Page 54 of Ella Gets the D
He pushes off the bar, flexing the muscles in his forearm, and straightens. Two barstools separate us, and he moves closer. He stops in front of my stool, his legs inches from my thigh. There’s no contact, but I’m close enough to feel the heat.
“My apologies.” His eyes linger from above, forcing me to look up. I start at his square jaw covered in five-o’clock shadow and move up thin lips and a bulb nose to reach the hooded stare fixed on me.
“Not necessary. I’m in the middle of a divorce.”
His hand goes to the bar, with another under my stool to turn me. He’s now between my legs, his six-foot-something height lowered so our faces can be inches apart. “In that case, want to ditch your ex and go back to my place?” A mix of scruff and a halo of wavy brown strands frame his face.
McDimples is a beautiful man. But as handsome as he is, he’s not the one I want.
“Tempting, but I’ll pass.”
Blue eyes flicker. “Okay,” he says with a smile. “Not tonight. I’ll see you around.”
On his exit, I pluck a menu from the bar and order a Waldorf salad and scallops risotto. Charles makes his way to me when I’m halfway through the crème brûlée. “Thank you for waiting.”
The nerve.
He unbuttons his gray suit jacket and sits on the stool next to me. “Scotch on the rocks,” he says to a passing bartender, who peeks at me with a frown. “How are you, El?”
“Full.” I pat my belly. “Then again, I did wait for close to an hour. Did your phone die with your manners?”
He sighs. “It’s almost the end of the fiscal year at my organization. I lost track of time. Let it go.”
“I did let you go, and your days of wasting my time are over.” I smile at his glare. “Come late without a courtesy call again, and we’ll speak through our lawyers. Am I clear?”
I spent years sitting in front of room-temperature dinners, questioning where my husband is and what excuse I’ll give my kids. I’m done with being an afterthought. I’m the prize.
“I said—”
I lift a hand between us. “I heard your excuse, but not an apology.”
His jaw tightens on a hard swallow of scotch. For someone who makes over half a million a year, he looks like crap. His suit, usually pressed to perfection, shows wrinkles, and the eyes currently annoyed with my existence carry heavy bags. “I’m sorry. It’s been…difficult. I’ve made mistakes, but I do owe you an apology.”
If I didn’t have a season pass to this ride, I’d mistake his narcissistic tendencies for empathy. Charles only cares about himself. He has zero accountability and wears arrogance like it will never go out of style. Add up every “I’m sorry” he uttered over sixteen years, and it wouldn’t amount to changed behavior.
“The only thing you should focus on is showing up for Haile and Jackson. They deserve another parent who will be there for them.” Charles looks down and nods.
His father was never present in his life, and it shows in the way Charles buries himself in his work. But history will repeat itself over my dead body.
“I’ll drop them off at your mother’s by five on Fridays. Jackson’s baseball ends in two weeks. I’ll meet you and the kids at the games and pick them up on Sunday evenings. Don’t look at me like I asked you to quit your job.” I roll my eyes. “The least you can do is catch his final two games. We’ll reassess the kids’ schedule in July and go from there. Deal?”
Charles leans against the bar and considers me. The corner of his mouth twitches.
“Something funny?”
“No.” He chuckles and raises his hands. “I’ve missed your feistiness.”
“Don’t start.”
“I know.” His laughter catches me off guard. It’s been—goodness, I don’t remember how long since this Charles made an appearance. I fell in love with this Charles, and I gave him chance after chance.
The memory steals a smile I had no intention of giving. “Just make sure you don’t drop the ball again.”
“I promise, El.” His stare roams over my sleeveless white bodysuit and high-waisted linen pants. The olive cardigan meant to shield me from the steady blast of air conditioning stayed in the car. It’s too damn hot, and I deserve to breathe easy.
Charles nods to the bar. “Ready for a nightcap?”
Did he forget in the ten minutes he’s been here that he kept me waiting for close to an hour? Absolutely not.
