Ava
Sitting in the backseat of a cab with Eric next to me, I have butterflies in my stomach.
Something is different tonight, from the way he looked at me when I came off the elevator to how he held my hand and helped me into the cab.
The easy banter is gone, replaced by the kind of tense expectation I haven’t experienced since the night I met John.
Eric looks so sexy in a gray suit, and he smells delicious. I want to lean in closer to get a better handle on the scent he’s wearing.
I’ve never been nervous in his presence before, but now I am.
I have no reason to be afraid of him, not physically, anyway.
He’s never been anything but a perfect gentleman around me, from the night we met when he slept on the other side of my bed so he could be there if I needed him.
Nothing breeds trust with a new guy quite like a platonic night in the same bed, especially when I was drunk and vulnerable.
I liked the way he held my hand and helped me into the cab.
I love the suit he’s wearing and the way it hugs his lean but muscular body.
I like the way he looked at me when he saw me coming toward him, and I marvel at how everything between us seemed to change in those first few seconds.
I’m unnerved by the unusual silence between us.
Even when we’d just met, we’ve always had plenty to talk about.
The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but rather, charged with the weight of expectation.
I try to remember the last time I truly looked forward to anything, and it was before John left.
I used to look forward to getting home to him after work each night, especially on Fridays when we’d have an entire weekend to spend together.
I don’t want to think about him when Eric is sitting close enough for me to touch him, not that I do. But I could, and I’m quite confident my touch would be welcome.
“Are you okay?” I ask him, more to break the silence than anything.
“I’m great. You?”
Smiling, I nod. “I’m excited to be going out tonight.”
“I’m excited to be going out with you tonight.” He reaches across the small bit of seat separating us and takes my hand.
As the breath catches in my throat, I curl my fingers around his hand. His gaze meets mine, and I can tell by the way he looks at me that he’s feeling the same way I am. This casual night out with a friend has taken on all-new significance, and how did that happen in the span of a heartbeat?
The taxi darts through traffic, horn blasting, stopping, starting and swerving to avoid disaster at the last second.
“I feel like I’m in a video game.”
Eric laughs. “Such is life in New York. And why do we never put on seat belts in cabs when they drive the way they do?”
“Safest drivers in the world,” the cabbie says in a thick New Yawk accent that makes us laugh.
We lurch to the left, and I grasp the door handle with my free hand.
The driver lets loose with a string of profanity and lays on the horn.
I love every second of it. Even with my life in danger, I feel more alive than I have in years.
We cross the Brooklyn Bridge, take an exit that leads to the waterfront and pull up to The River Café, situated adjacent to the bridge.
Eric hands the driver cash, helps me out of the cab and keeps an arm around my waist as we’re ushered into a cozy, elegant dining room. Our table looks across the East River to Manhattan.
“This is fabulous,” I tell him when we’re seated.
“I’ve heard great things and have always wanted to come here.”
I like knowing he’s never been here before, that it’s not somewhere he went with his ex. Not that I think he’d bring me to a place he went with her, but I’m glad just the same that we can share this new experience with each other.
“I had to call in a favor from a friend to get us in on short notice. A guy I went to college with is friends with the general manager.”
“Well, thank you for calling in a favor on my behalf.”
“What looks good to you?”
We discuss the menu and settle on salads to start with as well as the salmon for me and the halibut for him. Then we look over the drink menu.
“Mmm, the dark and stormy looks good,” he says. “I wonder if they’d do that with bourbon rather than rum.”
“You don’t like rum?”
“I got sick on it once.” He makes a face. “Never again.”
“That’s me and gin. Never again. I might’ve had to add champagne to my never-again list if it hadn’t been for your emergency pizza rescue.”
“I’m glad I was able to preserve your relationship with champagne.”
The waiter says they can do the dark and stormy with bourbon, so we each order one, and when he returns with our drinks, Eric orders dinner for both of us. He does it so smoothly that it never occurs to me to tell him I could order for myself.
“How do you like the dark and stormy?” he asks.
I take a sip of the drink that was served in an iced glass. “It’s got an interesting flavor.”
“Ginger beer.”
“Ah, that’s what that is. I like it.” The bourbon makes me feel warm on the inside as it seeps through my system.
He leans his elbows on the table and gives me his full attention. “Tell me more about you.”
His interest in me is a refreshing change of pace.
Most of the men I’ve dated are far more interested in talking endlessly about themselves.
The only other guy I’ve ever met who was truly interested in me…
No, we’re not thinking about him tonight.
“You know most of my story. During a rather average childhood in Purchase, I played the flute in the high school band and piccolo in the concert band. I ran track and cross country and was a representative on the student council.”
“Do you still run?”
“Not really. I do need to get back to the gym, though.”
“What made you decide on a college so far from home?”
“I wanted to experience another part of the country, and I needed some independence. My parents are wonderful, and I adore them, but they hovered. I felt a little claustrophobic under all that parental concern, and I knew if I didn’t go far away, I might end up letting them call all the shots for me. ”
“What did they say about you going to San Diego?”
“My mom went on anxiety meds, and my dad bought me pepper spray.”
He laughs, and the warm, rich sound feels like the bourbon as it washes over me.
“Are you getting a better sense of why I wanted to go away to school?”
“You paint a rather vivid picture.”
“San Diego was perfect—too far for them to pop in any time they wanted, and a nice, relaxed atmosphere that allowed me to blend in and do my thing under the radar.”
“You like it there? Under the radar?”
I nod. “It’s my favorite place to be. I’m not as outgoing or social as my sister or worried about keeping up with the Joneses the way my parents are. I hate being the center of attention. That wedding my sister planned?”
“What about it?”
I curl up my lip. “I’d never want a big public thing like that. I’d break out in hives at the thought of it.”
“Funny how two siblings can be so different, right?”
“I’ve marveled about that since the day my sister was born. She’s always been exactly the way she is now, and I adore her. Don’t get me wrong.”
“I can tell you love her whenever you guys are together.”
“We’re just very different people.”
“Ever come close to getting married?” he asks as our salads are delivered.
The question strikes a little too close to home, and I’m thankful to turn my attention to the salad so he can’t see that.
“Not really,” I answer truthfully. John and I never discussed getting married.
At the time, I thought we were too busy enjoying the present to talk about the future, but with hindsight, I realize that, too, was intentional on his part.
“Surely the guys in San Diego were interested in you.”
“A few. Here and there.” It’s hard to eat when there’s a lump in your throat the size of a grapefruit.
“Nothing serious?”
“One.” I take a sip of my drink and fight back the surge of panic that would have me running from this conversation if that were an option. “He’s my Brittany.”
“Ah, gotcha. Say no more.”
I offer a small smile in appreciation of his willingness to drop it. I hope I can bring myself to talk about John to a therapist, but not anyone else. What would be the point? It happened, it’s over, and I need to move on.
“Life can be a bitch sometimes,” Eric says, a rueful expression on his handsome face.
“Indeed, it can.”
He holds up his glass in a toast. “Here’s to moving on.”
I touch my glass to his. “To moving on.”
After a delicious dinner, we share a dessert called the Chocolate Brooklyn Bridge. I take a few bites and then push the plate closer to him. “All yours. I’m done.”
“You’re wimping out on me?”
“If I eat another bite, I might explode.”
“Well, we can’t have that, so I’ll take one for the team and finish this.”
“The team thanks you.”
This has been the most relaxing, enjoyable evening I’ve had in years, and it’s thanks to him and his easygoing charm, entertaining stories and quick wit. I can’t imagine how any woman could ever treat him the way his ex-fiancée did.
“What?” he asks, catching me gazing at him.
“Nothing.” My face heats with embarrassment.
“Oh, come on. What’re you thinking about over there?”
“I don’t want to bring old hurts into our good time.”
He puts down the fork and wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin. “It’s okay. You can say anything to me.”
“I just wonder how she could’ve treated you the way she did. You’re a good guy, Eric. A really good guy. How did she not see that?”
“I have no idea. I was good to her. I treated her right.” He shrugs. “Who knows?”
Before I can think too much about the possible implications, I reach across the table and lay my hand on top of his. “I’m sorry she did that to you, and I want you to know…”
He turns his hand so our palms are touching and wraps his fingers around my hand. “What do you want me to know?”
I swallow hard. “That I understand, better than most people would, what it feels like to be abandoned the way she abandoned you.”
He tips his head ever so slightly, looking at me with new appreciation. “Do you?”
I nod, but I don’t say anything more. I can’t. I’ve already said more than I ever intended to.
“How do you feel about jazz?” he asks, surprising me with the sudden shift.
“In general, or as a religion?”
His face lights up when he smiles. It’s a good look on him. “Do I take that to mean after-dinner drinks at a jazz club would work for you?”
“Absolutely.”
He signals for the check and uses a black American Express card to pay it.
“Next time is on me,” I tell him.
“I’m thrilled to hear there’s going to be a next time.” He guides me to the exit with his hand on my lower back. Using his phone, he summons an Uber, and we step out into a beautiful, clear evening to wait for our ride. “I love nights like this when there’s no humidity.”
“Reminds me of San Diego. The climate there was lovely.”
He keeps an arm looped casually around my waist while we stand outside the restaurant. “We should go there sometime together. I’d love to see it through your eyes.”
“That would be nice,” I say, but I don’t want to go there with him. That was my place with John.
I’m not sure if it’s the bourbon that makes me do it, but I lean into Eric’s embrace, slightly, but enough that he draws me in even closer to him.
Then I feel his lips brush against my hair.
The surface of my skin tingles in awareness, and desire, the first I’ve experienced in years, makes me want to squirm.
Somehow, I manage to remain still even as my body awakens from a long, dark winter of despair.
The car arrives, and Eric holds the door for me, waits for me to get settled and then closes it to go around to the other side. When he gets in, he reaches for me. “Come back where you were.”
I slide across the seat, and he wraps his arm around me. “Tell me something…”
“Sure.” I hope I can be truthful with him, because he deserves that much.
“Has there been anyone since the important one?”
“No.”
“How long?”
“Five years.”
All the breath seems to leave him on one long exhale. “Ah, Ava… God.”
My eyes fill, and I close them, determined to fight through the emotional storm I’ve been battling for years now. “How about you? Anyone since her?”
“No.”
We don’t say anything more during the ride across the bridge into Manhattan, but the weight of the things we’ve said hangs heavy in the air between us. So much is at stake for both of us. And with our siblings married to each other, the potential for further catastrophe isn’t lost on me.
The car arrives at Columbus Circle. Eric holds my hand in the elevator to the fifth-floor location of Dizzy’s Club Coca-Cola. He exchanges a few words I can’t hear with the guy working the door. The man nods and gestures to a corner table.
Eric pays the cover and shakes the man’s hand, slipping him a tip. At the table, he holds the chair for me until I’m settled and then takes the seat next to mine. “We’re just in time for the eleven-thirty show. Check out the stage. Pretty cool, right?”
Behind the stage is the New York skyline. “What’re we looking at?”
“Columbus Circle and Central Park.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“One of the best views in the city, and the music is excellent, too.”
“I can’t wait.”
Another couple named John and Carlene are seated at our table. His name is John. Of course it is. Thankfully, he looks nothing at all like my John. They’re nice enough, but Eric keeps his focus on me.
We order another round of dark and stormy with bourbon and sit back to enjoy the Mardi Gras band that takes the stage right at eleven thirty.
They’re electrifying—and loud. So loud that Eric slides his chair closer to mine and puts an arm around me, making it so we can hear each other.
We don’t say much, but his hand on my arm has my attention divided between the music and him.
Then his fingers begin to move, sliding subtly from shoulder to elbow and then up again.
He’s barely touching me, but that doesn’t lessen the effect of being caught up in the moment with him—and that subtle caress makes me realize how much I’ve missed being touched by a man.
I’ve been so caught up in the grief of losing the person I loved most in the world that I haven’t given much thought to the secondary aspects of losing him.
Who has time to think about sex when you have no idea whether the man you love is alive or dead or ever coming back?
With Eric sitting so close to me and his touch setting off fireworks inside me, the woman in me is reawakening to things I haven’t wanted in years.
While I’m not sure I’m ready for a new relationship and everything that goes with it, I can’t bring myself to stop something that feels so damned good.
I watch the show, listen to the music and wallow in the sensations that remind me I’m still very much alive and still very much a woman in her prime.