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The two of us draw silent after that. We keep gazing at each other, admiring one another, being a strangely quiet cocktail of nostalgic, curious, lost for words … and lustful.
He looks really good.
Like, really good.
“I think maybe I gave the wrong impression of myself when—” Richie starts to say.
“I’m sorry I straight up left like I did—” I say at the same time.
Our eyes lock onto each other’s. “Oh, sorry,” I say. “You first.”
“I …” He chuckles nervously, scuffs his shoe on the ground, then smiles at me again. His eyes glimmer handsomely. “I accept your apology, but I fear one isn’t needed. You fell asleep. I figure, had you not fallen asleep, we would have simply talked a bit longer before you called it a night and left anyway, and isn’t the result basically the same, but without a goodbye? And who likes goodbyes?” He shakes his head at me. “No, no. No need for ‘sorry’ with me, Zak, not ever.”
That was a surprisingly mature reaction. Even I didn’t, until now, see it that way. “Thank you.”
“That night was one of the best nights of my life.” He smiles again, tighter. He is smiling a lot. “I am ever so grateful you trusted me enough to allow it to happen at all, truthfully.”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” Then I hear the words he almost said. “Wrong impression …?”
“Oh. Never mind that. I was just …” He nods toward the walkway. “Do you want to walk down the path for a bit? Is that why we met here?”
“Sure. Ambrose is a really nice park. I figured you might like a change of pace from your hotel, and I don’t think you’ll find any white clovers in this park at all,” I add as a cheesy joke.
He beams appreciatively. “How thoughtful.”
The pair of us start to walk the winding path that cuts through the trees. The evening sun pours over the branches, casting veins and baubles of swaying shadow over us. I keep sneaking glances at him as we make our leisurely way, as if checking to see if this is the same Richie I met at the hotel. Yes, his face is the same, yet somehow it seems more youthful, or relaxed, or … something. His arms are a bit bigger, too, which could easily be attributed to a midday visit to the gym, or a few sets of pushups before arriving. He does work out regularly with a trainer at his gym back home, that much I know. But even the way he carries himself is lighter.
Maybe it’s just the result of us having broken the ice at last. This is now, officially, not the first time we have gotten together.
Oh. Maybe he wasn’t counting on a second time.
“So did you think that was it?” I ask suddenly. “That night up in your penthouse suite?”
“Oh? You mean the only time we’d meet?” He shrugs. “I surely hoped it wouldn’t be. But … the thought did cross my mind. That after you met me once, it would be enough. Maybe a part of me had accepted it was possible you’d not want to see me again. I was quite surprised to get your email last night. I booked a flight right away.”
“Why didn’t you answer my email? I waited all day wondering if you’d even—” His words hit me after a delay. “Wait a second. You booked a flight? What do you mean—?” I stop and turn to him. “You left? You went back home? To Mississippi?”
He stops, too. His eyes reflect worry. “Yes. I’d only come for a couple nights. And after I didn’t hear from you the next day, I presumed we …” He gestures between us and shrugs again. “I presumed that was it. I didn’t book an additional night. I must say, the suite was a lot more enjoyable with someone else in it to keep me company.”
“Oh.” I drop my eyes from his, surprised.
“So of course when I got your email,” he goes on, “I booked a flight right away. No, I’m not at the White Clover this time. I’m actually just down the street a bit at a place called the … oh, what was it? … the Hearth Light Inn & Suites, I believe.”
“That’s in Mayville,” I realize, surprised. “On the outskirts of it, maybe six or seven blocks from where I live. It’s a pretty nice place for the area.”
“No complaints from me. And who can beat a free breakfast buffet?” he throws in with a chuckle. Then he squints at me. “And I thought I did answer your email. Did I not?”
I give a glance at my phone, then frown. “Well, quite possibly you did. I’m having … connectivity issues today,” I note, thinking about all of my odd and various “connectivity” issues I’ve had lately—with more than just my phone.
