Stacked

CHAPTER EIGHT

R OBERT

I hadn’t planned on asking Anya out.

I hadn’t planned on talking to her either but running into her while dropping off the paperwork for the parade felt like a prompt, a nudge from somewhere or something higher than me, something that had more control over my life than I did. Sort of like fate. And the culmination of what I’d been doing since rescuing her from the vault.

Research.

I’d been doing a lot of research on Anya Post.

Mostly innocuous, innocent stuff. After that day at the store, I checked out her social media accounts. It was all there—LinkedIn, Instagram, TikTok, Facebook. She didn’t have much of a following on any of them, but she did have a healthy number of friends and acquaintances who wanted to keep up with her in whatever way they could. I had a burner account for Instagram, so I used it to send her a friend request, and when she accepted it, her private feed gave me a decent window into her life.

When I walked into the town hall to sign up for the parade, I knew three main things about Anya Post. She loved her job. She was married to it. And she didn’t have much going on in her life outside work.

Anya Post was a textbook small-town spinster.

This intrigued me, and I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because it was so different from the women I knew in New York. The ones I dated and worked with were cut from the same cloth—professional types with degrees from expensive East Coast schools and wardrobes to match. They were nice enough, polite in the ways that mattered, skilled at being good companions, and great in bed.

None of them ever drew that spark inside me, that pull I wanted and had only felt once. That was a long time ago, though. I wasn’t sure my heart would beat again after losing her.

While I didn’t know Anya Post well, and I hardly remembered her from school, her social media hinted that she might feel the same way I did... that no one has lit the right spark. Of course, I doubted I’d be the person to do it or that I’d even want to.

But we were kindred spirits. A few weeks of living in New Burlington had made one thing clear. This wasn’t a great town for singles. It was the kind of place people moved to once they were married and had kids. Want good schools at a reasonable price? Move to New Burlington. Want to retire somewhere cheap? Step right on up.

Want to find someone to spend the rest of your life with?

Don’t come here.

I turned off the water in my shower, took the towel from the nearby rack, dried my body off, and stepped out onto the cool white tile. It was just after five, and I had plenty of time before meeting Anya at Wave. It wouldn’t take me long to get ready, but I wanted to make sure I arrived at the restaurant before she did.

And she’d chosen one almost a half hour away.

She hadn’t said it, but I figured she didn’t want to be seen with me in town. I understood that too. There was no need to send all those tongues wagging, even if I’d long ago decided I didn’t care what people thought about the way I lived my life.

I slid into my SUV around a quarter to six and took off, navigating county roads and a state highway before arriving at the on-ramp to the interstate and the outer Cincinnati city limits. A Spotify playlist of ’80s alternative hits crooned in the background as I picked up speed, pushing against what remained of rush-hour traffic. It was an easy, picturesque drive, and once I got on the bridge to downtown, I opened the moonroof so I could feel the breeze on this warm but comfortable night. New York City had nothing on nights like this. And I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed it. Open roads, no pollution-clogged air, wide-open space.

Wave had a decent-sized crowd, and I was thankful I made reservations after Anya accepted my invitation. If I hadn’t, we’d have spent most of our night engaged in awkward conversation around whatever sliver of space we could carve out at the bar. As it was, I had a table in the back beneath a large, abstract watercolor painting splashed in hues of blue and green.

She walked in seconds after six thirty, her brown hair pulled up in a messy bun that even I could see wasn’t casual at all, a black silk dress, and a pair of gold sandals that framed what appeared to be freshly painted blue toenails. I saw a hint of light pink lipstick on her lips. She was trying. Hard.

And she looks beautiful.

I stood when she got close to our table. “Hey there. Great place.”

“I know. It’s better than I thought it would be. Really cozy.” Anya hung her tan purse on the back of her chair before slipping onto it. “Their Instagram doesn’t do this place justice.”

“Usually, Instagram oversells things.”

She laughed and picked up one of the menus on the table between us. “Have you had a chance to look?”

“I haven’t. Wanted to see what you might be in the mood for.”

Anya focused on the selections, running her index finger up and down the page as she read the list of wines by the glass, wines by the bottle, specialty cocktails, and craft beers. “Don’t they have food too?”

“On this one.” I handed her a small menu with a few pages of appetizers, entrées, and shareable plates the restaurant advertised as their specialty. “Wasn’t sure if you wanted that or not.”

Wasn’t sure what you wanted at all.

“I’m starving,” she admitted. “Worked through lunch, so all I’ve had today was some overnight oats I scarfed down before the store opened.”

“What kind?”

“Mixed with peanut butter, raspberries, and blueberries.” She closed the drink menu. “I think I’m in the mood for rosé.”

“Good choice.”

I signaled the waitress. Within a few moments, we placed a quick order—charcuterie plate, pork potstickers, a glass of rosé, and a draft ale for me. The server tried to tell us the evening specials, but I waved her away. I wanted the interaction over quickly because talking to Anya was my priority.

“How was work?” I hoped that would be an easy and simple way to open the conversation. “Busy?”

“Busy,” she echoed. “And you?”

“We’re almost ready to put in the shelving at the store, so we’re moving right along.”

“That’s great.”

But I could tell by the way she replied that she didn’t think it was at all. But that was all I needed.

“I’m not your enemy,” I blurted.

Anya recoiled. “I never said you were.”

“You act like it.” I laughed. “Do you think I’m radioactive?”

“No.”

“I just... I can’t figure you out.”

“I agreed to meet you here, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, about as far away from New Burlington as you could get.”

She sank deeper into her seat and crossed her arms. “This is supposed to be one of the best wine bars in the area.”

“I’m sure it is. Although, since I didn’t order wine, I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

She huffed. “I know you’re not my enemy.”

“You sound like you’re convincing yourself. And not very well.”

She fiddled with the edge of her napkin, which was still wrapped around the set of silverware. I hadn’t unrolled mine either.

“We can get along,” I added. “We’re two businesspeople in town who have the same goals. We can make this work.”

Our drinks arrived. The server placed the glasses on the table and murmured something about how we wouldn’t have a long wait for the food. She left. Neither of us picked up our selections.

“Times change,” I said. “Even for New Burlington.”

“Of all the places you could have gone when you decided to leave the city, I don’t know why you chose to come back here.”

“It’s home.”

She scoffed. “We didn’t know each other well in high school, but from what I remember, you didn’t love it then.”

“I didn’t know what I was missing.” I tasted my beer. It was bitter and bold. Kind of like this conversation. “New Burlington is the kind of place you have to leave to really appreciate.”

Anya flinched, picked up her wine, and drank a long swallow. “I’ll agree with that.”

“Back in high school, I didn’t know how good we had it. How special the town was,” I said, making sure my reply came out natural and smooth, giving nothing away about how much I already knew about her. “When did you move back? Right after college?”

She shook her head. “I spent a few years in Chicago. Worked for Second City.”

“As an actor?” Good one, Robert. Sounds clueless.

“On the administrative side. And backstage.” She drained some more of her wine. “It was... it was fun, and I liked it, but there was something missing.”

“Chicago’s expensive too.”

“Just like New York City. And... and... and I got mugged one night on the L.”

“What?” I set my now half-empty glass on the table. “You did?”

I sounded surprised, and I was. Even living for as many years as I did in New York, I’d never been the victim of a crime. Never had my wallet stolen, or a purchase I’d made, or a scarf, or my briefcase. Then again, I’d never caught the subway either.

She laughed without humor as if that would paper over some of whatever she was about to tell me. “I was just sitting there, and this guy attacked me.”

“Attacked you? Like a robbery?”

“Yep,” Anya looked away. “Nobody did anything.”

My jaw slackened. How awful. “Nobody?”

“The train was half full. They had to hear me. See me. But the people around me just let it happen.”

“That’s awful,” I murmured. And it felt like such a meaningless reply. But what was I supposed to say to something like this? She must have been terrified. Why didn’t anyone help her?

She finished her drink. “Anyway, a few months after that, I heard they needed help at The Green Frog and that Gwen wanted to hire a new general manager. Took that as my sign to come home.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, waving it away as our plates of hummus and potstickers arrived. “This looks delicious.”

“Very Instagrammable.”

“All that matters these days.” She tossed me a half smile as she reached for her purse. While the food cooled, she went through the motions, taking out her phone, arranging her wine glass, and snapping a photo she proclaimed was perfect. After she uploaded the photo, she slung her purse back across her seat. “Let’s dig in.”

I agreed and ate for a few minutes, savoring the flavors of the hummus, the crispness of the potstickers, and the way the food was arranged on the plate. Wave certainly deserved all the accolades it was getting, and I was glad she’d suggested we meet here. It was a great place for a date.

But this wasn’t one.

I knew that. I’d known that. I wasn’t on a date with Anya. I was simply one local businessman having dinner with a local counterpart. I even planned to pay for the food on my business credit card so I could write it off on taxes. But there was a definite pull between us.

There was something different about her. And I am keen to explore this more.

“Incredible,” I murmured after taking a bite of my third pork potsticker. Eight came as part of the order, and only three remained.

“The food?”

“Yes, that.” But not just the food...

“It’s really good.” She placed her fork on her plate. “I’m glad we came here.”

“Me too.”

“Great place for a business meeting.”

Her comment caught in my throat. “Yes. A great place.”

She cocked her head. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” I wiped my mouth and pushed away my plate. “I’m full, that’s all.”

“Well, good.” She glanced at her watch. “I hate to cut this short, but I need to head out.” She put her napkin on the table. “It’s almost seven forty-five.”

“Is that a problem?”

She signaled for the waitress. “I’ve got a thing at eight-thirty, and I don’t want to be late for it. Sorry, I hadn’t realized how much time had passed.”

“Oh.” I felt like I was just getting beneath the surface and finding the genuine Anya, so I was disappointed she had to leave. “I didn’t know you were—”

“I have to go.” She stood, her attention on the server at a table a few feet away. “If you don’t mind, I’ll pay my part—”

“I’ve got it.” I stood too, caught the server’s eye, and pointed to my chest. “Please give it to me.”

The server handed over the bill, and Anya turned her attention back to me. “I’m sorry, I really am. I had a great time.”

“I did too.”

She was already on to the next thing, slinging her purse over her shoulder and moving away. “See you later.”

And just like that, she was gone. But why are you running, Anya Post?