Page 103 of Fate Fiction

“Then why are you here, because it’s been eating me alive for two weeks.” The heat began rising in my cheeks, my eyes began burning. I wouldn’t cry, not at this restaurant, not in public, and especially not when sitting across from Evan.

“I felt like I owed you a conversation, and an apology for how I reacted,” his voice was a plucky staccato, as though he was trying to select the right words. “And truly, I’m sorry for that. I was exceptionally cruel for no reason. You didn’t deserve that.”

For someone who spoke for a living he was having difficulty muddling through a simple sentence.

“So it’s a self preservation thing?”

Maybe he still wanted to preserve his perfect image as a hero still. His perceived social value was far more crucial to protect than mine.

“No, not in the slightest,” Evan hung his head low and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Silence was hanging between us, embedded into the smoke wafting from the kitchen. “I was scared this would be my only shot.” He spoke a little too loudly, causing a few patrons at the tables nearby to briefly look over at us. He turned his head towards the wall to avoid being recognized.

I wanted to ask a million questions, but “shot at what?” was the only thing my mouth could muster.

Finally, he lifted his head.

Our eyes met and I watched his pupils expand among a sea of blue. “I thought about finding you and reaching out so many times before this, but couldn’t bring myself to because I assumed you’d want nothing to do with me. Now at least I had a real excuse.”

This was not at all how I expected this to go. I was anticipating walking home in tears after a painfully uncomfortable dinner. The flush spread across my chest and someone must have turned the temperature up in here at least fifteen degrees.

“That’s ridiculous,” I shook my head. “You’re thinking entirely irrationally. You should want nothing to do with me.”

“Maybe I am, but can I at least finish dinner with you before I decide?”

I was rendered speechless.

The ambiguity of it all was uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be with him in the restaurant anymore, every fiber of my being was rejecting staying sat on the sticky vinyl bench across from him. I couldn’t run, not right now at least, so I threw up my arms in defeat and allowed the dinner to continue. “Fine, fine, okay.”

I asked him what he thought about Boston, he told me he’d been shuffled from his hotel room, to conference rooms, to other conference rooms.

“Up until I drove to your place I only saw the sky through windows,” he had said.

He asked me what I’d been doing the rest of the summer. I omitted the hours of writing I’d been doing each week when I talked about the patio drinking I had done and the wedding dress shopping trips I’d gone on with both Andrea and Caroline.

It was fine, I had to admit that. Easy, even. Evan studied me as I spoke, the same way he did when we were sitting at Sue and Randy’s kitchen table.

He rested his head in his folded hands, finding reverence in the mundanity of tonight. He laughed deeply from his diaphragm as I recounted the story of someone getting locked in a porta potty at a beer garden and knocking the rest over in a real life game of horrible dominoes.

Our second round of drinks were empty, and I was swirling the last bits of ice in my cup. Evan munched on the scraps of chips that sat in the basket, somehow not satisfied by the entire plate of nachos he’d manage to eat. The dinner was winding down. It seemed like he wanted more reason to stay here, each sentence accompanied by a silent prayer that the night wouldn’t end.

“How strange it is that we were even able to meet at all,” he said wistfully before pinching a chip crumb with his fingers and popping it into his mouth.

“We’ve met before,” I replied coolly and looked down at my plate.

“Have we?” an amused grin played on his lips. “I surely would have remembered you.”

“I doubt that you would. It’s actually so embarrassing in hindsight.”

“Wait.” His eyes grew wide and his smirk grew wider, “did I meet you…as a fan? Was it at Castle Con?”

“Oh god, it’s so much worse when you’re the one saying it,” I dropped my head in my hands, mortified.

When I attended Castle Con—“Sword of Thorndown’s Exclusive Fan Convention”—eight years prior, I not only attended every panel I could, I’d also paid extra for a VIP meet and greet with Evan.

Meet and greet was too kind a term for what the package really entailed, a fifteen second photo opportunity and brief conversation. My expectations going into it were minimal, and I’d seen the snaking line of fans all waiting for their chance. Some cried, some brought gifts that were gently placed behind the maroon velvet curtain Evan stood in front of, and others tried to force hugs or cheek kisses.

As the line slowly moved, regret had sunk in. I’d paid seventy five dollars for what? A photo as proof that I’d met Sir Erwyn and spoken to him? I knew it wouldn’t be a lasting interaction for either of us, and yet, there I was, checking my makeup in my compact to make sure I looked my best when meeting him.

When I got to the front of the line every quip I’d planned to say went out the window. The most I could manage was a shaky smile and a breathy “hi.”