Page 45 of We Met Like This
The buzz of my phone sounded in my purse and I stopped in the middle of the parking lot to look. Maybe it was Rob telling me to come back.
It wasn’t. It was a text from my sister:How did your meeting go? I’m sure you did great! I’m proud of you. Call me later so you can tell me how you plan to grow your client list.
I groaned.
Then I gasped.
My celebration lunch with Oliver.
No. That couldn’t happen. Our first time together was a disaster. This would be even worse.
I shot off a text:I know this is last minute and I’m so sorry, but today isn’t going to work after all. There is nothing to celebrate.
Once inside my car, I threw my shoes and purse onto the seat behind me and stared at the message from Audrey again. My heart thudded heavily in my chest as I responded:It went great! You were right, using my brain instead of my emotions was the way to go.
I pushed send, put my head on my steering wheel, and cried.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been sobbing like my body had been saving it up for an eternity when there was a knock on my passenger-side window. The sound startled me to a sitting position. I glanced over while wiping my face. All I could see was a torso. It wasn’t Rob’s. It wore a steel-gray button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to quarter length.
“No, thank you!” I called out. I wasn’t sure what this person needed but it was nothing I could give at the moment.
“Margot! It’s me,” came a muffled reply.
“Me who?” I could not think of a single person who would be standing outside my window right now. Sure, my brain was on overload, but that alarmed me.
“Did you forget my name again?”
My mouth fell open and Oliver squatted down. Suddenly his handsome face with his thick, wavy hair and beautiful brown eyes was smiling at me through my closed window. I could only imagine the image that greeted him: mascara down my face, smeared lipstick, snot. Was there snot? I dragged the back of my hand across my upper lip. It was wet, but it could’ve been tears. Please say it was just tears.
I covered my face with my hands. “I sent you a message!”
“I didn’t get it until I parked my car!”
I hadn’t realized I’d texted him so close to our meeting time. “I didn’t tell you to meet me here!”
“You told me to meet you atthatrestaurant!” He pointed across the street. He was right. That’s exactly where I told him to meet me. Since he worked from home, he offered to drive to my restaurant pick. And I selected a place close to work so I could have the full hour. He must’ve recognized my car, the same one I had driven to our date last time, parked here across the street.
“I’ll call you later! I’m sorry!” I was being weird. I knew I was being weird. At this point, he probably didn’t want me to message him later.
“Margot! Unlock the door!” He placed his hand flat on the glass. “Please.” He didn’t yell that last word and I could barely hear it, but his whole expression softened.
I clicked the unlock button. He climbed in the car and shut the door behind him. Suddenly my whole car smelled like soap and cedar and cinnamon and I breathed it in, remembering the scent. Remembering him.
I hiccupped through another sob.
“Come here.” His voice was low and husky.
“You don’t have to…” I tried to object but he pulled me into his arms, our cheeks brushing in the process. Then I was sobbing onto his shoulder. He smelled even better up close, and the deep timbre of his voice speaking soothing words—“It’s okay… I have you… let it out… I’m here”—rumbled through my chest, calming me. I wasn’t sure how long we stayed that way, stretched across a center console once again, but under much different circumstances than the first time.
Eventually, I took one last quivering breath, then sat up and wiped my face. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Thank you.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he responded.
The wet mess that his shoulder had become was not helping his statement.
I flipped down the visor and hesitated before sliding open the mirror. Did I want to know how bad I looked? I steeled myself and slid.
It was bad. So much mascara. I had gone all in that morning to look good for my meeting. “I’ll dry-clean your shirt for you.”
