Page 18

Chapter 18

Hannah

As I lift my eyeliner to my face to apply it, I stare at my reflection in the vanity mirror with a strange sense of disconnect.

I’m doing my makeup the old way, the way I know Aaron used to like it. But it’s not Aaron who’s on my mind at all. With a sigh, I lower the pen and stare at my reflection, almost like it’s going to start talking to me and tell me what to do or something.

How did I end up here again?

I don’t want to go to dinner with Aaron tonight—I refuse to call it a date—but I already told him I would, and I really don’t want to deal with the fallout with my mom if she finds out I canceled on him. Not that it’s ultimately up to her who I do or don’t date, but she clearly has a bias toward Aaron, and I don’t want to do anything that might upset her. Not ever, but especially not this close to the anniversary of Casey’s passing.

She was miserable when I met her and my father at their place for dinner a few nights ago, and I don’t blame her for feeling that way.

That day is always tough for all three of us, but there’s something about the ten-year mark that makes it feel impossibly heavier. I tried to cheer her up, but nothing at all got through to her—until I mentioned Aaron and she started asking if I was going to see him again soon. That’s a big reason why I said yes. I knew it would make her happy, even if for a little while, and I just wanted to give my mother a reason to smile.

I’d do almost anything to ease her pain, even if it means one awkward evening for me.

It worked, but it came with a cost, because now I’m stuck in this impossible situation. And I know Declan overheard my conversation with Aaron setting up this dinner while I was on the phone in the locker room at the studio the other day, although he didn’t try to talk me out of it. He just asked me what I wanted… and I think he knows the answer. It was burning on the tip of my tongue, but I still couldn’t bring myself to say it.

I glance at my phone to check the time, blowing out a breath when I realize it’s way too late to back out of this now. For better or worse, I’m going to dinner with Aaron, so I might as well get this show on the road.

I do the rest of my makeup quickly, pat Ralph on the head on my way out the door and climb into my car with a knot in my stomach.

The knot only tightens on the drive to Altitude, the high-end restaurant downtown that Aaron picked out for us. It opened about a year ago with a ton of reviewer awards and buzz, and it’s been booked solid ever since. Part of me is shocked Aaron managed to get a reservation at all, especially since he apparently didn’t realize we might need one and waited until the last minute.

When we were together, it was always up to me to handle things like that. He swore it was because I was better at logistics, but I think it’s more that he just couldn’t be bothered.

Some things never change, but I guess there’s something comforting in that predictability.

Regardless, I would’ve been far happier going somewhere lower key, even if it meant going back to Sideline. People find it hard to believe because of who my dad is, but I’ve never been into all the glitz and glamour. I haven’t been to Altitude yet, but I’ve seen enough online to know that it’s not my style.

But Aaron has never been the type to do things quietly. He probably thinks this is the one big shot at winning me back he’s been trying so hard to get, so he’s pulling out all the stops, but even as I park and walk to the entrance in my best little black dress, I feel like I’m playing a part in someone else’s story.

The host, who’s dressed in a full suit, meets me at the door and opens it for me. The clink of dishes and the quiet hum of conversation meets my ears from the dining room.

“Do you have a reservation with us tonight?” the host asks.

“Yes. It’s under Aaron Barnett, for a party of two. I think he’s already here.”

“Ah, yes, I seated Mr. Barnett a few minutes ago. Right this way.”

The host leads me through the crowded dining room to a table near to the center where Aaron is seated and facing us. As soon as he spots me, he beams and pushes back from the table to stand. He buttons his navy-blue suit jacket and steps around the table to pull my chair out for me.

I settle into it with a small smile and let him push my chair back to the table. Still standing over me, he rests his hands on my shoulders as I’m putting my purse on the table, and I tense slightly.

It’s a gesture that would feel sweet with someone I was interested in, but now just feels awkward.

“I’m happy you’re here,” Aaron says. For a second, I think he’s going to kiss the top of my head, but he lets me go and takes his seat across from me. There are already menus on the table, so I pick mine up and start thumbing through it since I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell him I’m not as thrilled as he is to be here, but I don’t want to lie, either.

“You look nice,” I finally say, because at least it’s the truth.

He might not be the greatest boyfriend I’ve ever had, but he’s always had a sharp sense of fashion, and tonight’s no exception. Beneath the navy suit jacket, he’s wearing a powder-blue silk button-up and a cream-colored and orange tie. His brown hair is perfectly sculpted in one continuous wave back from his forehead, and his blue eyes glint as he watches me contentedly.

“Thanks, I’m glad you like it.”

He clasps his hands together on the table, and his designer watch flashes in the soft overhead light, reminding me of how different our priorities have always been. On the surface, it all makes sense—a handsome, well-off man pursuing a law student with a promising future—but underneath, it’s all wrong. We look like we match, but we never quite fit .

“So how have you been?” he asks.

I lay my menu down on the table and reach for a sweating glass of water that was already here waiting for me. I take a slow sip, hoping it’ll calm my nerves, then gently set it back on the table. “Okay. I’ve just been busy with school and the studio?—”

“Yeah, I noticed,” he interrupts. “I was actually kind of surprised when you answered my call the other night. I figured you’d be at the studio.”

“Well, I was,” I confirm, although I know better than to tell him who was there with me that night. “You just happened to catch me at the right time.”

Aaron smirks and leans closer to me over the table. “I’m hoping my luck continues tonight.”

I manage a polite smile, uncertain how to respond without encouraging him. My ex didn’t really have a prayer of getting back together with me even before Declan came into the picture, but now that the one-night-stand who rocked my entire world is living in Denver, Aaron truly doesn’t stand a chance. I know I’m going to have to tell him that eventually, and that I’m going to have to risk my parents’ disapproval when I do, but I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

It’s not fair to string him along, but tonight isn’t the right time for that conversation. I owe him more than a public rejection.

“I’ve heard the salmon here is to die for,” Aaron says, pointing at an item on my menu as he picks up his.

The knot in my stomach was already making it hard to think about food, and somehow I don’t think introducing fish into the mix is going to lead to good results, so I scrunch my nose. “I think I want something a little more neutral.”

“The rosemary chicken is also highly recommended.”

“Good to know.”

Several moments of silence pass between us, punctuated by laughter and noise from the tables around us as we examine the menus. But with every second that stretches on, I feel more and more anxious for this night to be over. I don’t know what else Aaron has planned for the evening, but if I know him half as well as I think, I’m sure he’s got some sort of surprise in store for me that he thinks will woo me right back into his arms.

“So how’s school going?” he asks, clearly trying to keep the conversation flowing.

“Not too bad. I had a big test not too long ago that I think I passed. I still haven’t gotten my grade for it yet, so I’m not sure.”

“That sounds like the situation I’m dealing with at the firm with this partnership they keep dangling over my head. They still haven’t offered me a partner slot yet, can you believe that?” he asks, scoffing incredulously.

I open my mouth and then close it again, because it feels like he wasn’t even listening to me. He was just waiting for me to finish so he could talk. Some things about Aaron haven’t changed—he’s still so focused on his own path that he can’t see anyone else’s.

He rests back in his chair with the menu folded out in front of him. “I think I’m going to really, seriously start looking for a new job. I’m sick of this back-and-forth, will-they-won’t-they shit.”

The waitress arrives to introduce herself and take our drink orders, and I’m grateful for the interruption.

“We’ll have a bottle of red for the table, the best you’ve got,” Aaron tells her without asking me, and although the waitress looks to me to give me a chance to order something else, I just nod. It’s easier to go with the flow tonight.

“I know how much you love a good red,” Aaron says with a self-satisfied smile after she leaves.

I never had the heart to tell him I prefer white. I mostly drank red when we were together because he liked it, so I don’t know where the hell he got that from, but I decide to ignore it.

“You know, with as much work as you do at that yoga studio, they might as well transfer ownership to you,” he muses as we wait for the wine to arrive. “I still don’t understand why you bother so much with that when you’ve got a law degree in your sights.”

“Gotta pay the bills somehow,” I mutter.

What I wish I could explain to him is how yoga centers me in a way law never has—how helping others find that same center feels more rewarding than any courtroom victory could. But Aaron could never really relate to a passion that isn’t tied to status or money.

I could argue with him about it, but I don’t have the energy, and I’m not particularly interested in spending what energy I have on changing his mind—assuming he would even listen. Besides, it’s easy for him to say. He’s making money hand-over-fist and has been since the second he left law school.

Aaron reaches across the table to put one of his hands on mine. He strokes my knuckles with his thumb. “You wouldn’t have to worry about that ever again with me.”

I resist the urge to pull away, making a quiet, non-committal noise. I know he means it as a good thing, but it still makes my stomach twist.

Is that really all he thinks I need or want in life?

I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, I don’t need his help. And I’m not sure I could depend on it to be there when I needed it if I tried. There’s a reason—several of them, actually—why I broke up with Aaron eight months ago.

“When these crusty old-timers get their heads out of their asses and finally make me partner, I’m going to take you on a trip,” he adds. “I’m thinking somewhere hot and tropical, all expenses paid. Anywhere you want to go.”

My phone buzzes in my purse and the waitress returns with the bottle of wine, and I discreetly check the message while she’s opening the bottle and pouring a bit for Aaron to sample before she fills both our glasses.

DECLAN: How’s your date going?

My heart skips at the sight of his name. My fingers quickly tap out a reply while Aaron pontificates about the wine to the waitress.

ME: I told you, it’s not a date. It’s just dinner.

DECLAN: You didn’t answer my question.

ME: It’s going… okay.

DECLAN: Come on, you can be honest with me.

I stare at the screen for a few seconds, watching the cursor flash while I wrestle with whether that’s true. How honest can I be with Declan? It’s not that I don’t trust him, but once I put something out there with him, I can’t take it back. And I’m not na?ve enough to think he won’t read between the lines of anything I say.

“Everything alright?” Aaron asks, glancing across the table at me.

“Yeah, sorry. My mom needed something, I’m almost done,” I cover, and his face lights up.

“Oh, tell her I said hi and thanks for helping make this happen.”

“Yeah, sure,” I murmur, although I have no intention of doing that.

ME: I shouldn’t have said yes.

DECLAN: I’m glad you said that.

My brows furrow because I don’t have any idea what he means by that, but I don’t have time to ask him. I stuff my phone back in my purse and look up just as the waitress finishes filling my glass.

“To us,” Aaron says and lifts his glass, watching me expectantly, so I reluctantly pick mine up and clink it against his.

Thankfully, the waitress appears again a few moments later, interrupting our awkward conversation. But she’s wearing an apologetic expression when she stops at the table.

“I’m sorry, but I just got word that the restaurant is going to be closing early tonight, so there won’t be enough time for you to put in a dinner order,” she says, clasping her hands together.

Aaron frowns. “What? Why the hell is it closing so early? And why didn’t anyone bother to tell me that when I made the reservation?”

I cringe at his tone, embarrassed for both of us. Even back when we were dating, his quick temper with service staff always made me uncomfortable.

The waitress grimaces at him. “We weren’t planning on this, but something has come up that makes it necessary.”

Aaron stares at her with his jaw hanging slack like a fish out of water, but I raise a hand to tell him to back down and smile at the waitress. “We understand. We’ll finish up our drinks and get out of your way so you can close.”

“Thank you for understanding. I’ll bring your check and a cork for the bottle in just a second so you can take it home,” the waitress says and steps away looking relieved, to go tell her next table the same news.

I feel sorry for her having to deliver the bad news to all these well-to-do people who I know aren’t going to take it well, but I’m just as puzzled as Aaron is about what’s going on. Did a piece of equipment in the restaurant break down or something?

I can’t think of anything else that would make the management decide to close the whole restaurant abruptly like this—it’s going to cost them thousands of dollars in lost business—so it must have been something along those lines.

Although I’d never say it out loud, I’m secretly relieved that we won’t have to endure a full dinner together.

Aaron sits chugging his wine and stewing while we wait for the waitress to bring the check, but I don’t touch my glass. I wasn’t planning on drinking much of it anyway, so I feel a little guilty that he’s going to be on the hook for paying for an expensive bottle we aren’t even going to finish, but I didn’t ask him to do this.

“Aren’t you going to drink yours?” he asks as he finishes his.

“No. Do you want it?” I push it across the table to him, and although he scoffs, he lifts the glass and starts sipping from it anyway.

“I can’t put it back in the bottle, so I might as well.”

The waitress comes back with the check and cork and thanks us both profusely again before Aaron forces his credit card on her. She runs it quickly and brings it back with the receipt to sign. To his credit, he actually tips her generously and tucks the bottle under his arm to push away from the table.

I follow him and head to the door where all the other disgruntled patrons are shuffling outside, but there’s still no indication of anything being wrong.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Aaron asks hopefully when we’re outside.

My stomach tightens with guilt. Part of me feels bad because the night got cut so short, and that I should take him up on the offer. But another, much louder part of me is grateful that I have an excuse to duck out on a dinner I never should’ve agreed to in the first place.

“I appreciate the offer, but I should probably call it a night. I’ve got studying I should probably do,” I tell him, and although his expression falls with disappointment, he nods.

“Alright, I get it. I don’t want to stand in the way of you and that degree. We can’t be a power couple without it,” he says, smirking, and opens his arms for a hug. I give him a quick one and then step back quickly, not wanting to give him the wrong idea.

“Good night. Drive home safe,” I tell him when we part.

“‘Night,” he says with a casual wave, then turns on his heel with the bottle of wine under one arm to walk down the sidewalk. He must have parked on the street a block or two away instead of finding a spot out front like I did.

I move to head toward my car, but as I glance up, my breath catches in my throat, and I freeze.

Declan is leaning against the side of a building across the street, his silhouette cutting a perfect figure against the night as a smile plays at the corners of his lips.