Chapter Twenty-Eight
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
WHAT ABOUT PETER?
PAST
“ P lease don’t be upset.”
I roll my eyes, pressing my phone against my ear so I can hear him clearly from where I stand outside the loud pub. An Irish pub in Boston. How incredibly cliché.
“I’m not upset,” I reassure him, glancing around out of habit in spite of knowing now that he isn’t coming. It’s Friday night and Peter and I made plans to meet up, but he’s called me to bail, saying he had to stay late at work. Lucky for me, I’d already gotten us a table. “I’ll call you later.”
He apologizes, telling me he’ll make it up to me, but I’m already walking back inside, determined to not waste a perfectly good outfit.
We hang up just as I reach my table, and I tuck my phone into my clutch, prepared to eat and watch the drunk, rowdy people by myself.
It’s odd to be on the older end of the partying spectrum, watching everyone lose themselves in their liquor. But it’s also interesting, something I haven’t really seen since my college days. That’s what happens when you lay low and focus on work and family.
Peter recommended the pub, saying that even though it caters to a younger crowd, there isn’t a better place to get a burger at this hour. And now that I’m here, dressed up for our date, I’m getting my fucking burger.
Never mind that I thought we might finally have sex tonight. In the past, I’ve given myself to men far sooner, but nothing ever came of those encounters. So I’m trying something new, holding out until I’m actually ready to invest in someone. Tonight was going to be quite the investment. And if the red lingerie under my clothes say anything, Peter’s missing out.
If only he knew.
I met him five months ago while I was picking up lunch for my boss. It was a cute little interaction where he offered to pay for the food and I declined, saying it was on the company card.
And then he asked me to dinner, and I said yes.
Peter is…kind. He’s soft-spoken and thoughtful. Which is why I was able to let him off the hook for missing our date.
And for the last five months, I’ve insisted that we keep it casual. I haven’t dated anyone else, and I haven’t wanted to. But I’m not ready to commit to anyone right now. Not when Miley and I are getting ready to start our own design firm.
And not when I’m not one hundred percent about Peter. But if I’m being honest, he’s the closest I’ve come to a relationship in a very long time.
Someone places a drink in front of me and I stare up at the waitress.
“I didn’t order this,” I tell her, eyeing the glass of red wine.
“It’s from Pete,” she rushes out before walking away.
Pete .
I wish I could get people to stop calling him that .
I’m about to pull out my phone to text him with gratitude when I glance up at the bar.
And for some reason, it’s like I’ve seen a ghost.
The ghost of Abraham Pugliesi happens to glance my way just as I notice him.
It’s strange to see this man again, as a different woman.
The skin he’d touched was long gone. I’d shed the girl I was and became a strong woman.
He can’t possibly recognize me.
But…I’d seen him enough times on my television screen to know that he’d started to let himself gray. The thick silver whiskers amongst the dark brown hairs of his beard make me wonder if he’s kept track of time as it passed.
It’s been four years.
But love will still reach out and punch you in the gut if you let it.
Not love, I remind myself.
Still, time is a minor detail when it comes to the desires of the heart.
I tell my heart to take the night off as I ignore my wine and stand to walk toward him.
He waits there for impact as a smile stretches over his lips.
“I wondered when I’d see you again,” he murmurs when I stop in front of him. I don’t know how he can look me in my eyes so evenly. Had I not haunted him the same way he did me?
I tilt my head as I appraise him, loving the way his glaze flits to my neck before sliding to my cleavage. I’d grown in the years without him. In so many ways.
“Abraham,” I offer as he leans in to press his cheek to mine.
To anyone else, it looks like a formal kiss. Nothing to see here.
But I hear the inhale as he takes in my scent. His fingers grip mine at my sides and I close my eyes, determined not to give any pressure in return.
“I’ve missed you,” his voice grumbles in my ear, words that brush against my neck. At the last moment, his lips graze my cheek just before he pulls away. “What are you doing here?”
“What’s anyone doing here?” I muse, wishing Peter hadn’t stayed late for work.
The thrill of seeing Abraham makes a liar of me. I recognize it as dangerous, breathing life into the feeling of relief that Peter isn’t here.
That I won’t have to explain a person I used to be to him.
Because I feel the history crackling between us, a fresh page turning in an unfinished story.
“You always did know how to surprise me,” he muses, and I ignore the glimmer of emotion in his gaze.
I can see myself in your eyes, I think to myself as I peer up at him, hating how familiar he feels. Like no time passed.
“Strolling down memory lane is such a waste of time,” I tell him, wishing I believed it.
“Don’t let me walk alone, then.”
Before I can speak again, he’s ordering us drinks and gesturing toward my table. I open my mouth as he leads me by my elbow and gives me a nudge to sit in my seat.
“Didn’t realize you moonlight as a cattle herder,” I tell him, glancing at the wine Peter ordered me before looking back at Abraham.
His damn eyes glimmer and when he smiles, it reminds me of a hungry wolf, circling its prey.
“You’re far from cattle, Sabrina.”
“Oh?” I lean forward, clasping my hands on the tabletop.
“You don’t need me to ply you with compliments. I’m sure men have been more than generous in the time since I saw you last,” he tells me around a grin.
The mention of lost time makes my gaze falter. I feel closer to that young woman I once was than I have in years .
Time made me harder, stronger.
And Abraham swipes it all away like building blocks instead of the cemented bricks I thought I’d been protected by.
Two glasses are deposited in front of us, and he hands his card to the server, still holding my gaze. When he lifts his drink to his lips, I get a glance of his pink tongue and I can remember a time when it ran along the peaks of my hip bones and in the valley between my thighs.
I sit back, not touching my new drink, not speaking. I can’t let myself get comfortable here, with him. It’s one thing to run into him and act like I’m unaffected. It’s another to indulge in his presence.
That would lead to a disaster.
And, sure, Peter and I are casual. I’ve expressed my desire to keep my options open to him on more than one occasion. But it still feels wrong, knowing that one word from me would secure my attachment to Peter.
And one night with Abraham would likely wreck it.
Abraham is silent as he continues to stare at me, the same one that used to keep me rooted in place, waiting for him to lead me into whatever it was we were doing back then. It angers me.
“You think you can walk in here and woo me?” I sit back, crossing my arms, both of my drinks untouched on the table before me.
“I don’t think I can woo you. Honestly, I don’t think anyone can.” He leans forward. “But we were in love once, no?”
I start to shake my head with a smirk but when I catch his gaze, I part my lips, unsure of where this is heading.
His eyes gleam under the muted lights but his expression is serious.
“I was an asshole. But that doesn’t have to make you a liar,” he whispers. “I was in love with you, Stellina . ”
He leans forward, grabs his glass, and downs its contents in my silence.
Seconds pass as he appraises me, his tongue peeking out to catch the excess liquid that pooled at the corners of his lips.
“If I’m going to be the only honest person here, I’ll say what needs to be said. Let’s not waste another four years without each other.” His eyes don’t soften, there’s no melodic humor in his tone to take the edge away. “I’ve never felt about another woman the way I feel about you. And I’m certain I never will.”
The sound of my chair scraping as I scoot back to get some much needed distance from him causes a few people to stare at us. But I don’t care as I stand, wanting to press my hands to my ears.
“I’m not interested in rewriting the past,” I lie. I have to lie. This fucking asshole thinks he can snap his fingers and change everything.
“You already rewrote it. And in that version, I didn’t fall in love with you. And I wasn’t ready to give everything to you.” He speaks with fervor, so quick his accent licks at his vowels like a flame. “I promise to be better in this version.”
I scoff and we stare at one another, unsure of what comes next. But I tell myself to let myself do what I really want to do, even if just for a few moments.
What about Peter?
I stare at the drinks on the table and reach for the vodka tonic he ordered me, downing it in a few gulps.
What about Peter?
“Where are you staying?” I ask him, returning the smile that spreads across his lips, altering his features in that beautiful way of his.
What about Peter?
“I’ll call my car,” he answers instead, and while he pulls out his phone, I stare at the glass of red wine. A safer bet, a sweeter option .
What about Peter?
What’s safe is no match for the exhilaration of a past I once ran from.