Ross’s eyebrows rose in a way that made me wonder if he knew about Cole’s parents. And then I was sure he must have known because his attention flipped like a switch.
“Nice to meet you, Elise. I’m Ross Wilson.” He took my hand in his and pumped it twice. Then without another word, he spun to face Alberta and pointed to the wall behind her. The one covered in her paintings.
“Youmadethose?”
I figured everyone knew he was trying to steer us out of our awkward reunion, but the admiration and awe in his voice was so genuine, my heart melted a little for Alberta. All of us turned to face at her paintings, and I took the opportunity to gulp down half my chardonnay. I’d handled the shock as best I could, but still.
Cole Whitehurst.
Here.
Now.
I was dimly aware of the way my best friend’s face transformed as Ross continued to shower her with praise. Her colors seduced. Her symbols whispered. He couldn’t stop talking about her paintings. I should have paid more attention, shared in her joy and pride.
But it felt like the past had just barreled headlong into the present, like a runaway train. Cole Whitehurst. I found myself studying him out of the corner of my eye. What was he doing now? Alberta had said Ross’s friend had recently moved to Lafayette. He lived her now? Where? Had he stayed in New Orleans this whole time? Where was Ava?
His gaze shifted from Alberta’s paintings to catch me staring. The impassive expression in his eyes didn’t change, but his lips firmed.
Heat flooded my face. “H-how’s Ava?” I stammered, hoping my question would explain away my ogling.
Cole’s brow creased just a fraction, but he nodded. “She’s good.” Then he cleared his throat. “She’s living with me…”
He seemed on the cusp of saying more, but then he worked his jaw and gave his head a little shake.
Okay, so Ava was not a safe topic.
But then his eyes lifted to mine again. “How’s Flora?”
I exhaled in relief. Mama was and would always be a safe topic. “She’s good. She’s working at a new cafe right on the river,” I said, letting myself smile.
But as I did, Cole’s ice-blue gaze dropped to my mouth. I swallowed.
“Sh-she was out of work last year for a little while—”
His eyes shot back to mine at this news.
“—but she’s back on her feet.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
He didn’t look glad or not glad. He looked…wooden.Mama may have been a safe topic, but I got the feeling Cole really didn’t want to talk to me. And if my guess was right, he definitely wouldn’t want to spend the evening in my company after we left the gallery with Alberta and Ross.
I brought the plastic cup to my lips and finished off the last of my chardonnay, suddenly desperate for an escape. I held up my empty cup as an alibi.
“Excuse me,” I muttered before turning away.
Alberta’s sharp eyes caught mine for an instant before I headed to the back of the gallery.Tell me what’s happening, they seemed to scream. I tilted and lowered my chin in covert agreement as I slipped into the crowd. Alberta and I had been friends for so long, we could have whole conversations in silence, but this situation stood out in its singularity that actual words needed to be exchanged.
I made my way back to the wine table and helped myself to another glass of the Cakebread Cellars white, and I pried my phone from the tiny clutch that hung from my wrist. Before I could open my texts, one flashed across the screen.
Alberta:You ok, honey?
Her concern broughtout a wistful smile, but I didn’t know exactly how to answer her. I’d always imagined that when I finally saw Cole again — and, yes, I’d imagined it hundreds of times over the years — we’d greet each other as friends. Sadly, perhaps because of the circumstances that had parted us, but warmly. Forgiving each other for our youth and passions. But no matter what, we’d meet smiling.
Cole had not smiled at me. And, come to think of it, I hadn’t smiled when I’d offered him my hand either. His obvious discomfort at my presence was surprisingly painful. Surprising because I thought I had truly gotten over him.
Cole, the person. Even if he was still my ideal.
