6. Malcom fucking Hodge
Malcom fucking Hodge
He wasn’t coming.
She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was.
She’d gone to great effort to look better than she ever had, choosing to wear a dress that would hopefully make it difficult for him to stay mad at her.
It was a beautiful ice-blue color, with a halter-style top that crisscrossed in the front, leaving a nice cut-out between her breasts, and tying around her neck in a sweet bow, which was on full display because she’d put her hair up in a high bun (with the help of a YouTube tutorial).
It was completely backless, with a flared skirt that swished when she walked, and she’d paired it with strappy, black heels.
She’d gone full smoky eye make-up, countering it with light blush and a nude lipstick, and had even painted her toenails and fingernails a soft, neutral pink.
Her jewelry was also understated—a pair of diamond-stud earrings she’d gotten from her parents when she graduated college a million years ago, a silver Anne Klein watch, and her favorite chunky ring on her left middle finger, which looked like an unfolding flower.
She was dressed to kill … and she was obviously being stood up.
Malcom wasn’t stuck in traffic, like she’d told herself when he was fifteen minutes late, nor was he changing a tire on the side of the road, or gotten in a car accident, when thirty minutes had come and gone .
It was crushing, to say the least, and she drained her glass of wine, then poured herself another, because alcohol was the only thing that was going to get her through this meal.
Jules knew she could probably leave at any time, because even though she’d told him she would stay for the entire dinner, even if he stood her up, he wouldn’t know if she left.
However, she was determined to stay, not only because she deserved to suffer through the entirety of it alone, but also because she wasn’t going to be a quitter, either.
Jules forced herself to smile at the waiter when he brought her second and third courses, both of which she picked at, even though they were delicious, and continued to lay waste to the bottle of wine.
By the time her chocolate soufflé was served, she was feeling a little inebriated and depressed, and wasn’t looking forward to walking out of the restaurant alone, past all the tables of people who would know she’d obviously been stood up, because no one ate at an expensive French restaurant by themselves, dressed to the nines, did they?
She didn’t even have a book with her, to make it look like she was purposely eating by herself.
The soufflé turned out to be too delicious to only pick at, and she ended up eating almost half of it.
When the waiter cleared the plate away and asked if he could bring her anything else, she shook her head.
The last time she’d cried had been when Paige miscarried eight years ago, but she was feeling like she might shed a few tears right now.
She blamed it on the wine.
“Just the check, please,” she told him, hating when her voice sounded small.
“It’s already been taken care of,” he replied back, grabbing her empty wine bottle as well.
She frowned at him. “What do you mean, ‘It’s been taken care of?’”
“It’s been paid.”
Someone had paid for her dinner? It had probably been almost two hundred dollars, not including the tip. “By who?”
“By that gentleman.” The waiter pointed toward the far corner of the restaurant, where a man sat with a bottle of wine and a half-filled glass on the table in front of him.
The lighting in the room was just dim enough to make the identification of the man take a few seconds, and when she did, she felt her face flush with angry disbelief.
Malcom fucking Hodge.
She’d been so focused on what an awful time she was having, she hadn’t looked around the room very much, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone and see sympathy (or worse, pity) on their faces, and so had missed him.
Had he been here the entire time? Had he watched her sit by herself, all dressed up and eating alone? Watched her waiting for him?
Jules didn’t know if the wine was entirely to blame, but she was having a hard time processing all the emotions punching her in the face: astonishment, shock, embarrassment, hurt, and humiliation.
She watched as Malcom picked up his glass and the bottle of wine, then made his way to her table and sat in the chair across from her.
She took in his charcoal gray suit, with a light blue tie that almost matched her dress.
However, despite his clean shave and tailored appearance, he looked tired, like he hadn’t slept very well in the past few days.
Swallowing hard, she asked as evenly as possible, “Have you been here the entire time?”
“Yes. I arrived before you did,” he answered.
A fresh wave of self-consciousness washed over her, at the revelation she’d essentially been watched for an hour and a half, without her knowledge.
It made her feel awkward and exposed … and played.
“Why? So you could watch while you taught me a lesson?” An edge crept into her voice as she got to her feet. “Because … well done.”
She started to walk away, and he got to his own feet, calling after her, “Jules, wait.”
She stopped, and after a long pause, turned to look at him.
“This wasn’t about watching while I taught you a lesson,” he told her earnestly. “I wasn’t trying to teach you a lesson. I just needed to see if my not showing up mattered a damn to you, and if it did, I needed to know how that would affect me.”
Some of her anger receded, as she made herself look at the situation from his viewpoint as a somewhat shy man who’d felt a strong connection with her.
If the situation was reversed, would Jules have done anything differently if he’d ghosted her, then contacted her fifteen months later out of the blue, leaving a voicemail apology, then sending a flower arrangement, and issuing a dinner invitation after tracking her down while she was at lunch—with the caveat she could stand him up if she wanted to?
Would she have welcomed him with open arms and trust? Probably not.
Hell, she definitely wouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have shown up tonight, if she were being honest, because she wouldn’t have deemed him worthy of a second chance, not after all this time. She actually would’ve wanted to teach him a lesson, because she could be a bitch when she wanted.
Her tone softened a little, and she felt some of her tension ease. “So, did you see what you needed to see? ”
Despite being a little unsure about her change of mood, Malcom nodded. “I think so.”
They exchanged a long, silent look, and then he motioned to the chair she’d just vacated, inviting her to sit down again. After a brief hesitation, she did, and he followed right after, with some relief.
“I’m glad you came,” she told him softly.
“I am, too.”
“If the situation was reversed, I don’t think I would have come.”
The admission shouldn’t have amused him, but it did. “No?”
“No. But if I had , I definitely wouldn’t have paid for your dinner, or made my presence known.”
“You would have just watched me suffer … and then left?”
She nodded and pursed her mouth for a moment before answering. “Obviously you’re the better person in all of this.”
“I don’t know about that.” He gave her a faint smile and shook his head. “I never did thank you for the flowers, which was a dick move.”
“I can understand why you didn’t, so … no harm, no foul.”
Malcom’s expression turned almost bashful, and he busied himself with taking a drink of his wine. “I’ve never gotten flowers from anyone, before. It was a really nice gesture.”
She gave him a pleased smile. “You’re welcome. Although … they were actually my dad’s idea.”
“Your dad’s?”
“Yes. When I called my mom to get some advice—”
“Advice?”
“On how to make amends with a man.” At his look of surprise, Jules said, “My mom was just as surprised as you are.”
“Because you’ve never had to make amends with a man before?”
“More like I’ve never felt the need to,” she clarified.
He seemed to appreciate that answer and smiled, before asking, “So what advice did your mom give you?”
“She never actually gave me any. By the time I was done telling her why I needed to make amends, my dad had gotten involved and told me I should send you flowers, and then my mom suggested the hydrangeas,” Jules answered, keeping out the part where neither parent had thought she’d done anything wrong.
“Well, you can tell them the flowers were appreciated. ”
“I will. They’ll be glad for the opportunity to tell me they knew best.”
Silence settled over them for a moment, before he spoke. “I’d like to see you again.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, really. I’ve spent more than a year trying to get over you, and obviously that hasn’t worked.”
“Same,” she murmured.
Even though the mood was now much lighter, the evening had still been raw for both of them, so it didn’t last much longer.
He walked with her outside and held her hand while she waited for her Uber. When it arrived, he leaned into her and whispered in her ear, “When you walked into the restaurant, you took my breath away.”