I feel that I am gawking at him, but soon realize that we are mutually ogling one another.
“You look incredible!” he shouts over the music. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”
“You are as good-looking as ever,” I yell back, hoping my grin isn’t as dopey as it feels. “It’s so good to see you!”
“What?” he hollers back with a laugh. Now Flo Rida is playing, and the bass is numbing. He quickly grabs my hands, looks into my eyes and nods at the exit. I nod back and let myself be led away. I glance behind me and lock eyes with Kayla who smiles and gives me a thumbs up.
As we make our way through the crowd, I see eyes on us. Now this has piqued the interest of my former classmates. The golden couple, turned tarnished singles, back together again. With him attached to me the prying eyes are survivable, as they always were, so many years ago.
As we exit, and things quiet, we slow down to a stroll. I indicate the bar and we walk in together, where I make eye contact with bartender Greg who stares back with chagrin. He must think I am a real player, with my two-night streak of super babes at my side.
We decided to inhabit the booth at the back, and finally settled, we sit back and observe one another. I cannot believe how beautiful he is. His ice blue eyes are more brilliant than I remember, sitting under expressive brows. His jaw is strong and peppered with scruff, as his sensuous lips smile at me, making his eyes crinkle appealingly and his straight teeth gleam in the lamplight at our table.
“Kat Clary,” he declares, shaking his head in wonder at me. “The possibility of you being here is the only reason I’ve come to this God forsaken reunion.”
“Would you believe me if I said that you are the only reason I came back?” I ask, unable to take my eyes off of him. It’s as though no time has passed between us and I marvel at the waves of comforting nostalgia that overcome me.
“No,” he laughs. “I wouldn’t.”
“But you are,” I assure him, as Greg comes by, looking quite judgmental. I order a glass of wine and Erik orders a coffee.
“I am flattered,” he tells me as he fiddles with the salt and pepper shakers. “I hear you are quite successful.”
“I do OK,” I smile and shrug.
“Kayla says that The Travel Channel is courting you for a series currently,” he says, indicating he is impressed with a dramatic sweep of his eyebrows.
“Perhaps,” I allow, trying not to blush. “You can never tell with these things. It’s nothing until it’s on paper, and even then, there is no guarantee it’ll be a hit.”
“You’ll be a hit,” he nods, his baby blues so earnest and prideful. “Look at you. Beautiful, smart and funny. You’ve got this, Kat.”
I wave my hand at him bashfully. “Enough about me. What’s happening with you?”
“I still live in town,” he starts, nodding a thank you as Greg returns with his coffee. “I’m a general contractor now. It’s a good profession for me.”
“It absolutely is. So, why have we never contacted one another?” I marvel, watching him treat the coffee with copious amounts of cream and three packets of sugar.
“I don’t do social media,” he answers, sipping his brew and nodding his approval. “It’s good for my mental health to not engage with it, but bad for keeping tabs on people I want to reconnect with. I guess without that I really didn’t know how to find you.”
I nod, and look at his hand, which has no ring. He catches my glance and pats his left hand. “Never married,” he says, his face surprisingly darkening.
I don’t even bother to try and pretend as though I wasn’t curious. “Oh, girlfriend?”
“No,” he says, and I catch a tinge of sadness and wonder what’s behind it. “What about you? Do you have anyone?”
“I have a chronic case of being single,” I answer with a sigh and eyeroll. I sound annoyed, but in reality I’ve enjoyed my single life tremendously. I’d poured my life into my career and hadn’t really felt deprived. Looking at him now, I feel it could change though.
“Sounds like good news to me,” he remarks, the sides of his lips raising as he takes me in.
Is he still interested? I ponder, completely taken aback. In all my musings and dreams of this reunion, I never once even allowed for this scenario.
“Erik—” I start, wanting to clear the air. It’s as though he reads my mind and throws his hand up gently to stop me.
“Please don’t apologize, Kat,” he starts.
“But I—” I begin, wanting to do just that, the semi-rehearsed confessional dying on my lips at his insistent look.
“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. We were stupid kids, and we did what stupid kids do every day with usually no consequences.” He says, as he breathes in deeply.
“Why did I bring Ecstasy?” I cry, unable to quiet the guilt any longer. I see the empathy and understanding in his eyes and begin to tear up. He quickly switches to my side of the booth, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and grabbing my hand in his.
“Why did Mario sell it to you? Why did I take it? Why did it trigger psychosis in Juniper? These questions have no good answers, and none of it will take it back anyhow. We decided to take the pills and you didn’t force us. No one blames you,” he says, voice persuasive and I want so badly to believe him.
“Your parents did,” I say despondently, turning my head into his shoulder, inhaling his scent, which brings me directly back.
“No one should blame you, Kat,” he corrects. “It was the easiest route for them to take any culpability off of their precious children.”
“Do they still hate me?”
