Chapter 2 Collided into Trouble

She was gone, but that much he already knew. He met me after she was already gone. I think that might have been why he didn't just dump me after I canceled plans on him the first time, because he kept trying to find that girl with watercolors under her fingernails that he saw once in a photo in my old apartment. The girl from before.

"Do you even love me?" he went on. "I can't remember you saying it once.

"We've only dated for three months. It's a little early, don't you think?"

"When you know, you know."

I pursed my lips. "Then I guess I don't know".

And that was it. I was at the end of this relationship. Before I said anything I'd regret, I hung up the phone, then texted him that it was over. I'd mail his toothbrush back to him. God knows I wasn't going to take a trip to Williamsburg if I didn't have to.

"Besides," I added, grabbing the too-expensive bottle of wine to top off my glass, "I don't really think I want to be in a relationship right now. I want to concentrate on my career-I don't have time to mess with guys I might end up dumping in a text message three months later. The sex wasn't even that good." I took a large gulp of wine to wash down that horrid truth.

Dave watched me in awe, shaking his head. "Look at that, not even a tear."

"I've never seen her cry over any guy," Nancy said to her husband.

I tried to argue that no, I actually had, but then closed my mouth again because... she was right. I seldom cried, anyway, and over some guy? Absolutely not. Nancy always said it was because all my relationships had boiled down to calling them some guy-a person not even worthy of a name in my memory.

"Because you've never been in love," she once said, and maybe that was true.

"When you know, you know," Fredy had said. I didn't even know what love was supposed to feel like.

Nancy waved her hand. "Well, whatever to him, then! He didn't deserve a financially stable girlfriend who is kicking ass at work and owns an apartment on the Upper East Side," she went on, and then that seemed to remind her of the other thing I really didn't want to talk about. "How is it? The apartment?"

The apartment. She and Dave had stopped calling it my aunt's apartment back in January, but I still couldn't kick the habit. I shrugged. I could tell them the truth-that every time I walked through the door, I expected to see my aunt there in her wingback chair the color of robin's eggs, but the chair was gone. So was it's owner.

"It's great," I decided.

Nancy and Dave both gave each other the same glance, as if they didn't believe me. Fair enough; I wasn't a very good liar.

"It's great," I repeated. "And why are we talking about me? Let's find this famous chef of yours and woo him to the dark side." I reached over to the table for the last date and ate it.

"Sure, sure, we just need to flag down our server..." Dave muttered, looking around to see if he could catch anyone's eye, but he was much too polite and too meek to do anything more than give them a meaningful look.

"Do I just raise my hand or-what do you do at expensive restaurants?" Dave asked. He'd been a lot more proactive lately about building his author list, but sometimes I wondered if these outings; the concert on Governors Island, the opera, the gallery exhibit with the body-painting artist, were really for me. To distract me. To pull me out of my grief.

It had been almost six months. I was fine now. Really. But it's hard to convince someone after they've seen you blackout drunk, sobbing on your bathroom floor at two in the morning, the night of your aunt's funeral.

They'd seen the rawest parts of me and they still stuck around. I wasn't the easiest person to love, and their loyalty meant more than I could ever admit. These "field trips" had been oddly refreshing. The least I could do was flag down a server.

"I got it," I sighed, raising my hand to catch the server's attention just as she turned from another table. I wasn't sure if that's how you were supposed to do it at a fancy restaurant, but she came right over. "Could we have the, uh-" I glanced at the dessert menu.

Nancy piped in, "The manicured apple whatever!"

"That," I said, "and also could we perhaps talk with the head chef?"

Dave quickly pulled a business card out of his wallet to hand to the server as I added, "Please tell him we're from Strauss and Adder Publishers, here about a business opportunity-a book, actually."

The server didn't seem surprised at all by the request, as she took the business card and tucked it into the front of her black apron. She said she'd see what she could do and quickly left to put in the dessert order. Dave clapped quietly to himself once the server had gone. "Here we go! Ooh, do you feel that thrill? It never gets old." His excitement was infectious, even though I felt very little about this chef. "Never," I said, and suddenly my phone began to vibrate in my purse. I took it out and glanced at the email notification. Why was one of my authors emailing me?

Nancy leaned over to her husband. "Ooh, how about we set Lola up with that new guy who moved into the apartment next to us?"

"He's cute," Dave agreed.

"No, thanks." I opened my email. "I'm not ready to jump into another relationship after Fredy."

"You said you were over him! And it's been over a month"

"There's still a mourning period-oh, shit," I added as I finished skimming the message, and popped up out of my chair. "I'm sorry, I have to run."

Nancy asked, worriedly, "Is something wrong? We haven't even gotten our dessert yet."

I took my wallet out of my knockoff Kate Spade bag and set down the company credit card since this was, technically, a work lunch. "One of my authors on tour just got stranded in Denver, and Juliette's not answering her emails. Put lunch on that and I'll see you at work?" I said apologetically as Dave took the card. He looked stricken. "Wait-what?" he darted his eyes to the kitchen, and back to me.

"You got this," I said as my author sent another panicked email. I hugged them both and stole one last fried goat cheese ball, chased it with the rest of the wine, and turned to leave-

"Watch out!" Dave cried. Nancy gasped.

Too late. I collided with a server behind me. The dessert he held went one way, and he went to the other. I shot my hand out to grab it as he went to grab me, and pulled me back upright. I stumbled and he steadied me, his grip strong on my arm.

"Nice save," he said warmly.

"Thanks, I-" And that was when I realized my other hand was on his very solid chest. "Oh!" I quickly handed him back the dessert and stepped away. "I am so sorry!" A blush rose too quickly on my cheeks. I couldn't look at the guy. I had definitely just put my hand on a stranger for longer than necessary.

"...In a rush I guess?" the man asked.

"Yes, sorry, sorry, that's our dessert, but I have to go," I replied in a hurry. My face felt as red as a cherry. I quickly dodged around him, mouthing to my friends, "Good luck," as I left the restaurant. Two calls to Southwest Airlines and four city blocks later, I had the author on the next flight to their final tour stop. I descended into the subway to make my way back to Midtown and to work-and tried to get the feeling of that man's strong grip, the solidness of his chest, the way he bent toward me... he did bend toward me, didn't he? Like he knew me? I wasn't

imagining things?-out of my head.