Sweet Fate Read online

It felt entirely too soon.

  I stopped in front of a pub that called itself The Feathers. It seemed as good as any. “Is this okay?”

  She looked up at the restaurant as though she’d forgotten we were even looking for one. “It’s perfect. I love pub food.”

  We went inside and got a seat. After a few minutes looking over the menu, I went up to the counter to place our order. I came back with two glasses of red wine.

  “Wine. Good idea,” she said, raising her glass up in the air. “What shall we toast to?”

  “Your new job? Your new living situation?” I’d toast to her, if it were appropriate. To her rich brown eyes that looked like tiger’s eye in the right light and her mouth that curved up on one side while she spoke. To her constant smile and the hypnotic sound of her voice. To the way she lived life so fully, so genuinely. The way she let herself be vulnerable and soft yet never diminished her strength.

  “How about a toast to us?” she asked as if there could be no other choice. “To finding each other in a city with millions of people.”

  She clinked her glass to mine, and for just a moment it felt like we really had found each other. Felt like, until she’d called my name in that damn park, I’d been lost.

  And hadn’t I been?

  “To finding each other,” I echoed, before bringing the wine to my lips. It was sweeter than I had expected, and heavy, slipping slowly down my throat like honey, leaving traces of itself as it went.

  “It’s good,” Audrey said after taking her own first sip. She took another then set the glass down and laced her fingers together on the table in front of her. “So, Dylan, how did you happen to be st St. James? Do you live nearby? Do you go there a lot? I like the idea of imagining you walking through every day after work, though that’s probably more in line with my personality than yours.”

  Years ago that would have been me as well. Back when I didn’t measure time in dollars. When I still thought things would work out in the end.

  And today it had been me again.

  I scratched the back of my head trying to remember the exact circumstances of how that had come to be. “Actually, it was rather on a whim.” I told her about my meeting with Hans Lieber and the weeks of rain and about how I’d decided spur of the moment to take the longer route home.

  She slapped the table so hard that her wine sloshed. “I told you it was kismet! That was fate nudging you in the right direction. Did you realize it? I’m so glad you were open enough to hear it!”

  “Or, well, it was a rather happy coincidence.” It was almost cruel to disagree, but I did have a reputation to attend to.

  She glowered at me, but didn’t let my refute get her down. “And! And you had no plans! I’m sure your schedule keeps you very busy. How was it that you were available tonight of all nights?”

  I didn’t tell her that I had a tentative fuck date set with Amy, and that usually my nights were quiet and dull, spent at home logged into the office computer via the cloud. “Yes. That was fortunate indeed.”

  “Then if you were going to the St. James’s Park stop, you must live… No, no!” she halted me when I attempted to tell her. “Let me look at the tube map and see if I can guess.” She pulled out her phone and entered the passcode. A couple more swipes and she was puzzling over her screen. “Tower Hill? That’s on the same line.”

  “Wrong direction. Sloane Square would have been my stop. I live between there and South Kensington.”

  “Ah, of course! Trust Fund Wankers.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She laughed, so hard she snorted. “Oh my God, that’s humiliating. I’m sorry. It was this internet meme I saw. It had all of London’s neighborhoods broken into stereotypes. Most of them, the ones that had anything to do with money especially, had Wankers at the end. Like, this area we’re in, I believe, was the Civil Servant Wankers or Political Wankers.”

  “I see. Quite appropriate.”

  “And the park is for Tourists and Corgis. Corgis!” She was still laughing.

  “You really studied this meme.”

  “It was a very helpful resource to learning the town. Don’t knock it. Where’s your office? Let’s see if it fits too.”

  She was too new to know locations by address. I tried to think of the closest landmark she might recognize. “You know where Tottenham Court is? Reach is near there “

  “Yes, yes! That’s the Media Wankers!”

  “It is not.”

  “It is! Look it up if you don’t believe me.” Her smile went from ear to ear, and I wanted nothing more than to kiss it off of her and lick the taint of wine from her lips. “Do you want me to pull it up?”

  She started to flip through her phone again, but I stopped her. “I believe you. I do. It’s just so accurate.” I took another sip of the wine before casually asking, “Where do you live? Not too far, I hope. For commute purposes.” As though there were any other reason I’d be curious about where she resided, where she spent her evenings and weekends. Where she slept and showered and dreamed.

  “Not too far. Lamberth. Between Elephant and Kennington. Basically the Recent Graduates with Poorly Paid Jobs section of town. That’s from the meme too.”

  This time I couldn’t help but join in with the laughter. “Oh bloody hell. It’s too good.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  Our food arrived then, fish and chips for Audrey, meat pies for myself. We dug in, and our conversation transformed into commentary on the tastes and smells of British food.

  She also thought everything was called by a ridiculous name. “Soldiers, mashers, Toad in a Hole,” she said at one point. “Bubble and Squeak. Welsh Rarebit.”

  “Don’t forget Spotted Dick.”

  She nearly lost it at that. “I can’t handle it. It’s so funny!” When she stopped her hooting, she wiped tears from her eyes and said, “All your food sounds like it was named in an attempt to get a stubborn child to eat, I swear.”

  “I think some of it might have been named to get grown men to eat it, unfortunately.”

  She shook her head at that, her face still lit in amusement.

  God, she was beautiful. As beautiful as my country’s food’s names were ridiculous.

  When our meal was half eaten and a comfortable lull had settled between us, my mind wandered back to something she’d said when we’d been walking, something that had niggled at me ever since.

  “You said you’ll have a chance to keep on at the Gallery. Is that what you want to do? Stay here in London?” I practically held my breath for her answer.

  She took her time giving it, waiting until she’d finished the morsel she was chewing and taking a swig from her drink before saying, “I don’t know. I mean, I just got here so I don’t have a good sense of whether or not it’s home for long. The work itself is incredible, of course. It will look good on my resume if they choose to keep me on or not.”

  “Wow,” I said, unable to come up with another word for what I wanted to say. My breathing resumed, but it was unsteady. I’d never been comfortable with unknowns, and right now, it felt like I was sitting across from a big giant question mark. Would she stay, would she go? Would I miss her as terribly if she left again as I’d missed her before today?

  Would I miss her more?

  But this wasn’t about me. Her being here was all about her.

  “I should say congratulations,” I realized suddenly. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier.”

  She twirled a chip between her fingers. “Thanks. You know the funny thing—I don’t even remember applying for this job specifically. You would think I’d remember a notice from the Gallery. But I applied for so many positions. I’m not sure I even read half of them by the end.”

  Oh, God. Did I smell a whiff of Donovan Kincaid’s hand in her being here? Maybe it wasn’t all about her after all. It wasn’t beyond him to interfere. He was a man who pulled strings. If he’d intervened when I’d asked him not to, he was truly crossing a line.

>   I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but I vowed to speak to him about it as soon as possible.

  “It all worked out,” Audrey said, happily, and I could feel any concern about the how of her being here slipping away. “Because I got one of the best opportunities available. And if things go how I hope...” Her face wrinkled up like she’d had a stray thought and was following it on an absurd journey. “I guess the answer to your question about whether or not I want to stay here has to do with everything else. Like, I don’t really have a preference about where I live. Right now my life is about making the best choices possible to keep me on a good career path and about finding The Guy. I’m ready for him. Ready to settle down, get married. Start a family.”

  I nearly choked on my turkey pie. “Settle down? Already? You’re twenty-three!”

  She pointed a chip in my direction. “Hey, I’m twenty-four now.” As though that made any difference. “And this can’t be any sort of a surprise. I have to start early if I’m going to get all those babies in.”

  Oh, right. All those babies.

  Which brought me to a question I’d been avoiding. “What happened to that guy from the wedding?” His name was Jax. I hadn’t forgotten. I just refused to use his name if I didn’t have to.

  “Jax? He was just a friend. Nothing more ever came out of that.”

  I tried not to be happy about how blaise she sounded about it. But I failed.

  “He’s dating another friend of ours now. Greg.”

  “Oh. He’s gay.” This relieved me even more.

  “Pansexual,” she corrected.

  I had to set my fork down for this. “Jax is transexual?”

  She laughed, and I wasn’t sure she wasn’t making fun of me. “Pansexual. Not trans. It means who he loves isn’t limited to a specific gender or gender identity.”

  “I see. In my day they called that bisexual.”

  She shook her head at me. “My day still has bisexuals. That’s a different thing. That’s being attracted to people from two genders. Pansexuals are attracted to people of all genders.”

  “And here I thought there were only two genders.” I was thoroughly confused now and about ready to look around for cameras. This had to be one of those prank shows, didn’t it. Someone—Weston probably—had set this whole thing up. Her being here. This conversation about new versions of sexuality.

  Again she laughed. “Gender’s more complicated than that, it turns out.”

  And she dropped it. No one jumped out from a hiding spot in the sidelines. She just went back to dipping her fish into her tartar sauce.

  So, not a prank. Just me being from a completely different generation. Completely out of her league.

  I sighed. “I’ll have you know, I feel very old right now.”

  “Nah. Don’t. This is all really new stuff.”

  “Oh. Good to know.” I suddenly wondered if Aaron was as up to date on all this “new stuff.” Certainly his mother wasn’t.

  And what about Audrey? “Are you...do you consider yourself…one of those?”

  “Pansexual? I’d like to say I am, in theory. Because I love that notion of being able to love anyone, regardless of what’s between their legs. But I’m as straight as they come. A disappointment to my generation, I’m afraid.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “I’m sure you’re not the only heterosexual human your age.” I shook my head, and attempted to get us back to where this had initially been leading. “You’re not seeing anyone right now?” I only asked out of curiosity. No other reason.

  “Nope. I...this is kind of embarrassing, but after that week with you, I shut down on that front completely. Not in a bad way. It was just a really good week, you know? And I wanted to take some time to reflect on it and hold it so it didn’t disappear into time the way things do. Then there was so much to do to get ready for graduation. My portfolio became my priority. Then finding a job. And then getting ready to move. And now...well, it dawned on me recently that there would always be something else to distract me if I let it. So I’m putting myself back on the market. Seriously. I’m not looking for casual. I’m not looking for a pass-the-time kind of fling. I want the next guy to be The One. The universe has always been really good at delivering what I need when I need it, so I’m putting my intention out there, and I’m not settling for anything less.”

  My body felt heavy. My feet felt nailed to the floor. I hadn’t even realized until that moment that I’d been hoping to take her home with me. I’d even choreographed it in my mind, how I’d offer to share a cab. Then invite her to see where I live. Then lead her through my lonely spotless lounge and to my bed where I swear I dreamed about her every night. Then...

  Well. That wasn’t happening now. Nothing was happening between us.

  I’d already known that deep down. Hadn’t I?

  “Of course waiting for The One also means I’m horny as hell.” She tried to hide her blush behind a tilt of her wine glass, but I still saw it.

  Oh. That meant…”You haven’t had any sex at all since, since…?” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I was too flattered, too dazed, too blown over.

  “Nope. No one since you. Do you think my hymen has grown back? Is that a thing?” Another round of giggles. “You should see your face! I’ve never seen someone look so shocked and intrigued all at once.”

  Now I really wished for another night with her. One where I could spank her ass red for all her teasing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and I wondered what she would have said if she could read my thoughts? Would she have changed her mind about no flings? Would she jump in my lap and purr like the kitten I knew she was? “It’s too fun to wind you up. Does that make me a bad person?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said honestly. “Not when I enjoy it so much.”

  We lingered in the pub, chatting and laughing. We had a second glass of wine each, then coffee (for her) and tea (decaffeinated, for me). By the time we left it was almost nine o’clock. The temperature had dropped, and when we stepped outside, she shivered.

  “Would you like to share a cab?” I still hoped for the possibility of ending up in her arms. The only enemy I had here was my own.

  She shoved her hands in her pockets and looked down the street that was very much empty of taxis. “It’s only a block to the tube. We could be there before a car comes by, I bet. Walk with me?”

  I nodded as though I had any choice in the matter, but I didn’t. I was a slave to her at this point. I would follow wherever she led as long as she let me.

  We walked together, close enough that our arms brushed. I could feel the heat of her all along my right side. I wanted to tuck myself into it. I wanted to live there.

  I tried to imagine a different life—one where I’d met her in my twenties, before I’d become jaded and cold. Would we have worked in that scenario?

  I didn’t know. I didn’t have the imagination she did to comprehend such things.

  At the station, we paused at the spot where we were meant to part. The energy between us felt thick and charged.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you? It’s really not that far out of my way.” It was, but I didn’t care.

  And if she invited me in afterward? It would only make more of a mess of things.

  She seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “It’s a completely different direction, and I’m good on my own.”

  “You know the route to take? You only travel on this train until Embankment and then switch lines.”

  “Yes, Dad. I know.”

  Dad. For once I wasn’t sure I liked the term. It put me in a box I didn’t like being in, even if it was exactly where I belonged.

  “Look,” she said, drawing my eyes once more to hers. “I’m not going to pretend I don’t want to sleep with you.”

  I could hear the blood woosh in my ears. I could feel the but at the end of her sentence. I held my breath and waited for her to say it.

  “But…” There it was
. “Since we both have different goals right now, I think it would just make things complicated.”

  She was so much smarter than I was. So much more mature.

  “Very wise,” I said.

  “Friends?”

  “Most definitely.”

  We shared phone numbers and then, once again, I watched her go.

  Friends.

  She wanted us to be friends.

  Oh, how it pained me to face that, even when I already knew that was all we could ever be. What else did I have to offer her? A few months between the sheets while she worried about her life passing her by? A mostly grown son and a witch of an ex-wife to battle and criticize her?

  I wasn’t what she wanted. She’d said it clearly.

  And even if I was on the same path she was, I couldn’t deliver what she needed. She wanted a partner that would be by her side for a lifetime. She wanted a houseful of children. She wanted a picket fence and forever.

  Not in my cards. Not anymore.

  So we’d be friends.

  At least this way I’d still get to have something of her, no matter how small. If it killed me, it would be worth it.

  Five

  We didn’t see each other for a while after that.

  I expected her to reach out. She’d always been the aggressor in our relationship—whatever our relationship was. Every morning I checked my phone for texts, for missed calls. Every evening after work, the same. But there was nothing.

  After a few days, I considered contacting her myself. I’d never been very good about messaging, though, and I’d only ever used the phone to ring people if I had a solid reason. While I was comfortable talking to people when I was around them, coming up with topics out of the blue was never my strong suit. Not that I didn’t have things I wanted to say to her. There was so much, actually. The tiniest details of my day, especially. The strange man dressed like a sweet pepper at the underground station. The new advertisement Creative came up with to sell peanuts. The snippet of a song I caught on the cabbie’s radio. The moments that meant nothing but still made me smile—these were the things that gave me the urge to pick up my phone and share with her.