Crossing Paths (22 page)

When we break for lunch, I take mine in my office with the door closed. I need as much space from Cohen as possible if I’m going to be truthful and coherent when we meet for dinner tonight. After lunch, I remain in my office, returning emails and taking phone calls. The afternoon is going smoothly until I hear a soft knock on my door.

“Come in,” I call out with a loud voice.

“Hey, it’s Cohen. Don’t be scared. I come in peace.” He laughs. Placing just the tips of his fingers through the door, he waves them in slow motion.

“Shut up. What do you need?”

“It’s five thirty. I was wondering if you were going home or if you wanted to grab dinner now.”

“Are you serious? It’s already five thirty?”

“Definitely serious.”

“I guess we can just go now if you want.”

“That would be fine with me. Go ahead and wrap things up, and then I’ll meet you in the parking garage.” Cohen leaves, closing the door behind him.

I sit frozen for a few moments.
Did I really agree to have dinner with him?
I have no idea what he’ll have to say, and I have no idea how I’ll react. I want to know why he left so suddenly last week and why he has to leave so quickly this week. It’s none of my business, but I want to know. I finish up my last email for the day and then head out the door.

When I walk into the parking garage, Cohen is standing against his car, staring down at his cell phone. For the first time today, I take in his looks. He isn’t as well put together as usual. His pants and shirt are obviously clean and ironed, but they are nowhere near neatly pressed. He appears more casual than normal with his sleeves rolled up to the middle of his forearms. His hair, although usually messy, is now in more disarray.

A little piece of frustration falls away as I realize something unsettling must be going on in his life. Normal people don’t say they want to spend time with someone and then jump on a plane the next day—unless they’re bipolar or schizophrenic.
I won’t explore those possibilities right now.

“You ready?” I call out from my car about three vehicles away.

When he glances up, I instantly see it—sadness. A dull ache falls on me as I watch his subdued expression.

“Yeah. I was thinking we could go to that burger place around the corner.”

“That’s fine.”

“You want to meet there or ride together?” he asks.

“I’ll follow you there,” I say, not wanting to be distracted by his presence in the car.

During the drive to the restaurant, I think about what could be going on in Cohen’s life.

As we walk in together, I start to twirl my hair around my finger. Once we’re seated, my focus is not on the menu. We tell the waiter to come back three times before I’m finally ready. After we order, we have to give up our menus, so we no longer have a barrier to hide behind. Cohen looks at me as I glance at anything on my side of the table—my fingernails, my napkin, my salad plate, my fork.

He finally breaks the silence. “I’m sorry,” he says in a voice that sounds broken.

I just can’t figure out why he is broken. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s really not. I should have called you.”

“You left me a note, so I knew you were gone. You can’t help when things happen in your life.”

“But I can help myself from lying to you.”

I think about that for a moment.
Should I push the obvious question? Yes, I think I should.
“What are you lying about?”

“June, there are a few things you don’t know about me,” he says, hanging his head.

“I’m sure there are. We’ve known each other for less than two weeks. There are lots of things you don’t know about me.”

As if trying to gain stability, Cohen closes his eyes and grasps the edge of the table with both hands. After watching him take several deep breaths, I contemplate asking if he’s okay, and then his eyes dart open.

“The things you don’t know about me could change how you feel.”

“And how do I feel?”

“Before I left, I was sure you felt how I feel. I wanted a chance with you. I wanted you to give me a chance.”

“Wanted? So, now, you don’t want a chance with me?”

“I don’t deserve that chance.”

“What? Did you have to rush back for your court date? A court date where you were being charged for rape, murder, and armed robbery?”

“Really? You know the answer to that,” he says, shaking his head.

“Actually, I don’t, but I’m going to assume that means no. What could possibly make me change my mind about giving someone a chance? It’s not like I’m agreeing to marriage. A chance is just that. I might get hurt. You might get hurt. We might miss other chances. That’s the risk though. That’s the chance you take.”

“What if I told you that you probably don’t want to risk it?”

“Well, I don’t think that’s your call. I’m guessing that if you choose to stop lying to me, then I could make a more educated decision, and we could move past this.”

Our meal arrives, interrupting our discussion.

We both look down at our food, and I assume Cohen is thinking the same thing I am. The conversation has taken away my happy mood along with my appetite. We both pick around our meals for a little while and take sips of our drinks here and there. Cohen glances at me every once in a while. I peek at him less often than I wish I could.

In the end, I get tired of the silence and the apparent lies. “Here’s the deal. I’m not old, but I’m not young. I want a real relationship. I want someone who cares about me, someone who can be honest with me. I think it’s pretty obvious that I want someone who won’t break my heart and who might trust me to not break his. I am willing to give you a chance, but if you can’t let go of whatever is going on, then maybe you’re right. Maybe this isn’t going to work.”

Cohen’s eyes search mine. He looks worried.
No, he looks scared.
I can see he wants to say something, but instead, he sits there in silence.

“I’m done eating. Thank you for dinner. If you decide how you feel about me and how you want to deal with those feelings, give me a call. Otherwise, we’ll be coworkers and nothing more.”

“June, I’m so sorry.”

“Cohen, if you are sorry and want something different, then you need to make it happen. I’m here right now because I’m willing, but obviously, whatever decision you are trying to make is too hard for you.”

I push out my chair, and it takes all my courage to turn away from him. Walking slowly, I hope to hear his footsteps behind me. I want his voice to call my name. When I reach my car, I turn the ignition and sit for a minute or two. He doesn’t walk out of the restaurant.

I drive to my apartment. He doesn’t call me. I change clothes and lie down in bed. He doesn’t text me.

Translation: He doesn’t want me, or if he does, he’s a coward.

Tomorrow is going to suck.
Somehow, I’ll have to find a way to put my emotions in the closet, so I can get through the day.

Wednesday

After my third close call with Liam at his parents’ house on Sunday, I’ve decided that meeting in neutral territory is the safest thing to do until we decide to let out our secret. I couldn’t see Liam on Monday because I had dinner plans with my brother. Then, Tuesday was crazy swamped at work for both of us. I am thankful that we can at least have lunch together today.

As I grab my purse, about to head out the door, Audrey catches me.

“Caroline, I need you to work some extra hours tomorrow night. The Pattersons are out of town, and they want their daughter’s room complete before they return on Friday morning. Could you meet the painters and a contractor at their house at six?”

“Um, yeah. I don’t see why not.”

“Great. I’ll send you over with some materials to finish up a couple of pieces. Wait until you see the room all put together. It’s going to be beautiful.”

“I bet it is. Little Stella is going to feel like a princess.”

Audrey smiles. She turns around and begins to walk down the hallway to her office.

“I’m out for lunch. Be back in a little bit.”

“Meeting that hot piece of…I mean, that guy from the charity event?” she asks, facing me again with raised eyebrows.

“Yes, I’m meeting Liam. I’ll see you in about an hour.”

“Take your time. I’ll be overworking you tomorrow.”

Audrey is a really great boss. I don’t dare admit that decorating and painting are hardly considered overworking in my book.

I walk to the Italian restaurant where Liam and I first ran into each other. He already has a table, and it happens to be the same table from our last lunch date. I wonder if that’s a coincidence. Liam smiles and stands as I walk toward the table. He hugs me, and his embrace is warm and comforting. After the past week of hiding the truth from my best friend, interacting with someone I don’t have to lie to is a relief.

“So, how’s your week been?” he asks as I sit across from him.

“Had better, had worse,” I say without thinking first.

“Really? What’s been bad?”

Well, I can’t tell him about my brother.
I’m trying to think on my feet, but nothing is coming to mind. Good lies require preplanning. Liam’s stare holds my attention.
Look away, look away, or else he’ll know you’re lying.

“Oh, nothing really. Just work stuff, you know?”

“I sure do.” He leans across the table and takes my hand in his. “Everything at work has been so hectic. It’s five o’clock before I realize it, and I still have five more hours of work I could do.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It won’t be like this forever. Hey, before I forget, I wanted to ask you if you might want to go to The Alley tomorrow night.”

“The Alley?” I look at him confused.

“Sorry, it’s a theater downtown. I forget you didn’t grow up here.”

“You know, I would love to, but I already have plans. Well, not really plans. My boss wants me to work late, like really late, tomorrow. We have to finish up a room at a client’s house before they get home on Friday.”

“Okay. No big deal.”

The look on his face does not say the same.

“I’m really sorry,” I say, trying to defuse the tension between us. “Can we make plans for Friday?”

“No,” he says and then pauses. I’m about to say something when he starts again. “I have meetings all day on Friday, and I’ll probably have to be at the office late that night. Maybe we can get together on Saturday?”

“That sounds really great. I wish our schedules weren’t so tight lately.”

“Me, too.”

During the rest of our time together, we talk about other random topics. We both avoid anything to do with work or his family. I’m not sure when I should bring it up again, but we have to make a decision about when we’re going to tell June and the rest of his family that we’re seeing each other. Maybe after we have another real date this weekend, I can bring up the topic again. Then, hopefully soon, I won’t have to keep lying about my brother, and all the deceit can be over.

Wednesday

Today is turning out to be a fairly good day. Mr. Hargrove sent me on some errands in town, so I haven’t been in the office much. This is great because it means I haven’t had to worry about running into Cohen. It’s about three o’clock when I walk back into my office. My phone rings just as my tail end hits the chair.