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I step inside.
Surveying the restaurant, I find the place where he sat all those months ago. An elderly lady with a feather hat is there, sipping a cup of tea. Dillan is nowhere in sight, as expected.
Before I can turn around and leave, the bartender catches my eye and says, “Signorina, there you are! Dr. Maxwell has been asking for you.”
Confused and intrigued, I give him my attention. “I’m sorry?”
He smiles at me. “I never forget a face.”
It takes me completely by surprise that the bartender not only remembers who I am after almost a year and the briefest of encounters but seems acquainted with Dillan. “You know Dr. Maxwell?”
The bartender nods. “Yes, signorina, he’s a regular here.” His English still bears the charming Italian accent from our initial encounter. “He started coming in more frequently after your rendezvous. He asked about you at least two or three times, and I told him you weren’t a regular. I think he was hoping to run into you.”
“I’ve been here once before asking about him,” I admit, “but the bartender didn’t know who I was talking about.”
“Ah, si, you must be referring to Sergio. Yes, he’s the new guy… well, not exactly fresh off the boat anymore, been here a minute. We swap shifts now and then, and lately, he’s been on the earlier slot.”
My mind is doing pirouettes with this news. It catches me completely off balance, and I’ve got no idea how to process it.
I mean, seriously? Who could have predicted this?
So, wait. The man I’ve fallen for, the one I’ve struggled to get in contact with, has been trying to contact me this entire time?
More puzzle pieces start falling into place.
I think back to that night at the club, and it finally clicks: his presence there was purely a coincidence. If he’s still coming here, hoping to run into me, then he must not have recognized me at the club! If he did, he could have easily found me at work at any time. And he couldn’t reach me by phone from my patient file, because my phone is no longer active.
Has this whole thing just been a giant mix-up? Were Dillan and I apart purely out of ridiculous circumstances and not because we wanted it that way?
My heart swells at the notion, and the bartender’s next words send me into an emotional tailspin.
“You actually just missed him not too long ago.”
What are the chances? It seems Dillan and I are always one step behind or ahead of each other. Fate, what the flippity flop?
“Did he say where he was going?” I try not to get my hopes up (totally getting my hopes up).
The bartender shakes his head. “No, it appears he’s departed in haste. He seemed quite pressed for time.”
Probably had a patient to deal with. Classic.
Feeling dejected for the second time in less than an hour, I decide to hand the bartender a note with my email address.
“My phone is disconnected, but the next time Dr. Maxwell shows up, will you please give him this?”
“Absolutely, I will see to it. Luigi, at your service.”
I reach into my pocket to get a tip ready, but he stops me.
“Please, signorina, don’t even consider it. Some of the waitstaff and I have been placing bets on your rendezvous, akin to something out of Sleepless in Seattle. I’ve been the lone optimist in this bet, but it seems my odds have just shot up.”
Feeling lighter than I had earlier, I just have to laugh. This whole thing is a giant clusterfuck of swaying emotions.
Every time I think I’m over Dillan, he pops into my life again. I’ve tried so hard to forget him and move on, but that’s proven impossible. Not only because I know in my heart my feelings run deeper than any silly crush or infatuation, but also because of my baby. How can I forget the man I love when I’m greeted by our son’s face every day?
It seems the day isn’t done throwing me unearthly curveballs. I’ve barely stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk when the front doors of my building burst open. Rex comes barreling out, swearing and muttering to himself. His nose looks crooked. Is it bleeding? I’m too shocked at his appearance to really think about why he’s here.
“What happened to your face?” I ask when he stumbles toward me.
