“Sorry?”
“Well, you’ve been here a long time. You would’ve thought you’d pick up an accent.”
“Not necessarily,” Marco replied. “Uncle Gio has been here years and refuses to give up his accent.”
That’s right. I refused to give up my accent. It had nothing to do with the fact that I’d spent the last eight years without any real companionship here in Edinburgh.
“Jocelyn,” Braden cut in, looking impatient, “may we talk? Alone?”
There was an awkward silence while his family exchanged concerned looks. As for me, my heart was ready to burst out of my chest like that awful scene in Alien.
But in true Ripley style, I tried to be brave.
Braden led me outside of the room. My palms were sweaty. “I wanted to check if you’re okay,” he said. “What, with Ellie misleading you.”
I was not okay.
But it wasn’t because of Ellie, although, Jesus Christ, she’d blindsided me.
No, I wasn’t okay because Braden was standing much too close. The smell of his cologne not only invoked memories of our passionate night together but reminded me of all the times over the last few months when I’d passed a man on the street or stood next to a guy in a coffee shop who was wearing Braden’s same cologne. It reminded me of how desolate I felt.
It reminded me how much I felt like a failure.
I’d let my fears win when it mattered the most for me to beat them.
And I’d lost out big.
My loss was standing in front of me, looking way too sexy and unavailable.
“I can leave,” I said.
Braden scowled. “No. Don’t.”
“I’m sorry about Ellie. I went back and forth about whether I should pursue a friendship with her, in case it was weird for you. She’s …”
“She’s Ellie.” He smiled, a mixture of affection and irritation. “It’s hard not to love her.”
“Right.” I looked over my shoulder, down the corridor, down at my feet, and shuffled a little. I looked anywhere but at him. Finally, the awkward silence became too much and I glanced up at him.
He stared directly into my eyes and I had to fight my body’s sudden response to fall into him.
“How have you been?”
“Fine,” I replied. “You?”
My reply caused another scowl but he nodded. “Fine, too.”
“How’s Abby?”
“She’s fine.”
I shuffled again, wishing I didn’t want to tear off his clothes and run away at the same time. “Ellie told me that Kiersten has been causing problems.”
“Yes.” His gaze sharpened. “But I’ll sort it out. I always do.”
“Right.”
After our pitiful attempt at conversation, there were no more words. Words were useless in this situation. Instead we found ourselves unable to look anywhere but at each other, and within seconds, our staring contest unlocked all the words hidden between us.
I miss you, his eyes said.
I miss you, too, said mine.
Silence.
And then … I’m trying to change, move through my issues. Does it count?
I wish things were different, his said. I wish we were both in the same place. You have no idea how much.
Feeling my heart break at his silent reply, I struggled to find real, actual words that would get me away from him. However, thankfully, I didn’t need to because suddenly Ellie was there, my unexpected rescuer.
“Joss, there you are!” She burst through the door, looking between me and her brother speculatively. “I’ve been looking for you. Come,” she grabbed my wrist, “I want you to meet someone.”
I let her haul me back inside without a backward glance at Braden. What was I expecting? That Braden would abruptly decide to give me another shot because I’d told one person (not even him!) about my family? That he would forget the fact that I’d screamed at him to get off me after he’d made love to me because I was wearing hot shoes?
Fuck.
“Joss, this is John. He was Declan’s tutor. Guitar. He’s also a musician. In a band. That books actual gigs.” Ellie grinned at me, full of mischief.
I couldn’t believe it.
She was trying to match me up with another man less than thirty minutes after trying to reunite me with Braden.
Realizing her craziness was not John’s fault, I held out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
John grinned at me. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“Oh, Mum is looking for me. I’ll be right back.” Ellie disappeared, leaving me standing by the dance floor with a guy who was at least five years younger than me.
“Why isn’t your band playing tonight?”
His boyish smile was endearing, I had to admit, and he was a blond. Shaggy hair, scruffy stubble, leather bracelets on his thick wrists, corded arms, and clothes that said, “I couldn’t give a fuck what I’m wearing.”
“We don’t play birthdays.”
“Too cool?” I teased.
“Nah, we …” He shrugged. “Oh, all right. Aye. But it’s not me,” he hurried to assure me. “Our lead singer is kind of a pretentious arsehole.”
“I see a long future for you together.”
He laughed. “Aye, maybe not. So what do you do, Joss?”
“I’m a writer.”
“A writer.” John stepped into my space, flirtatiousness glittering in his dark eyes. “A writer and a musician. I see a long future together in that.”
I guffawed at his cheesiness and he grinned, pleased with himself. “Seriously?” I wiped tears from my eyes.
“I made you laugh, didn’t I?”
I suppose he had.
And like that, I was distracted.
I needed to be distracted.
***
The truth was I talked with John because it meant I didn’t have to stand with Braden and his family. It also provided the bonus of putting my back to their table so I didn’t have to look at him, either.
On any other occasion John and I would not have made it past the two-minute mark. He was cute and nice enough, but he was young and very into himself and his music.
That was fair enough but there were only so many times I could hear him use the words, “Art is everything, you know.” He expanded upon this by listing the arts and their contributions to the world, like I was some pod person who didn’t know people found beauty in music, sculpture, and writing.
Maybe I was too mature. Or too cynical. Or maybe I didn’t need to be beat around the head by someone’s passion. Talking with John was like talking to a teenager. There’s nothing quite like a teenager with an all-encompassing passion for something.
Huh.
Maybe I shouldn’t mock John for his immature passion.
Maybe I should feel sad for the majority of us who lose that wonderfully obsessive, utterly dedicated energy to that special thing that makes us happy.
On that note, I decided to say yes when John asked me to dance.
The indie band was playing a slow song and I noted a few couples on the dance floor. Ellie waved at me from her husband’s arms and in noticing her, I made the mistake of noticing Braden who was behind her.
Dancing with a woman I didn’t recognize.
A tall, perfectly coifed redhead.
It was like being punched in the gut.
One hand was on her waist, the other holding her free hand, while her other was on his shoulder. They weren’t pressed together, just swaying gently to the music as they chatted. Yet seeing him touching another woman made me feel like I’d walked in on my husband screwing someone else.
I was ridiculous and melodramatic and blowing things way out of proportion.