Page 56 of All The Ways to Miss You

“My mom was the accountant and Dad was the visionary, leasing the buildings, developing the food concepts, and then executing them. Everything I learned about the business, I learned while I was playing with my Legos in their office. As the years passed and their company grew, they put me to work. I paused for college, but returned after. Working for my father wasn’t easy. It never was. In his eyes, I could never be good enough. After a few years, I decided to try something new. Lakeman’s a better fit.”

“Sorry, did I hit on a bad subject?”

“My family’s the same as every other. We have issues.” He takes a sip of water. “What’s your family like?”

“Mine are the same. You ever hear of Senator and Judge London?” As soon as I say their names, I regret it. I school the chagrin forming on my face. London is a popular enough surname. I could be anyone, not necessarily related to them.

“Those are your parents?” Now he’s the one leaning closer.

I nod, though I’d like to retract the statement. I adjust the silverware on the table, even though it’s set perfectly. With my gaze averted, I’m praying he hasn’t heard too much about them. If he has, he’ll know some of my past. Anyone who connects me to them would.

When I return my attention to him, I find a sad recognition in his eyes. It’s the same expression I encounter from anyone who’s ever met me after—distress, sorrow, pity. I hate the last one most. He may not know details, but what he might have heard is bad enough.

“Cait, I’m so sorry.” James shakes his head and reaches across the table to place a hand on my arm.

“We have our issues like any other family.” I blow off the obvious discussion, and his touch slides away.

What did I expect him to say? No one knows what to say. I wouldn’t. I should have lied instead of letting my guard down. His reaction simply confirms that I’ve been handling all the new relationships in my life as I should—by keeping them in the dark.

I’m thankful when the waiter appears at our table. He presents us with the menus, rattles off the specials, and hands over the wine list before leaving us to decide.

As the evening progresses, everything’s perfect as promised. Especially the dessert, which is the largest I’ve ever seen. Sitting in the middle of the table, the mousse cake is as tall as a blender and half the size of a regular pie. The chocolate skyscraper is big enough for a table of twelve to share.

It’s only after we finish our espressos that the floor plans appear. James places them on the cleared table. I work through his questions about the space, the parking and amenities. We finish after ten, and he escorts me home.

When the sedan stops at my building, James closes the divider to separate us from the driver. As the window slides shut, pressure fills the car. Eager to escape, I reach for the door handle with plans to say my good-byes and slip out.

“Cait.” James pins me with guilt.

My fingers clench. This is where I must tell him his efforts were for nothing. This is where I must explain my heart’s not available. It’s broken. Unfixable. Not because of a man, that would be too easy. It’s because of one day in my life I can never change.

“You already know my answer.”

His hopeful expression turns solemn. “I do.”

“I gave it real consideration.” The leather of my seat squeaks as I turn to him to give my full attention. He deserves this, at least. It’s all I can offer.

“Did you?”

Under his scrutinizing gaze, I’m unsure. “I wanted to. I tried. I thought of it, thought of you. But there are a lot of things going on with me.”

“That guy? I hope he isn’t one of the things. You deserve to be treated better.” James’s expression turns sympathetic.

“He is a decent guy. Well, when he’s not being an ass. But no, he’s not what I was referring to.”

“Let me guess. It’s you, not me?” His smile doesn’t reach his darkening eyes.

“Trust me, I’m no prize.” This is as honest as I can be.

James takes my hand and kisses the top. “One day you’ll see that you are.”

twenty-four

Still jittery from the evening, I decide to run. My feet pound the asphalt as I run in the chilly night. It’s after eleven, and there aren’t many people out. There’s a high chance of rain, and it’s colder than it has been all October, which means everyone’s preparing to hibernate for the oncoming winter.

I dart down foggy roads, across quiet intersections, and sprint through damp alleys, determined to run past my house. Now that it’s within my grasp, I need to see it for motivation to stay the course. Tonight, my visit is quick, enough time to take a mental snapshot and move on.

The hum of the city falls away when I enter Lincoln Park, replaced with the sound of dry tree leaves tinkling like glass. I burrow into my heavy shirt and shiver as a new sound emerges. Footfalls matching mine, step for step.