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“I want to know how you feel, not what you think. I know what you think.”
His eyes darken. I’ve called his bluff. The last thing he will want to reveal is how he is feeling.
“I love you, Immy. With my entire being and all that I am.”
I stare at him, not able to fully process what he just declared. It scares me. I can feel my heart racing. It won’t last.
He steps back. “I made reservations at L’Artusi for eight.”
I make a sweeping arm gesture. “I can’t go to dinner with you as if nothing is wrong. You let me walk away from you and didn’t say anything.”
“I’m sorry, Immy. I should have pulled you into my arms and told you how I felt. Instead, I hide behind my defenses, attempting to protect myself. But it didn’t work. My feelings for you were still there.”
I look down at my exercise clothes. “I haven’t even showered today.”
He smiles and says, “I can wait. Go shower.”
I turn and flee to the bedroom, firmly closing the door behind me. I can’t believe he is in my messy living room, and I agreed to have dinner with him. After stripping off my shirt and leggings, I walk into the bathroom to shower.
If he isn’t here when I emerge from getting ready, I’ll never give him another chance.
Stepping into the warm water, I ask myself, should I be giving him this chance? He broke my heart and then, weeks later, had the nerve to show up carrying roses. And he said he loves me. I’m afraid to let myself believe it is real.
22
A Romantic Dinner (Alex)
Ifollow Immy through the crowded upscale Italian restaurant in Manhattan. Instead of jeans or a bikini, she’s wearing a figure-hugging black skirt that shows off her feminine curves and narrow waist. A sheer silk blouse and insanely high heels complete her elegant look.
The hostess indicates a table for two set in the back of the restaurant and asks, “Is this good?”
Immy smiles and says, “Absolutely. Thank you.” She places her wool coat over the back of her chair.
The hostess says, “Here, allow me. We have a coat closet. I’ll hang these.” After taking both of our coats, she disappears.
I hold the chair for Immy, and she sits. She is here but not herself.
I sit opposite her and remove the cloth napkin from the plate out of habit. “We had dinner together when we first met, but given the circumstances, we haven’t had the opportunity to have typical dates.”
She pulls the cloth napkin off her plate and spreads it over her lap. “Do you date?”
I shrug. “Yes, I’m thirty-two. I’ve dated.”
“You’ve never mentioned past girlfriends.”
A waiter approaches and places a menu in front of each of us. “We have a sommelier on staff if you have questions about the wine offerings?”
I scan the wine menu. “We’d like the Carmignano Riserva, please.”
“Certainly, sir.” The server nods and steps away.
I push away thoughts that this conversation won’t go well. I take a deep breath and make myself tell her the truth. “I haven’t had any serious, committed relationships. I’ve had sex often but never became intimate with a partner if that makes sense.”
Her eyes narrow. “How is that possible? Weren’t you ever interested in getting to know someone on a deeper level?”
I take a sip of water. “No. In my teens and twenties, I sought out women who weren’t interested in a long-term relationship. I travel and meet strangers on adventure tours. It’s not difficult to have casual relationships.”
“Are you proud of that? Having frequent hookups?”
