5. Learning to grovel #2
After hanging up, Jules made sure she looked nice in her work outfit of red, wide-legged trousers and a white, short-sleeved, button-up shirt.
Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, and her make-up was minimal, as it usually was for work.
She had debated going for a ‘nicer’ look but ultimately decided she didn’t want to come across as fake in any way, so had negated that idea.
Once she’d arrived at the Thai Garden, she parked and went inside.
It was a place she’d frequented with Paige in the last few months, so was familiar with the layout of the restaurant.
It took her only a few seconds to spot Malcom in a booth by himself, eating his lunch and reading a book—he looked almost exactly as she remembered him, down to the navy suit he was wearing.
“Would you like a table or a booth?” the hostess asked, reaching for a menu.
“I’m actually meeting someone,” Jules answered, unloading her second lie of the day, before pointing in Malcom’s direction. “He’s right over there.”
On slightly unsteady legs, Jules made her way over to the booth, and as she got closer, braced herself for the moment when he would look up.
However, he must have been so engrossed in his book, that he didn’t register anyone stopping a few feet away.
It wasn’t until he looked away from his book—she still couldn’t see the title—and turned his focus on the plate in front of him, that he saw her for the first time.
“Hello, Malcom,” she greeted him, her voice softer than normal, as she took in his neatly styled dark hair with strands of silver at his temples, his blue eyes behind his dark-rimmed glasses, and his smoothly shaved jawline.
She had been wondering if the attraction she’d initially felt for him would be gone after all this time, but nope.
It was definitely still there.
She’d really been a fucking idiot .
There was an excruciatingly long pause, in which he blinked at her several times, clearly surprised to see her standing in front of him, before he said, “Hello, Jules.” Slowly, he removed his glasses, set his book down (the current John Grisham), leaned back against the upholstered seat, and added, “I’m guessing this isn’t a coincidence. ”
“It’s not.” She gave him a quick smile. “I knew you were here.”
He didn’t return the smile. “And how did you know that?”
“When I called the law office you work for, the receptionist told me you were at lunch and—”
“She told you where I was?”
“Well, only after I pretended to be your sister and said I was hoping to join you.”
Malcom appeared to be debating how to respond to that, before asking bluntly, “What do you want?”
She met his gaze head on, ignoring the icy aspect of it. “I wanted to apologize in person, and tell you how sorry I am for waiting so long to contact you.”
He looked her up and down for several moments, again appearing to debate how to respond, only to sigh heavily and indicate she should sit on the bench across from him.
Grateful he hadn’t just told her to take a long walk off a short pier, Jules settled onto the seat.
Now that she was closer to him, she could smell his cologne, which smelled like an old leather chair that had bourbon spilled on it, then dragged through an Evergreen forest. “I truly am sorry—and that isn’t bullshit. ”
Just then a waitress came by. “Would you like something to drink?” she asked Jules.
“No, thank you,” Jules told the young woman, before giving Malcom a dry glance. “I don’t know how long I’ll be staying.”
After the waitress was gone, leaving Malcom and Jules alone again, he pushed his plate to the side and steepled his hands on the table in front of him.
“You know, I was so sure you were going to call me, that when I didn’t hear from you after a week, I came up with an excuse for why you didn’t—that you’d gone out of town or something.
You know, like for a family emergency, even though I don’t know anything about your family, or even if they live out of town.
After two weeks, I told myself something more ridiculous, like you’d lost your phone somewhere, along with my card, and after three weeks, something even more ridiculous than that.
I didn’t go as far as trying to convince myself you’d gotten amnesia, but it was touch and go.
However, after four weeks … I finally pulled my head out of my ass and came to the conclusion you weren’t going to call because you just didn’t want to.
At that point, I had no choice but to accept the fact that you’d probably ripped up my card and thrown it away, and I’d been dismissed just like Brent and was completely and utterly wrong about whatever connection I thought we’d had. ”
His flat delivery, as well as his unforgiving expression, made Jules feel worse than she ever had in her life, and she swallowed hard; she’d obviously hurt this man deeply and was ashamed by that. “You weren’t dismissed like Brent and you weren’t wrong about the connection we had.”
He raised his dark eyebrows in disbelief. “Fifteen months says differently.”
“I never ripped up your card,” she told him. “I kept it and looked at it many times. Many, many times.”
“So, why didn’t you call me? Surely you weren’t playing hard to get all this time?”
She might have found that funny if he wasn’t being deliberately sarcastic. “No. I was—” she broke off for a moment to take a deep breath and release it, “—being a coward.”
“A coward? You?”
“Yes, and it took me a while to realize it.”
Malcom’s tone was dry. “Like fifteen months?”
Jules nodded. “I had sort of epiphany right before I called your mom.”
“Yes, she mentioned you called.”
Jules wasn’t surprised, but still asked, “She did?”
“Right after she got off the phone with you. She also told me that when you called me, I should talk to you and hear you out.”
She gave him a pointed look.
“I told her I’d think about it,” he said, deadpan.
“You obviously decided against hearing me out.”
His gaze was direct. “Yes. After fifteen months, I decided I wasn’t interested in finding out why you didn’t call me, because there didn’t seem to be any point.”
“So, your mom didn’t say anything to you about why I didn’t call?”
“No, nor did I ask. But since you’re here, I’m willing to hear what you have to say.”
Jules looked down for a moment before beginning. “At first I didn’t call you because I didn’t want to break your heart—”
“Break my heart? What, are we in middle school?”
She overlooked the last part. “I could tell you were a guy interested in long-term relationships and—”
“How could you tell that after only a five-minute conversation?”
She tilted her head. “I know this will sound ridiculous, but it’s because you wanted to take me to an expensive restaurant, with cloth napkins, and—”
“Cloth napkins? You must have low standards when it comes to dates.”
“Sadly, I think I did. But that was partly—or maybe mostly—my fault.”
Malcom looked at her, perplexed. How had this stunning woman gotten to a point in her life where cloth napkins at an expensive restaurant was where the bar was set?
And why were low standards her fault? She should be able to demand excellence from any man …
and goddamn well get it. “I’m not trying to sound like an asshole here, but you should be able to pick from the cream of the crop.
‘Low standards’ shouldn’t be in your vocabulary. ”
“Do you remember my friend, Paige? From the restaurant?” At his nod, she continued. “Well, she and I have had a long running joke, so to speak, about my history with men … that when they get introduced to my ‘crazy’, they run away like babies.”
“Your ‘crazy’?”
“My blunt-force trauma honesty.”
“I don’t think that makes you crazy,” he argued.
“To most men, it does—or at least it makes me difficult to deal with. For instance, I recently told a man he wasn’t very good in bed, and that ruffled his feathers …
well, more than ruffled them, I guess. Anyway, it went south from there, as you might imagine, and he sort of stormed off to go talk shit about me to his bandmates—”
“Bandmates?”
“He’s in a band.”
Malcom wasn’t really a fan of hearing about some guy she’d obviously slept with, but it didn’t keep him from asking, “How bad was he in bed?”
“Pretty bad, considering he’s a drummer, and should have good rhythm. Plus, he didn’t put forth much effort when it came to getting me off—”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like something to drink or eat?” the waitress asked, interrupting them.
“No, really, I’m fine,” Jules replied with a smile. Once the waitress was gone, she turned back to Malcom who looked a little flustered at the untimely interruption. “That happens to me quite often.”
“Oh. It never happens to me.”
She gave him a quick smile. “So, as I was saying, he didn’t put much effort into making sure I had a good time, and that’s when I hit the exit ramp. ”
Malcom cleared his throat. Even after more than a year, just being in this woman’s presence made his skin vibrate, which kind of pissed him off because he shouldn’t want anything to do with her. “So, how do you know he was talking shit about you?” he asked, changing the subject slightly.
“The bartender told me. After almost getting in a fight to defend my honor.”
“Okay. Well, I can see why the drummer would have been upset at hearing he was a disappointment in bed, because no man wants to hear that, but instead of running away, he should have demanded a second chance and then, you know …”
“Been less of a disappointment in bed?”
“Yes. If that had been me, I would’ve worked like hell to change your opinion, not run away.”
She leaned forward on her forearms. “Really?”
“Yes, really. A man’s reputation matters.”
She felt that stab of regret again. “I really wish I had called you.”
“So, do I,” he agreed. “I wish you’d given me a chance to find out if we were compatible, but you made that decision for me. Well, for both of us, really.”
“I know. And I wish I could go back and do things differently. I knew you were a man of quality that night, and I think I was afraid of it, afraid of taking a real chance and maybe getting hurt. I’ve gotten so used to superficial encounters that I’m pretty sure I look for them on purpose.”
“You think you’re subconsciously looking for men who run away from you?”
“I do. And that’s why I called your mom, because I wanted to see if you were still available. I told myself if you were seeing someone, I’d rip up your card and forget about you, but if you weren’t seeing anyone, I’d apologize and—”
“Send flowers, then follow me to a restaurant?”
“Yes.”
He was a little annoyed she seemed to be thinking an apologetic voicemail, some flowers, and tracking him down in a restaurant was all it would take to get him to fall in line, so his voice was a little sharp as he said, “So, now what? What’s next?”
Jules faltered under the icy shift in his demeanor, then squared her shoulders. “I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse,” she told him softly, hoping The Godfather reference would thaw him out a little.
“And what’s the offer? ”
“I have reservations for two at Le Trésor on Friday at 7:30 p.m. I’ll be there, and I hope you’ll join me for a three-course meal, a bottle of wine, and dessert. We can sit and talk for a couple of hours about whatever you want. Books or movies, or about what an asshole I’ve been.”
He didn’t want to be drawn in, but he couldn’t deny there was something pulling at him—an uncertain, vulnerable Jules was hard to resist, as was her smoky drawl. “And if I don’t want to join you?”
She swallowed hard. “Then you can stand me up, and I won’t bother you any more. I promise.”
Malcom looked at her for a long moment before giving her the line she’d given him all those months ago. “All right. I’ll think about it.”
At her cue to leave, she slowly got to her feet, shocked that her legs felt shaky. “I really do hope to see you there,” she said, giving him one last lingering glance, full of what she hoped conveyed her regret and remorse, before turning and leaving the restaurant.