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My feet ached, but rainstorm or not, with only one more person to buy for I'd been determined to complete my list and decided to try and wait out the storm. Minutes later, there had still been no let-up and the rain-filled canvas above me had begun to leak.
Fortunately, when I looked to my left, I noticed an inviting little wine bar only two doors down from where I stood. On impulse, I took the unusually brave decision for me, to get out of the rain and brave the wine bar alone.
Once I stepped inside, I hadn’t felt nearly as brave as I had when I was out in the street. I glanced further down the dimly lit, crowded wine bar; it felt far too intimate to a lone female like me. However, before I could turn and leave a petite blonde waitress with a welcoming toothy grin stepped out from a wooden hatch in the counter and stood directly in front of me.
"Hey there, table for one?" she asked in a chirpy tone. She pivoted the top half of her body around from the waist, her eyes scanning the place for an empty table. I found myself doing the same.
My stomach knotted at the question, and her "table for one" comment reminded me again of how alone I felt. I hesitated for a second and glanced out at the dreary weather again. I sighed. "Yes, please," I heard myself reply.
"Thanks to the rain we're almost full, but you're in luck. We've got one table left." She smiled and gestured at the small oak table right by the door. I figured since it was probably drafty and less intimate than the rest that it had been suitable for someone like me.
Without replying, I let her lead me to the square wooden table and perched my various paper gift bags on two of the seats either side of me. I stared at the last empty chair located opposite me, facing the door.
"What can I get for you?" the waitress prompted again with a smile.
"Chardonnay?" I questioned, without looking at the wine menu. I felt grateful when she nodded and moved away to order it from the bar. Grabbing my purse, I rummaged inside and pulled out my cell phone. I was checking my emails when I heard the familiar voice of my husband, and my heart stopped for a beat.
"May I have a clean glass, please?" Hearing his tone scattered my thoughts. I felt my pulse in my throat and when I glanced up, I saw Logan. Holding up a smudged glass for the waitress's inspection, he twirled it this way and that. What the hell are the chances of this?
The waitress apologized profusely as she took the dirty glass from him and passed him a clean one. He turned and had begun to walk away, but his step faltered when he suddenly looked up and recognized me.
His eyes went wide and I sat motionless as I read the indecision in his body language, and waited, almost transfixed, to see what he would do. He pulled himself up straighter and walked over toward me. I instantly felt myself shrink in response and steeled myself to hide this effect from seeing him again.
Pulling myself up, I straightened up in my chair, ready to fend off some insult or unkind comment he'd more than likely make about me being in a wine bar alone.
My chest grew tighter with each step closer he came and the hollow space within my gut filled with dread at the imminent conversation ahead. I knew talking with him would most likely mean learning new things about him—about them. Logan and Poppy.
Even her name sounded ridiculously young in connection with the stuffy academic my husband used to be before he met her. Now he dressed differently and appeared a trendy forty-something with a hot girlfriend on his arm.
For the first time in months, I felt anxious about receiving any new details our discussion would unearth, and I knew whatever he said would most probably add yet another layer of hurt for me.
"Billie?" he asked, as if he couldn't believe it was me either. My heart rate spiked, each beat struggling for rhythm as sheer panic rose to my throat. He was the last person I'd wanted to talk to.
"Mm-Hmm?" I asked in return, surprised when my bored tone hadn't given away the anguish I felt inside.
"What're you doing in here on your own?" he asked, his deep blue eyes full of concern as he studied my face for answers. A reaction I hadn't fully expected. It was likely he'd thought a trendy wine bar in downtown New York was the last place he'd have expected to run into me. And then—it struck me. There was little doubt I looked bedraggled.
Before the rain came my flat-ironed, long brown hair had looked sleek, but I knew the storm would have made my mad curls recoil and my untamed mane had likely looked a mess of frizz in some places and would have been plastered flat against my head in others.
"What's it to you?" I asked, barely managing to keep the bitterness from my voice.
He sighed. "I still care, you know," he mumbled, a tad frustrated when I stared blankly into his eyes. At that moment, I wanted to maim him for life or at least punch him in the face for making me feel all of the unwanted feelings of longing that coursed through my body right then. I had missed him.
After a moment his gaze softened, his body sagging a little at the shoulders, and for a split second, I was almost taken in by his concern. Almost. Then I remembered where we were in our lives and that the only link that connected me to him was as the mother to his son, especially since I'd changed back to my maiden name of Billie Collier.
"Yeah … thanks," I replied and sniggered before I took a deep breath. I exhaled slowly so as not to lose my temper with the man. What a jerk.
"Look," he softened his voice further to match the unfamiliar compassion in his eyes. Then, as if he remembered who he was in the wine bar with, his body suddenly stiffened again.
Turning his head for a moment, he glanced over his shoulder to look for her before turning his attention back toward me. I bristled in my chair at the thought of her watching us.
"We have nothing left to say to one another. Just go," I remarked in a tired tone, as I waved him off with my hand when the waitress arrived with my wine.
She placed two large glasses of white wine in front of me. I looked up in confusion at her, wondering if she'd brought one for him as well, until she smiled her toothpaste-ad-white smile again. "It's two for one right now. It's happy hour," she clarified.
"Maybe we could talk sometime?" he asked with a hopeful note in his voice, ignoring the waitress. I smiled at her and noticed the concerned look she cast toward Logan. I wondered if she thought he was bothering me.
"Not happening." I flashed a tight smile at the waitress again. She smiled back at my answer to him, tucked her small silver tray under her arm and spun away from us on her heels. I watched her leave and reach the bar before I gave Logan my attention again and I shrugged. "There's nothing to talk about until you sign the divorce papers that were sent to you several months ago."
