Page 17 of Almost True
“Do you mind sitting there by the window?” I asked him, realizing he might not want to be seen with me so publicly—at least not on the street. Again, in the other version of my life, I made the decisions, no question. People looked to me and expected me to dictate these details by my body language or patterns. With Aidan, I had no established patterns, no way to read whathewanted, and worse, I cared very much about that.
“That’s fine.”
I realized the mistake of this tiny window-side table the minute he took his seat across from me. Our knees knocked, and even when we both sat up completely straight, he had to inch his chair away to avoid our legs threading together under the table. I’d remembered he was tall, but had he grown taller since we saw each other even yesterday?
I liked that. I liked it so freaking much. I liked pretty much everything about him, and I had to get a handle on that before I started blushing again. Why was my pulse still fluttering at my neck, my wrist? Why did everything sound muted except for the scrape of the chair as I inched it forward?
I’d mastered nervous energy a thousand times, and as much as I liked Aidan Wallace and had admitted that to myself, I wasn’t about to let this go south because of those nerves. I launched in. “So, how are you?”
He looked back at me for a beat, those dark eyes giving me nothing. “Fine. You?”
“I’m well. But I do want to explain a few things. I’m assuming that since you’re here, you’d be interested in that?”
He settled into his seat. “I’m here because you made clear you aren’t dating Chadwick whatever his name is. If my interpretation of that text was wrong, tell me upfront and we’ll be done here. If I’m right, then yes. I wouldn’t mind… understanding.”
A tall redhead set down a saucer with my flat white complete with a little mountain design in the tight foam on top and Aidan’s black coffee, both in bright robin’s egg blue cups.Adorable.
“Here we go, folks. Let me know if you need anything else.” The man grinned and we happily reached for our drinks.
We both thanked the guy with a nod, and I held up my cup. “To second first impressions.”
He let out what sounded like a reluctant, clipped laugh. “To second first impressions.”
We both sipped, and I ran through the many points I wanted to make to ensure he didn’t think I was… anything other than who I was.
“Okay, so first. I am not with Chadwick. We went out twice about four months ago at my mother’s request, and it was very clear we didn’t work. He heard about something that happened recently and just showed up.” I didn’t want to get into the fact that my mother had instigated that whole mess.
Aidan didn’t respond verbally, but his steady eye contact and quiet patience urged me on, so I kept going. “I was on the phone with a family member when you arrived. I’m very sorry about that. Chad had just walked in and took over while I was in the other room, and I hope I don’t need to tell you that he did so without my permission and that anything he suggested was not speaking for me or what I want.”
“Good to know.”
Still that calm, tight beat to his tone. Okay, fine—I could do this.
“I also want to make clear that I see no issue with us interacting outside of the landscaping contract unless you do.” My heart beat wildly in my chest. That was me putting it out there. That was me just… going for it.
He sipped his coffee, still giving me nothing. Dang, this man should consider negotiating as a side gig because he could hold his expression so still and sober, I couldn’t tell whether he agreed or wanted to flip tables in protest.
Why did it feel like the onus was on me?
More, why did thatnotbother me?
“And I suppose we should address the fact that I didn’t tell you who I am,” I said, but my shoulders deflated a touch.
He immediately sensed that, and as though to prove I hadn’t imagined everything about him, he spoke. “No apology necessary. I didn’t give you my last name. I didn’t tell you everything about myself either.”
That cut. As much as I didn’t want to feel it, his words sliced along the tips of my fingers, papercuts that’d take a while to heal even though the action of creating them seemed like a throw away.
I didn’t tell you everything about myself either.Why would that hurt me? How did I care about this man so much?
My best friend would likely say it was because I’d been dreaming of him for so long, he’d become this larger than life, complete person based on a mountaintop evening together.
Still, it hurt. But I didn’t want to let him know that, of course. Times like these sent me right back to when my dad stumbled upon me crying over a guy who’d been a total jerk in high school. I’d sat with our cat, who had the habit of stretching out on his back, paws in opposite directions, and welcoming belly rubs. Unlike other cats, he never hit that overstimulated attack mode. He just lay there, completely vulnerable, letting me nuzzle his head and stroke the softness. My father had studied us both for what might’ve been the longest he’d given me attention outside of a meal. He rarely dispensed anything but mildly approving nods to us kids, but that night, he’d said,“Never show them your underbelly.”
I’d carried that with me a long time. Sometimes, I wondered if maybe I’d curled up too far in the opposite direction. But in this moment, I saw the wisdom again, and I pressed forward. “No, you didn’t.”
We drank in the quiet moment. I wouldn’t have called it awkward, but I didn’t want to stay in this taut, unfeeling space. I wanted that warmth between us, but maybe it’d been too long. Or maybe he was with someone?
Or maybe, knowing who I was in reality changed everything for him.
