m about to turn the key and drive away when I give the restaurant one last look, and then I see her.
Violet Harper steps out onto the stone stairs, her black coat unbuttoned, the black dress beneath clinging softly to her frame, and my pulse spikes without permission.
As if my attention has summoned her, her gaze lifts and locks on to mine, and then she’s moving toward me in fast, unhesitating steps.
Fuck. Can this night get any worse?
“Rowan, hi,” she says brightly, stopping just short of my door. “It’s such a surprise seeing you all the way out here, so far from Cherrywood.”
Surprise isn’t the word I’d use.
Shock. Interference. Disaster.
Those feel far more accurate, considering how thoroughly her presence wreaked havoc on my perfect plans.
“Are you here alone?” she continues, without missing a beat. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without Archer.”
She laughs lightly, unbothered, while I slip effortlessly into the mask I’ve perfected over the years—the distant, bored expression that usually discourages further conversation and keeps people at arm’s length.
It works on everyone. Everyone except Violet Harper.
And contrary to her completely inaccurate observation, Archer and I spend plenty of time apart. We each run our own businesses, for Christ’s sake.
She then pauses and looks at me expectantly. Waiting. Waiting for what?
She knows I can’t speak, can’t make useless small talk with her. What the hell is she expecting from me?
I raise an eyebrow, let irritation harden my features. The silent warning I use when I want people to retreat has no effect on her. Instead, something like understanding dawns on her face.
She smiles, completely unbothered, like standing in a parking lot having a one-sided conversation with a selectively mute man is the most normal thing in the world.
“Sorry,” she says easily. “I asked if you were alone, then kept talking, and now I lost my own question.” She tilts her head. “Are you alone? Or… are you meeting someone?”
Of course she asked multiple questions at once.
I answer with two small nods.
Her eyes immediately flick to the inside of my car, curious, as if she expects someone to magically materialize in the passenger seat.
If only she knew how close Purple came to sitting there tonight, how different everything would have been if Violet Harper hadn’t existed in this exact place at this exact moment.
She looks back at me, something wistful softening her expression. “I hope your meeting went better than mine,” she says, jerking her head toward the restaurant. “This place is too nice to leave without eating.”
For a brief moment, my irritation loosens its grip.
If this were any other night, there’s a chance, albeit a tiny one, that I might have offered to grab her dinner, told her to wait in her car, maybe even kept her company. I’ve learned enough over the past months to know Violet Harper doesn’t like being alone.
But tonight isn’t that night.
“Well,” she says, stepping back, “I guess I’ll say good night.”
She runs her fingers through her hair, and the streetlight catches the purple highlights, turning them darker, glossier, and once again a knot pulls tight low in my stomach.
Get it together, Rowan.
This means nothing. Violet suddenly reminding me of Purple is a coincidence, nothing more.
Still, my gaze drops… to her hands.
Soft pink nails. Bare fingers. No ring.
My jaw unclenches.
Violet waves and I return it with a nod. I wait until her Fiat pulls out of the lot, the familiar bumper sticker flashing briefly under the lights before disappearing down the road, and only then do I start my car.
I take one last look at the restaurant, the empty parking spaces, the night when everything almost happened, and pull away.
My eyes flicker to the rearview mirror again and again, even after the glow of the restaurant fades from sight, as if part of me still expects to see her.