Maybe Later, Maybe Never
Title: Maybe Later, Maybe Never
Genre: Romance, Drama
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Old faces and old feelings combine to make for one awkward meeting. A coffee date with what couldn't even be considered an old flame may just be the life-altering moment she needs.
We met for coffee and conversation in the mid-morning. I arrived first, ordering a magnifico vanilla latte. The caffeine would be a necessity in this meeting. I knew it before he'd even asked me. James was a difficult sort of man to deal with on occasion, and a gut feeling told me that this would be one such occasion. Taking a seat in an out-of-the-way armchair, I waited.
I saw him before he saw me. He wasn't easy to miss, with his shiny black hiar, alabaster complexion, and soulful blue eyes. James wasn't tall, I would have to guess around 5'7" or 5'8", but he had a commanding aura around him that made up for his slight build. Everything about him spoke of things bigger than himself.
He ordered a grande espresso without any of the usual frostings and sauces that came with it. My own highly sugared drink felt frilly in comparison. I tried to set it on the table at an uncomfortable angle to the armchair, trying to make it seem like the whipped-cream-and-chocolate-laden mug wasn't mine. A part of my brain, the part that had warned me against flirting with James and the part that usually advised me against impulse shopping, realized that not being who I was would send a bad message to the man I wanted to impress so badly. I didn't even really want him to be impressed with my flirtations or my attractiveness. I wanted him to be impressed by my mind, by my way of thinking. By my ability to keep up with him in a debate. But the frilly drink and impulse shopping were also a part of who I am, and if I wanted to present an honest front to him than I would need to show him the lace as well as the tweed. With a sigh, I grabbed the latte again and took a deep sip of the steaming fluid. I refused to be embarrassed of myself.
James got his drink, and I could see him glancing around the shop for me. I waved him over, and he and his aura sauntered to the chair across from me. "Have I kept you long?" he asked. He had an odd voice. It was soothing and grating simultaneously, rumbling in octaves lower than the average human voice was capable of producing. But then, nothing about James was average.
"No, I got here a bit early, to get a table," I replied, almost certain that I had whipped cream smeared across my upper lip. I wiped at it self-consciously with a paper napkin, barely surprised when the napkin came away clean. "Was there traffic?" I asked, making a bold move towards conversation.
He shook his head. "Not much. I was here faster than I thought I'd be. I had a bit of a late start today." James chuckled, a pleasant surprise. He wasn't the chuckling type. "I'm sure you can imagine why."
I felt a little sheepish. His late start was due to a late end. We'd talked for hours the night before. But I chuckled with him, reveling in this small miracle. Something had him in an incredibly good mood, and I was almost vain enough to think it was me. "Sorry," I muttered apologetically, "but that's why we're in a coffeehouse, isn't it? We're not morning people."
He smiled a little. "No, we're not." His blue eyes flashed with a hint of mirth, and I knew what he was remembering. But that had been ages ago, when we were young and foolish. Back then, I was still with Derek.
"We're not here to reconcile the past, Jamie," I told him, cringing at the sound of an ancient nickname. No one had called him that in years, as far as I knew. When we'd caught up the week before, he'd addressed himself as James. I recalled the surprise I'd felt when he said that. He'd once had a strong aversion to the name. A lot of things, I realized, were in the past.
A pause that was probably longer than it should have been ensued. I didn't know what he was thinking, but by the faraway look in his eyes I assumed he was reminiscing our unusual history, as I was. "No, we're not, are we?" he finally said thoughtfully. He took a sip of the expresso, slow and lingering. I wished I'd had the good sense to drink my scalding latte as carefully. "We're here to create a beginning."
A beginning. Well. That was new. James wasn't someone who liked to start fresh. He carried grudges and pain. He cherished stolen moments to the point of idolization. He was firm in his judgments, even when proven wrong. But he wanted to make a beginning, with me of all people. I represented pain and longing to him. I represented all the things you'd rather forget. I represented the mistakes he'd made. "Where would you like to start?" I asked cautiously, afraid to let my heart soar too high. I wasn't yet sure of what this beginning would mean.
He looked at me appraisingly, taking in every aspect with his artist's eye. "I think we should start with you taking his ring off."
I twisted the gold band and the thinner diamond ring nervously around my finger. "It's not final yet," I mumbled, though whether I was talking about our divorce or our relationship, I wasn't sure.
"Then what are you doing here?" His voice became more soothing than grating. "We've had this problem before. You have to choose. Aren't you the one who left him?"
Grudgingly, I admitted, "Yes." I tried to hide behind my latte, taking a much larger and longer drink than was necessary. "It's complicated, James. I don't expect you to understand." Excuses again. I always made excuses for myself. How could he possibly understand what I'd never tried to explain?
James held my gaze evenly and openly. He set aside his mug. The click of the ceramic against the granite had a ring of finality to it. "Try me," he prompted. "I'm a lot more understanding than you seem to think."
I set aside my own cup, though the move was more of resignation than determination. "I have no idea what you want me to say," I admitted, recognizing another of my more-frequently used excuses.
"And why would that be consequential? I want to know the truth, not the sugared version that makes you look beautiful." He leaned forward slightly, creating a more intimate and confidential atmosphere. "Start with the divorce. What happened?"
There were a lot of things I could have started with. While this was one of them, it was definitely not the one I wanted to start with. It wasn't one of the things I wanted to discuss at all. Falling into one of my many nervous habits, I banged my heel agains the worn leather of the chair, trying to decide the best way to approach the subject. "It just kind of happened," I said, more to myself than to him. "We just lost touch with each other. It got to the point of eating and sleeping separately, in our own home. We didn't talk, we didn't touch, there was absolutely no intimacy." I felt sadness welling in me as I recalled the last time Derek and I had actually had a real conversation. It had been over a year ago, and it was yet another argument about whether or not to have children. "I kind of felt like being together anymore was a lie. So I left." Derek had begged me not to. Anything you want, he had pleaded, and I had almost allowed myself to hope for a reconcilliation. But he finished his petition on a note that rang sour. Please, I'll buy you anything you want. What I wanted couldn't be bought.
James relaxed, leaning back against his seat and putting space between us. "And that's it?" he asked, picking up his mug and turning it in his hands. "You just left, after five years of marriage and seven years together?"
I looked away from him, at a stack of brightly-colored "Glamor" magazines a few feet from the table. The women pictured on the covers looked as fake as I felt. "Yes. That's it."
"Anti-climactic," he grumbled with a sigh. "And how long have you been separated now?"
Ire rose in my chest at his opinion of my failed marriage. A younger Jamie had always had the ability to make me angry and defensive, no matter the circumstances. An older James seemed to retain that quality. "Three months," I replied coldly. Silence reigned for several beats, until I was unable to stop myself from asking, "How was my marriage anti-climactic?"
James produced the ghost of a smile at my barely-controlled anger. He seemed to be enjoying it. I realized tht was how it had always been. "Well, that's how it's always been, isn't it? My brother isn't exactly known for his biting wit."
I was shocked into silence. There was nothing that came out of James' mouth that didn't surprise me. As far as I knew, he had denounced his father, and therefore didn't acknowledge his relationship to Derek. I knew for a fact that he'd never contacted either Derek or myself since we'd been married. I tried to remember if he'd been at the wedding or not. "So, you're admitting that you're related now?" I asked finally, sipping at the latte and wincing to find it growing cold. But I was nearly finished with it, and debating the worth of a second.
He nodded, draining the last of his espresso. "I can't exactly hide it. We have the same nose." This was true. They both had their father's proud, straight nose, though Derek's was slightly crooked from a hockey accident in his youth. Derek's nose was his only physical imperfection. It made him real, and tangible. It was quite possibly the strongest quality I'd been drawn to. James' nose, on the other hand, was really one of the only defining features of his face. His eyes, while a remarkable shade of blue, didn't usually stay affixed on one object long enough to command a presence. His jawline was hard-angled, but his chin wasn't strong. His teeth were probably the only other remarkable thing about him. Ten of them were fake, replaced long ago from a bad fight of which I barely knew the specifics. As a consequence, he had a dazzling smile; when he smiled.
"Refill?" I asked, gesturing to our empty mugs sitting side by side. He nodded and pulled out his wallet. "James, I'll pay," I told him, grabbing my purse from the ground next to the chair. I certainly had enough money to waste on caffeine. And I knew he probably didn't.
"Don't worry about it," he said firmly, straightening himself to a standing position. "I'll be right back."
I waited, and wondered. Why had he resurrected himself, made a physical manifestation of the ghosts in our pasts? We had come together once, long ago, and had spent the next seven years adamantly pretending (or, at least, I had) that the other didn't exist. I wondered at his motives. Love? Lust? Companionship? I wondered how he'd found out about the divorce in the first place. Did he still speak with Derek's mother? They had been close in the past, but since he denounced his father I didn't know if he'd severed ties or not. He'd obviously heard it from somewhere. Was he talking to Derek again? I wondered if "again" was the right way to think about it. They'd barely spoken to begin with. That had been, if I remembered correctly, the whole reason why I had gone up to Jamie's room seven years ago; to talk to him about Derek. Which we had done, but not really the way that I had originally intended. I had promised things I couldn't keep, promised and given him things I had no right to give. Was he here to collect on the pieces of myself that I had promised him, now that I was finally free of Derek? Would he remind me of them, or had he forgotten completely? I was afraid of both scenarios.
James returned, bearing two steaming mugs. Mine was piled high with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Against the unusual and stressful patterns of my thought, I smiled. "Did I get enough whipped cream?" he asked, the rare sparkle in his eyes telling me that he found me amusing.
Not trusting my troubled brain to answer, I nodded. Why are you here? Why are we here? I couldn't shake the question from my head. "James, how did you hear about the divorce?" I needed to know. I really did.
He seemed surprised at the backslide in conversation, but he answered the question. "Mom. She told me last month." James took his seat again with a slight groan. "These chairs are too low," he noted, and I could tell he wanted to change the subject.
I was willing to oblige. "Do you remember a long time ago, when we . . . " Here I was, a grown woman, nearly 25-years-old, and I couldn't talk about sex. I felt pathetic and small. Clearing my throat, I tried to continue. "Do you remember what I said?"
This topic enhanced the glimmer in his eye, though whether it was the memory or my tactless approach at it that amused him, I was unsure. "I remember that night very well," he told me, a small grin playing at his lips. "And I remember nearly every word you said."
I was blushing. I knew it. There was no way I wasn't. For the second time, I tried to hide behind my latte. And for the second time, I didn't have much success. "Every word?" The question bypassed my brain and went straight to my lips, escaping before I could pull it back.
"Nearly," he conceeded, gently breathing on his espresso to cool it. "I remember that you told me you loved me, that you wanted to leave Derek and that you wanted me to wait for you. You babbled a lot, actually." His grin became positively wolfish, displaying his gorgeous corrected teeth. "And, of course, there were more than a few 'Oh, Jamie's involved. I seem to remember that best, frankly."
I sputtered into my latte. "God, James!" I exclaimed. "You can't just say things like that!" My embarrassment was juvenile, I knew it, but I couldn't suppress it. How could he say something like that so matter-of-fact? How could he be so casual?
I knew how. He was James. He was calm and collected, and his insecurities were buried fairly deep. And he was comfortable with me, especially now, though I didn't understand his reasoning at all. I wouldn't have been comfortable with me. "I don't see why not," he replied, raising an eyebrow at my indignant reaction. "We're adults. We should be able to talk about things like this, particularly when it concerns the two of us. It isn't like I asked you about your sex life with Derek." He made a sour sort of face, furrowing his brow. "And I don't plan to ask you about it, just so you know."
Tapping my fingers agains the side of my mug, I tried to find a way to bring things back to a level that wasn't so personal. I spent several minutes in a vain attempt to find the one subject that would take us backwards before I realized that I didn't want to go backwards. I wanted to go forward. I wanted to understand him. I wanted to know how it might have been if I had followed through with my promise to leave Derek. I wanted to know if it was too late. "Did you wait, James?" I asked, barely producing enough sound to hear myself. But James heard me. James always heard me.
"Did I wait for you?" He seemed to be pondering the question, looking away from me. "Yes, I suppose I did. But it wasn't a conscious decision. I threw myself into my work. I dated a couple of girls, but not seriously." James briefly locked his eyes on mine. The intensity of his stare, even for such a short time, made my breath catch in my throat. There was something commanding and almost judgmental in his gaze. It made me want to live up to his idea of me. "For a long time, I didn't think I was doing it for you."
"And now?" I didn't sound like myself. An unfamiliar note of pleading and desperation colored my tone. "Are you waiting for me now?"
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. "I'm not sure if I want to be, but I am." He paused before he continued. I imagined that he was gathering his thoughts. "I don't really understand how it could be possible, do you know what I mean?"
I didn't, and I told him so. He sighed. "You really don't see it? You were married to my brother, for years. Even if it did work out, imagine how that would look. My father would be the one disowning me." James chuckled, but it was a despondent and resolved sort of sound. "And then, there's the matter of your broken promise."
"How did I break my promise?" Once again, I found myself incapable of control. Words that I never would have otherwise allowed to pour from my mouth ran freely, and I wondered if this was the product of too little sleep, too much caffeine, or too much pain in my heart. "I never meant to break it. I didn't mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you, James. If I broke your heart by breaking my promise, I've broken my own a lot worse."
He chuckled, and it startled me out of my rambling. "Please. That's not necessary. You didn't break my heart. I'm honestly not certain if I cared about you enough at the time for that to happen. Or maybe I loved you too much. I couldn't say at this point; I don't remember my feelings as clearly as I'd sometimes like to." James held constant eye contact with me, and I realized how rare that was, and how beautiful his eyes truly were. How had I not counted them among his most arresting, striking features? I was captivated by his gaze, enraptured by the light in his blue eyes. They had once seemed cold to me, empty, devoid of feeling. Maybe they had been. Now, though, they had a shine that I could not ignore, that I could not hide from.
He took a deep pull from his mug, but his face was more relaxed than it had been all morning. James never took his eyes away from mine. "What will you promise me this time?" I wondered if he was being sarcastic. "Undying love? That you'll be with me forever? That Derek is a thing of the past?"
I thought about it, willfully breaking his steady, penetrating gaze and holding my mug as though the world depended on it. I didn't know what to give him, what to offer him. I didn't know what I wanted from him. I knew what was true, though, and I clung to it with the same death grip I was using on my latte. "My feelings for you may or may not be undying. Who can know that? And whether we're together forever or not isn't in my power to say, or yours, for that matter. But Derek - Derek is so far in the past that I barely remember his face." I looked up, finally feeling the strength to look at his eyes again. They were open and clear. "What can I promise you is right now, this moment. And we can take it from there."
In an unprecedented move, James took my left hand and pulled the gold bands from my finger. He set them on the table and gently squeezed my hand. "Okay," he said, his eyes sparkling and his espresso steaming on the tabletop.
Genre: Romance, Drama
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Old faces and old feelings combine to make for one awkward meeting. A coffee date with what couldn't even be considered an old flame may just be the life-altering moment she needs.
We met for coffee and conversation in the mid-morning. I arrived first, ordering a magnifico vanilla latte. The caffeine would be a necessity in this meeting. I knew it before he'd even asked me. James was a difficult sort of man to deal with on occasion, and a gut feeling told me that this would be one such occasion. Taking a seat in an out-of-the-way armchair, I waited.
I saw him before he saw me. He wasn't easy to miss, with his shiny black hiar, alabaster complexion, and soulful blue eyes. James wasn't tall, I would have to guess around 5'7" or 5'8", but he had a commanding aura around him that made up for his slight build. Everything about him spoke of things bigger than himself.
He ordered a grande espresso without any of the usual frostings and sauces that came with it. My own highly sugared drink felt frilly in comparison. I tried to set it on the table at an uncomfortable angle to the armchair, trying to make it seem like the whipped-cream-and-chocolate-laden mug wasn't mine. A part of my brain, the part that had warned me against flirting with James and the part that usually advised me against impulse shopping, realized that not being who I was would send a bad message to the man I wanted to impress so badly. I didn't even really want him to be impressed with my flirtations or my attractiveness. I wanted him to be impressed by my mind, by my way of thinking. By my ability to keep up with him in a debate. But the frilly drink and impulse shopping were also a part of who I am, and if I wanted to present an honest front to him than I would need to show him the lace as well as the tweed. With a sigh, I grabbed the latte again and took a deep sip of the steaming fluid. I refused to be embarrassed of myself.
James got his drink, and I could see him glancing around the shop for me. I waved him over, and he and his aura sauntered to the chair across from me. "Have I kept you long?" he asked. He had an odd voice. It was soothing and grating simultaneously, rumbling in octaves lower than the average human voice was capable of producing. But then, nothing about James was average.
"No, I got here a bit early, to get a table," I replied, almost certain that I had whipped cream smeared across my upper lip. I wiped at it self-consciously with a paper napkin, barely surprised when the napkin came away clean. "Was there traffic?" I asked, making a bold move towards conversation.
He shook his head. "Not much. I was here faster than I thought I'd be. I had a bit of a late start today." James chuckled, a pleasant surprise. He wasn't the chuckling type. "I'm sure you can imagine why."
I felt a little sheepish. His late start was due to a late end. We'd talked for hours the night before. But I chuckled with him, reveling in this small miracle. Something had him in an incredibly good mood, and I was almost vain enough to think it was me. "Sorry," I muttered apologetically, "but that's why we're in a coffeehouse, isn't it? We're not morning people."
He smiled a little. "No, we're not." His blue eyes flashed with a hint of mirth, and I knew what he was remembering. But that had been ages ago, when we were young and foolish. Back then, I was still with Derek.
"We're not here to reconcile the past, Jamie," I told him, cringing at the sound of an ancient nickname. No one had called him that in years, as far as I knew. When we'd caught up the week before, he'd addressed himself as James. I recalled the surprise I'd felt when he said that. He'd once had a strong aversion to the name. A lot of things, I realized, were in the past.
A pause that was probably longer than it should have been ensued. I didn't know what he was thinking, but by the faraway look in his eyes I assumed he was reminiscing our unusual history, as I was. "No, we're not, are we?" he finally said thoughtfully. He took a sip of the expresso, slow and lingering. I wished I'd had the good sense to drink my scalding latte as carefully. "We're here to create a beginning."
A beginning. Well. That was new. James wasn't someone who liked to start fresh. He carried grudges and pain. He cherished stolen moments to the point of idolization. He was firm in his judgments, even when proven wrong. But he wanted to make a beginning, with me of all people. I represented pain and longing to him. I represented all the things you'd rather forget. I represented the mistakes he'd made. "Where would you like to start?" I asked cautiously, afraid to let my heart soar too high. I wasn't yet sure of what this beginning would mean.
He looked at me appraisingly, taking in every aspect with his artist's eye. "I think we should start with you taking his ring off."
I twisted the gold band and the thinner diamond ring nervously around my finger. "It's not final yet," I mumbled, though whether I was talking about our divorce or our relationship, I wasn't sure.
"Then what are you doing here?" His voice became more soothing than grating. "We've had this problem before. You have to choose. Aren't you the one who left him?"
Grudgingly, I admitted, "Yes." I tried to hide behind my latte, taking a much larger and longer drink than was necessary. "It's complicated, James. I don't expect you to understand." Excuses again. I always made excuses for myself. How could he possibly understand what I'd never tried to explain?
James held my gaze evenly and openly. He set aside his mug. The click of the ceramic against the granite had a ring of finality to it. "Try me," he prompted. "I'm a lot more understanding than you seem to think."
I set aside my own cup, though the move was more of resignation than determination. "I have no idea what you want me to say," I admitted, recognizing another of my more-frequently used excuses.
"And why would that be consequential? I want to know the truth, not the sugared version that makes you look beautiful." He leaned forward slightly, creating a more intimate and confidential atmosphere. "Start with the divorce. What happened?"
There were a lot of things I could have started with. While this was one of them, it was definitely not the one I wanted to start with. It wasn't one of the things I wanted to discuss at all. Falling into one of my many nervous habits, I banged my heel agains the worn leather of the chair, trying to decide the best way to approach the subject. "It just kind of happened," I said, more to myself than to him. "We just lost touch with each other. It got to the point of eating and sleeping separately, in our own home. We didn't talk, we didn't touch, there was absolutely no intimacy." I felt sadness welling in me as I recalled the last time Derek and I had actually had a real conversation. It had been over a year ago, and it was yet another argument about whether or not to have children. "I kind of felt like being together anymore was a lie. So I left." Derek had begged me not to. Anything you want, he had pleaded, and I had almost allowed myself to hope for a reconcilliation. But he finished his petition on a note that rang sour. Please, I'll buy you anything you want. What I wanted couldn't be bought.
James relaxed, leaning back against his seat and putting space between us. "And that's it?" he asked, picking up his mug and turning it in his hands. "You just left, after five years of marriage and seven years together?"
I looked away from him, at a stack of brightly-colored "Glamor" magazines a few feet from the table. The women pictured on the covers looked as fake as I felt. "Yes. That's it."
"Anti-climactic," he grumbled with a sigh. "And how long have you been separated now?"
Ire rose in my chest at his opinion of my failed marriage. A younger Jamie had always had the ability to make me angry and defensive, no matter the circumstances. An older James seemed to retain that quality. "Three months," I replied coldly. Silence reigned for several beats, until I was unable to stop myself from asking, "How was my marriage anti-climactic?"
James produced the ghost of a smile at my barely-controlled anger. He seemed to be enjoying it. I realized tht was how it had always been. "Well, that's how it's always been, isn't it? My brother isn't exactly known for his biting wit."
I was shocked into silence. There was nothing that came out of James' mouth that didn't surprise me. As far as I knew, he had denounced his father, and therefore didn't acknowledge his relationship to Derek. I knew for a fact that he'd never contacted either Derek or myself since we'd been married. I tried to remember if he'd been at the wedding or not. "So, you're admitting that you're related now?" I asked finally, sipping at the latte and wincing to find it growing cold. But I was nearly finished with it, and debating the worth of a second.
He nodded, draining the last of his espresso. "I can't exactly hide it. We have the same nose." This was true. They both had their father's proud, straight nose, though Derek's was slightly crooked from a hockey accident in his youth. Derek's nose was his only physical imperfection. It made him real, and tangible. It was quite possibly the strongest quality I'd been drawn to. James' nose, on the other hand, was really one of the only defining features of his face. His eyes, while a remarkable shade of blue, didn't usually stay affixed on one object long enough to command a presence. His jawline was hard-angled, but his chin wasn't strong. His teeth were probably the only other remarkable thing about him. Ten of them were fake, replaced long ago from a bad fight of which I barely knew the specifics. As a consequence, he had a dazzling smile; when he smiled.
"Refill?" I asked, gesturing to our empty mugs sitting side by side. He nodded and pulled out his wallet. "James, I'll pay," I told him, grabbing my purse from the ground next to the chair. I certainly had enough money to waste on caffeine. And I knew he probably didn't.
"Don't worry about it," he said firmly, straightening himself to a standing position. "I'll be right back."
I waited, and wondered. Why had he resurrected himself, made a physical manifestation of the ghosts in our pasts? We had come together once, long ago, and had spent the next seven years adamantly pretending (or, at least, I had) that the other didn't exist. I wondered at his motives. Love? Lust? Companionship? I wondered how he'd found out about the divorce in the first place. Did he still speak with Derek's mother? They had been close in the past, but since he denounced his father I didn't know if he'd severed ties or not. He'd obviously heard it from somewhere. Was he talking to Derek again? I wondered if "again" was the right way to think about it. They'd barely spoken to begin with. That had been, if I remembered correctly, the whole reason why I had gone up to Jamie's room seven years ago; to talk to him about Derek. Which we had done, but not really the way that I had originally intended. I had promised things I couldn't keep, promised and given him things I had no right to give. Was he here to collect on the pieces of myself that I had promised him, now that I was finally free of Derek? Would he remind me of them, or had he forgotten completely? I was afraid of both scenarios.
James returned, bearing two steaming mugs. Mine was piled high with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. Against the unusual and stressful patterns of my thought, I smiled. "Did I get enough whipped cream?" he asked, the rare sparkle in his eyes telling me that he found me amusing.
Not trusting my troubled brain to answer, I nodded. Why are you here? Why are we here? I couldn't shake the question from my head. "James, how did you hear about the divorce?" I needed to know. I really did.
He seemed surprised at the backslide in conversation, but he answered the question. "Mom. She told me last month." James took his seat again with a slight groan. "These chairs are too low," he noted, and I could tell he wanted to change the subject.
I was willing to oblige. "Do you remember a long time ago, when we . . . " Here I was, a grown woman, nearly 25-years-old, and I couldn't talk about sex. I felt pathetic and small. Clearing my throat, I tried to continue. "Do you remember what I said?"
This topic enhanced the glimmer in his eye, though whether it was the memory or my tactless approach at it that amused him, I was unsure. "I remember that night very well," he told me, a small grin playing at his lips. "And I remember nearly every word you said."
I was blushing. I knew it. There was no way I wasn't. For the second time, I tried to hide behind my latte. And for the second time, I didn't have much success. "Every word?" The question bypassed my brain and went straight to my lips, escaping before I could pull it back.
"Nearly," he conceeded, gently breathing on his espresso to cool it. "I remember that you told me you loved me, that you wanted to leave Derek and that you wanted me to wait for you. You babbled a lot, actually." His grin became positively wolfish, displaying his gorgeous corrected teeth. "And, of course, there were more than a few 'Oh, Jamie's involved. I seem to remember that best, frankly."
I sputtered into my latte. "God, James!" I exclaimed. "You can't just say things like that!" My embarrassment was juvenile, I knew it, but I couldn't suppress it. How could he say something like that so matter-of-fact? How could he be so casual?
I knew how. He was James. He was calm and collected, and his insecurities were buried fairly deep. And he was comfortable with me, especially now, though I didn't understand his reasoning at all. I wouldn't have been comfortable with me. "I don't see why not," he replied, raising an eyebrow at my indignant reaction. "We're adults. We should be able to talk about things like this, particularly when it concerns the two of us. It isn't like I asked you about your sex life with Derek." He made a sour sort of face, furrowing his brow. "And I don't plan to ask you about it, just so you know."
Tapping my fingers agains the side of my mug, I tried to find a way to bring things back to a level that wasn't so personal. I spent several minutes in a vain attempt to find the one subject that would take us backwards before I realized that I didn't want to go backwards. I wanted to go forward. I wanted to understand him. I wanted to know how it might have been if I had followed through with my promise to leave Derek. I wanted to know if it was too late. "Did you wait, James?" I asked, barely producing enough sound to hear myself. But James heard me. James always heard me.
"Did I wait for you?" He seemed to be pondering the question, looking away from me. "Yes, I suppose I did. But it wasn't a conscious decision. I threw myself into my work. I dated a couple of girls, but not seriously." James briefly locked his eyes on mine. The intensity of his stare, even for such a short time, made my breath catch in my throat. There was something commanding and almost judgmental in his gaze. It made me want to live up to his idea of me. "For a long time, I didn't think I was doing it for you."
"And now?" I didn't sound like myself. An unfamiliar note of pleading and desperation colored my tone. "Are you waiting for me now?"
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. "I'm not sure if I want to be, but I am." He paused before he continued. I imagined that he was gathering his thoughts. "I don't really understand how it could be possible, do you know what I mean?"
I didn't, and I told him so. He sighed. "You really don't see it? You were married to my brother, for years. Even if it did work out, imagine how that would look. My father would be the one disowning me." James chuckled, but it was a despondent and resolved sort of sound. "And then, there's the matter of your broken promise."
"How did I break my promise?" Once again, I found myself incapable of control. Words that I never would have otherwise allowed to pour from my mouth ran freely, and I wondered if this was the product of too little sleep, too much caffeine, or too much pain in my heart. "I never meant to break it. I didn't mean to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you, James. If I broke your heart by breaking my promise, I've broken my own a lot worse."
He chuckled, and it startled me out of my rambling. "Please. That's not necessary. You didn't break my heart. I'm honestly not certain if I cared about you enough at the time for that to happen. Or maybe I loved you too much. I couldn't say at this point; I don't remember my feelings as clearly as I'd sometimes like to." James held constant eye contact with me, and I realized how rare that was, and how beautiful his eyes truly were. How had I not counted them among his most arresting, striking features? I was captivated by his gaze, enraptured by the light in his blue eyes. They had once seemed cold to me, empty, devoid of feeling. Maybe they had been. Now, though, they had a shine that I could not ignore, that I could not hide from.
He took a deep pull from his mug, but his face was more relaxed than it had been all morning. James never took his eyes away from mine. "What will you promise me this time?" I wondered if he was being sarcastic. "Undying love? That you'll be with me forever? That Derek is a thing of the past?"
I thought about it, willfully breaking his steady, penetrating gaze and holding my mug as though the world depended on it. I didn't know what to give him, what to offer him. I didn't know what I wanted from him. I knew what was true, though, and I clung to it with the same death grip I was using on my latte. "My feelings for you may or may not be undying. Who can know that? And whether we're together forever or not isn't in my power to say, or yours, for that matter. But Derek - Derek is so far in the past that I barely remember his face." I looked up, finally feeling the strength to look at his eyes again. They were open and clear. "What can I promise you is right now, this moment. And we can take it from there."
In an unprecedented move, James took my left hand and pulled the gold bands from my finger. He set them on the table and gently squeezed my hand. "Okay," he said, his eyes sparkling and his espresso steaming on the tabletop.