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He’s not Holden.
Donte’s brows scrunched as if he’d read my mind. “Hey, whatever happened to that guy with the silver hair? Holden, right? Weren’t you two together?”
“We were but not anymore,” I said, my throat tightening. “He’s in Europe. Just published a book, actually.”
“Oh yeah? Any good?”
“It’s fucking brilliant,” I said with more energy than I meant to. “I mean, yeah. It’s good.”
“Cool. Well, I’ll let you get to it,” Donte said. “Let’s hang out though, before I’m shipped off.”
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
“All right, man. Good to see you.”
“You too.”
I watched Donte leave, like a ghostly visitation from my former life. I’d been on autopilot for the last few years, letting the days slide over me, filling them with work so I didn’t go crazy missing all the people who were absent from my life. Having Donte back felt good, but the biggest voids remained raw and empty.
I finished up work several hours later, went to my place, showered and changed for my date— feeling like I was about to cheat on Holden.
“Knock it off,” I told myself, pulling on a black T-shirt, jeans, and boots. “He’s not coming back. No calls. No texts. Live your life.”
My life. Whatever that was.
I met Brad at El Palomar, off Pacific Avenue. He was already there and waved me over to a table for two in the center of the restaurant. Brad had dressed in jeans, a blue button down, and a sport coat that made me feel casual by comparison.
“Hey, good to see you,” he said, smiling brightly. He had a nice smile. Thick, light brown hair, nice build, nice eyes.
He’s so…nice, said a sly voice that sounded like Holden. How nice for you…
I smirked to myself, but phantom Holden was right. Brad Martin was nice with a capital N, and he’d make someone a great boyfriend, it just wasn’t going to be me. Before the waiter came to take our drink order I knew we weren’t getting to a second date.
I listened hard as Brad told me about himself, letting him do all the talking while despair sank its teeth deeper with every passing minute. I wanted Holden. Three years gone except for one night in Paris and I was still waiting for him.
When the check came, I grabbed for it quick, ready for the night to be over.
Brad’s hand covered mine over the little tray. “I should get this. I asked you.”
“Nope, I’ve got it.”
I slid my hand out from under his dry touch. I’d wasted his entire night. The least I could do was pay for dinner.
Outside the restaurant, we drew on our jackets and lingered in that awkward, what-do-we-do-now, post-date silence.
“You want to go somewhere?” Brad asked. “Grab a drink?” His nice smile turned suggestive. “I had a good time tonight. Kind of don’t want the night to be over.”
He leaned into me, his breath salty and tinged with his margarita’s biting sweetness. For a heartbeat, I froze, willing to let it happen. For Brad to kiss or even fuck Holden out of me so I could get on with my life.
Instinctively, I reared back before Brad’s lips could touch mine. “Sorry. I can’t. Early morning tomorrow.”
“Uh oh,” Brad said, smiling tightly. “Pretty sure that’s code for this isn’t going to work.”
“I’m sorry. I should have told you… I’m getting out of a relationship.”
“Oh yeah? Did it end pretty recently?”
It hasn’t ended.
