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She glanced down. Nope. All dried up.
“Okay, Lambert, first question,” she said, faking a jovial tone. Then she looked up, met his eyes. “And remember, be honest.”
He gestured with his glass for her to continue. “When you got my email requesting a meeting . . . what was your first reaction?”
Joel’s eyes stayed steady on hers. “Hope.”
Emma had been poised to take notes, but her pen faltered. This had been everything she’d been afraid of.
“Sorry. I know that’s not what you want to hear,” he said softly. “But you’re one of those girls a guy doesn’t forget, Ems. Especially a guy who wanted to marry you.”
Her eyes closed briefly and she opened them, forcing herself to write down his response even though she knew she wouldn’t be forgetting this awkward moment anytime soon. Damn Cassidy for putting her in this position.
“Okay, next question,” she blurted out, even though his statement deserved a response. A response she couldn’t give. “When you think back to our relationship, the time we spent together, what do you remember? It can be a moment, a feeling—”
He took a sip of his whiskey, his expression thoughtful. “I doubt this is the most clever response you’ve gotten to that question, but that first night we met feels like it’s forever ingrained in my memory. I knew you were the one for me. I know it was one-sided. Knew that there was no love at first sight on your end. But that was okay, I told myself. I told myself I’d make you love me. In a nonpsychotic way, of course,” he added with a grin.
“Of course,” she murmured, her fingers feeling shaky as she wrote in her notebook.
Then she made herself look up. “Joel . . .”
He shook his head. “You don’t have to say anything. Just ask your last question.”
She let out a sigh, unsure if she was relieved he wasn’t going to force the conversatio
n, or disconcerted that he was dropping all sorts of bombs on her and she was just sitting there like an emotionless lump.
Compared to him, she felt . . . cold. Well, compared to pretty much anyone she felt cold. Like all the love and feeling that came effortlessly to other people was dead inside her. And Joel’s words magnified that feeling tenfold.
“Okay, last question.” Her voice was croaky, so she tried again. “Last question. What do you remember about why we broke up?”
His smile was forced this time. “Well . . . that’s an easy one. I wanted to get married. You didn’t. A guy definitely doesn’t forget getting rejected in public while he’s down on one knee.”
Emma withheld the wince. Barely.
“I had to ask,” she said, feeling foolish. “I mean, I’m trying to keep the interview questions the same with everyone, so it’s not like I wanted to rub it in—”
“Ems.” He leaned forward and smiled. “It’s been a few years. I said I hadn’t forgotten, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t healed. I promise I’m not going to throw myself out the window on this incredibly high floor you’re living on.”
She nodded toward his near empty Scotch glass. “More?”
“Nah, I’m good. What else do you need from me?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. As promised, this was short and sweet. I just needed five minutes. But if there’s anything else you want to add . . .”
He held her gaze. “There’s lots I want to add. Nothing you want to hear.”
And then he stood, draining the rest of his drink before moving to the kitchen and setting the glass carefully in the sink. She hadn’t remembered him being that tidy when they were together.
“Thanks for coming, Joel,” she said, setting her notes on the coffee table and standing. “I know it couldn’t have been easy.”
He shrugged. “Well, I admit my first reaction was to say no, but then I realized that I needed to say something to you.”
Emma swallowed.
He clasped his hands behind his head and looked up at the ceiling as though looking for the right words. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said.
She blinked. So not what she expected.
