Chapter 22
JACK
Emmeline: Hi, I have to cancel today’s date.
Emmeline: No, something else came up.
Jack: Em, please, come with me. I have plans for us. I think you’re going to enjoy tonight. Is it because you don’t know anything awkward about me?
Jack: What if I confess that I had to jerk off on Monday after we hung up the phone?
Emmeline: That’s kind of funny, but that’s not it.
Jack: What’s happening?
Emmeline: I’m a handful, there’s no point to try something that will fail.
Jack: Em, please take a chance on us. I’m not sure what happened between Monday and right now, but please give us a chance.
Emmeline: Do you like my spontaneity? Because it can get worse.
Jack: I do.
Emmeline: Tell me something awkward about yourself?
Jack: Jerking off isn’t enough?
Emmeline: I threw you a little fantasy, it’s normal.
Jack: I feel like I’ve known you for a long time and I like it.
Emmeline: …
She doesn’t answer my text. My phone rings.
It’s an emergency in the prototype department.
I leave my desk but bring my phone with me as I try to answer some questions and help the head of the department solve the issues.
We need more personnel and a bigger location.
We’re growing faster than I‘d anticipated.
A twenty-minute consultation becomes a three-hour meeting.
When I get to my office, I text Emmeline again.
Wednesday, May 4th, 5:03 p.m.
Jack: Are we still on for tonight?
Emmeline: Yes, but there’s a change of plans.
Jack: What is it?
Emmeline: We have to have dinner early because there’s a concert I really want to attend.
Jack: I’ll be at your house at five thirty.
Emmeline: Seriously?
Jack: Looking forward to seeing you.
Emmeline: [blush emoji]
Wednesday, May 4th, 6:17 p.m.
The sight of Emmeline across from the table, smiling as she’s telling me about her day has a strange effect on me. I didn’t have a good day. Thinking about relocating the company was putting me into the worst mood I’ve had in months. But just having her with me makes me feel wistful.
What is this woman doing to me?
She might not be wearing the tight little number she described last Monday but the loose, sleeveless dresses paired with leggings and a pair of sandals is more than enough to make me want to touch her body, badly.
“Thank you for following my last-minute plan,” she says. “I had no idea Pamplona was in town.”
“What happened to your barre class?”
“Who cares about barre when Jonathan Kessler is here to play—for me,” she says. Her eyes twinkle. “Next Tuesday I’ll try the barre class. Also, thank you for bringing me here. This is one of the few places where I wouldn’t feel comfortable dining by myself.”
“Do you usually eat by yourself?”
“Yes, I dine alone most of the time.”
She sighs, takes a sip of her wine and says, “And there it goes, another awkward confession by Emmeline. You need to stop asking so many questions. I can’t seem to dodge them or lie to you.”
“Thank you?” I say, giving her a strange look. “So, you’re not usually this friendly and open?”
She wipes her mouth, sets her napkin back on her lap and says. “Only with people I know. You and I are just getting acquainted. And I’m usually the one asking questions. Not the other way around.”
“You like to be the one in the know, don’t you?” I ask. It dawns on me why I’m flustering her. She likes to be in charge.
“Exactly!” she says excited. “I like facts and knowing how to help others. Actually, it’s part of my job. One of my favorite clients calls me a ninja.”
“A ninja?” I frown at the mention of that word.
“There I go again, I’m talking too much.”
She presses her lips against each other, tightly, looks around, then back at me.
“We’ll change the subject,” I say.
I look down at her foot. She keeps tapping it against the wood floor. I study it curiously, trying to read her tattoo. There’s something very familiar about it.
“Is your brother still in town?” she asks, distracting me.
“Yes, he’s still in Steamboat,” I answer. “Probably with a group of friends. Nothing he’d talk about since he’s never been serious in a relationship.”
“What is it with people not getting serious these days,” she questions and shakes her head.
“You can’t generalize,” I interject.
“No one wants a serious relationship because they’re afraid they’ll end up becoming part of the forty-one percent who end up divorced,” she explains.
“I think it all depends on who they end up marrying.”
Who the fuck am I and why am I defending relationships? I’m part of that fucking forty-one percent and swore never to go there.
“Or dating,” she states. “How many guys pretend to be single when they’re in a committed relationship. Then, there are those who like to date just for fun, and after a few dates they realize there was nothing to hold them together.”
“You’ve dated married people?” I inquire.
“No but it happens often,” she says. “For all I know, you could be engaged, and I’m your last fling before the big day.”
I laugh, she reminds me a little of Amy, trying to toss around theories to fish for facts. There’s something about this woman that reminds me of her, I just don’t know what exactly, I can’t put my finger on it.
“What if you’re the one about to be married?”
She snorts and then grins. “You might have forgotten the fact that I’m scared shitless of commitment. Let’s change the subject again. How about music?”
Emmeline eyes at me suspiciously and asks. “What kind of music do you listen to?”
“These days, I’ve been listening to a lot of indie groups. I like grunge, enjoy some classic rock if I’m in the mood I listen to—”
At that moment, the waitress rushes to the table. “Would you like another scotch?” she takes my empty glass.
“No, thank you. I’m driving,” I say. “Would you bring me an iced tea?”
“Of course, your food will be out in just a few minutes,” she announces.
“Em, would you like something else to drink?” I point at the empty glass of wine. “A martini?”
“I’m good,” she responds and smiles at the waitress.
Once we’re alone, she leans forward and says, “You don’t want to see what happens when I drink more than I should. It’s messy.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing that side of you,” I say suggestively.
Immediately I realize that I truly wouldn’t mind seeing that side of her. Not the drunk Emmeline, the messy part. I want to know everything about Emmeline. Including her last name. Why is it that we’ve gone out a few times and we haven’t exchanged details as simple as our full names?
I think we’re at a point where she wouldn’t care that I’m a CEO or the details of my net worth.
If we’re going to continue this relationship, things have to change.
With my ex-wife, we cared too much about appearances.
She was one of those women who would wake up with makeup on, God forbid I saw her au natural.
Vivian had to be perfect for everyone. We were together because of appearances.
She never loved me, and it took me a long time to realize that I didn’t love her either.
I’m not saying that I’m falling in love with Emmeline. But something is happening between us that’s worth exploring. I want to know more about her and the person she tries to conceal. I want to show her who I am. I’ve been hiding for a long time.
For a moment, I think of Amy and how would it be to finally meet her in person.
Would she look twice at me? Immediately, I feel like an asshole.
Why is it that being with Emmeline makes me feel like I’m being dishonest with Amy?
Developing serious feelings isn’t something I like to do, and now, it’s happening with two different people.
Amy brightens my day. She’s perfect for me. Our personalities are so different that we just click, but she’s unattainable. Instead I have Emmeline. Who are you, Emmeline?
But that’s unfair, she deserves more than a guy who is interested in someone else.
Am I obsessed with Amy just because it’s safe?
She’s far away and can’t hurt me. I look at Emmeline, and there’s that powerful magnetic attraction that makes me feel like we belong together.
Thirty-four and I’m thinking like a teenage boy discovering his first love.
I just don’t know who I’m more attracted to.
Forget about that Amy chick.
She is unattainable and most likely, already taken. No, earlier she mentioned being a handful and how no one would be able to put up with her personality.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” she answers with a chuckle. “Actually, it’s been a long time since I drank too much. How about yourself, when was the last time you got wasted?”
“Are you fishing for information?” I counter. “I think I have your number.”
Thank you, Amy Walker.
“Of course you have my number,” she claims. “That’s precisely how we ended up on this date.
You called me and texted me. I said no. Then, you convinced me, and here we are.
I thought it was pretty obvious how we ended up in the same restaurant.
I can give you a refresher. If you want, I can put you in my schedule tomorrow morning between Spearman and Everhart. ”
“Excuse me?” I ask. My nostrils flare as I hear my last name. Calm down, it’s not an uncommon last name.
Her eyes open wide. “Nothing. I was saying names I shouldn’t be saying. They’re private.”
“Your clients?” I take a wild guess.
I look back at her tapping feet and recognize the foot. Amy fucking Walker’s foot.