Her eyes came back to mine, and I saw her remember herself. “Not yet. I told him to come at six-thirty.” She gave me a smart look. “I was banking on the fact you’d be late.”
“No fair.” I scowled at her teasing smile. “Okay, what do I have to do to be forgiven?”
Still smirking, Alberta tipped her chin over her shoulder. “How about a glass of chardonnay?” I followed the direction of her gesture and found a table topped with bottles of red, the bottles of white chilling in a sterling silver tub of ice.
“Be right back.”
Pouring us both a much needed glass of wine was an easy penance. At the table, I fished a bottle from the ice and studied the label, curious about Corinne Granger-Clarkson’s taste in vintage. I wasn’t really a wine drinker, but anything she chose had to be cool, right? The simple white label read Cakebread Cellars, and it bore just a sketch of a cluster of green grapes. Smiling at its clean elegance, I poured out two glasses.
I was lost in thoughts of a bottle-green grape design for a pendant or a pair of earrings as I moved through the crowd back to Alberta. Would beach glass work? Or would it be better to go with green garnet? Maybe I could swipe an empty bottle at the end of the night for inspir—
“Elise.” Alberta stepped in front of me with panic in her eyes. She gripped my wrist, and I only just managed to keep wine from sloshing on the both of us.
“Bertie, what the hell—” I said, dancing back so the rogue splash of chardonnay missed my open toes.
“I swear, I had no idea,” she said in a rush. “I would have warned you…”
Alberta kept speaking. At least, her mouth kept moving, but I couldn’t hear her. I couldn’t hear anything. Because standing right behind her was Cole Whitehurst.
He was looking straight at me — his eyes as icy blue as they’d ever been — and my heart nearly dropped to my liver.
Eight years was a long time. Long enough to forget all kinds of things. But I hadn’t forgotten Cole. Despite how he’d hurt me the last time I saw him, he was still my gold standard. The bar against which I measured every other guy.
I had yet to meet anyone who made me feel what I’d felt in the few days we’d had back then, and even though I told myself I was a fool to put my schoolgirl crush on such a pedestal — and Alberta completely agreed — I couldn’t seem to help it.
For a whole three seconds, I could only stare at him in shock. But three seconds was all it took for that shock to morph into self-consciousness. I definitely didn’t need Cole to see in my expression or my eyes the mark he’d left on me.
It’s the ideal he represents,I reminded myself,not the actual person.Indeed, I’d argued the same thing to Alberta a thousand times. It wasn’t like I’d been pining after Cole Whitehurst since I was sixteen. That would be beyond pathetic.
It would be crazy.
And, clearly, the man who stood before me now was not the same person I’d known as a girl. He didn’t even look the same. I mean, yeah, he was still gorgeous. Maybe even epically so. The planes of his face had sharpened with masculine beauty. Either he stood an inch or two taller now or his shoulders had broadened, but his shape was more striking. More imposing.
Yes, the measure of the man I had carried was an ideal. Not the actual person.
I sucked in a breath and offered him my hand. “Cole. It’s been a long time.” I was proud of how even my voice sounded. Because I didn’t want to be afraid of him, but I still was.
In that moment, I remembered the letter I’d sent to him on my eighteenth birthday, and a little part of me died of humiliation. And, yes, I’d sent it back when I was still wrapped up in Cole, the actual person. (I was just eighteen, after all.) In the letter, I’d asked after him and Ava. I’d told him how much our time together had meant to me, and I’d told him I hoped we could be friends again.
And I might have hinted that I’d waited for him. Just like he’d asked.
He hadn’t responded.
What had happened that night had not been my fault. It had not been Cole’s fault. But if he still blamed himself, then there might be a part of him that still blamed me. And even though I knew that wasn’t reasonable or fair, if Cole gave me that look of disgust I’d last seen on his face, I felt I might actually cry.
Hell, after eight years, I might cry anyway.
But before any tears could humiliate me further, his hand closed around mine.
“It has.” His voice was deeper than I remembered. But his tone was polite. So polite and controlled. Like the last time I’d seen him. I swallowed, telling myself not to assume what hid behind his manners. His hand around mine was warm, firm. And then gone.
I saw Alberta’s large eyes dart from him back to me as the guy who must have been Ross studied my face with the beginnings of a frown. “Do you two know each other?”
I opened my mouth, but how could I answer that? I’d known Cole almost my whole life. I’d hated him until I loved him. And I got to love him for a whole day before everything I knew ended.
Yeah, I wasn’t going with that.
“Elise’s mother worked for my family…” Cole said, not taking his eyes off mine. “… a long time ago.”