You’re Still The One: An angsty second chances romance (NYC Singles Book 1)

Ashley rotated the steering wheel of her Cruze, trying to reverse out of the parking lane. Seeds of annoyance sprouted inside her when she realized that the empty spot she’d seen had been a mirage.

Monday morning, back to work and back to fighting for a parking spot.

She didn’t dread the first day of the work week, like most people did. Maybe because she liked her job. But she did dread getting a parking spot on Monday morning.

It was a lot of work, being an editor, but also a lot of fun. The feeling of seeing a rough manuscript polished into a refined diamond was priceless. It made all the hard work worth it. And how many people had the privilege of discovering the next big writer? Being an editor was not just about editing, it was about bringing compelling new voices into the world. She saw her role as a cheerleader, motivational speaker, best friend and mentor rolled into one.

Since the first day she’d started working at Doubleside Publishing, she had clicked with the people and the environment. It was like she’d found home—a place where she could be comfortable enough to grow every day. Plus, the coffee machine made a mean cappuccino.

Crawling at five MPH, Ashley looked out for another spot to box her Cruze into. The parking lot was overflowing today. Cars were stuffed into the space like bees in a beehive. Wherever she turned, there were cars, cars, and more cars.

Usually, she didn’t have to deal with this because she came ten minutes early, so that she could park. In four years, she’d worked out that a five-minute delay in getting to work meant a ten-minute search for a parking spot.

She was half-certain that it was one of the management’s devious strategies for getting employees in early, which was the reason that they hadn’t expanded the staff parking for years. They’d hired fifteen new people this quarter, meaning fifteen new cars, but no new parking spaces.

Ashley wondered why couldn’t people take the subway to save the environment? Hell, why hadn’t she taken the subway? Now, she was driving around in circles when she had a meeting in fifteen minutes.

Nine-thirty meetings should be illegal.

Her breakfast—an overripe banana, an apple and a buttered toast she had whipped up this morning—was rapidly losing its freshness as it sat in a brown paper bag on the passenger seat.

Ashley slammed a fist into the wheel. Angst turned into hope when she saw something. Lady Luck was shining on her because there was a stretch of concrete that seemed to be vacant.

Yelling an excited, “Yes!” she pushed the gearstick into second gear and charged into the clearing between closely packed automobiles, only to find that the owner of the blue Fiesta to the right had double-parked.

She wondered for the hundredth time why Washington hadn’t passed a bill against double-parking yet.

Throwing her head back against the seat, she let out a cry of frustration.

Today was not her day. It was so not her day.

The hair dryer had almost electrocuted her this morning before giving up the ghost, leaving her with dripping hair. Then her mobile phone had not charged, though she’d left it plugged into the socket all night. And if a dead phone and dripping hair had not been enough, now she was circling around the parking lot without a space to park.

What other good news awaited her?

Her belly groaned. Grabbing the apple from the bag, she bit into it. Lunch at her desk wasn’t going to happen, so she might as well eat now. As she munched on the Red Delicious, and her car moved forward without direction, the most serendipitous thing happened.

A white Elantra pulled out, leaving an empty spot. A shiny vacant space perfect for her Cruze to fit into. Tossing the apple to the backseat, Ashley rushed forward to seize the heaven-sent opportunity.

When the seatbelt finally slid over her on its way back to the doorframe, she looked at the time and gasped.

Nine forty-five.

***

“Sorry I’m late.”

Ashley etched the guiltiest expression she could manage without having to take professional acting lessons as she closed the door to the meeting room behind her.

Her boss, Mary, shrugged, unimpressed, and dipped her square chin sideways—a signal for Ashley to have a seat. Green tea—the only beverage Mary drank since she’d quit drinking coffee last year—sat in a clear plastic cup to her right.

Ashley counted. From the left, the order was Aoi, Dana, Marcia, Gabriella and Mary. Aoi, Gabriella and she were editors at Doubleside Publishing—the non-fiction imprint of Moonlight Publishing—while Marcia and Dana were senior editors and Mary was editor-in-chief.

Okay, so everyone was here. She always took a mental attendance before meetings. It was a habit.

“We were discussing the new book Anette acquired,” Aoi said. “The shoe guide by the Malaysian shoe designer. We were brainstorming titles for it.”

Ashley nodded and set the papers she was carrying on the long glass table. “So what have you come up with so far?”

“I think we’re going to go with First Foot Forward,” Dana said.

“Sounds good.” Mary gave her stamp of approval and then looked to her iPad for the next item on the agenda. “What’s the update on The Nature Diet? The release date is only five months away.”

“I sent it to production last week,” Marcia said.

“Okay, so that’s done. And moving on to the other titles on the fall list, how is Perfect Chemistry coming along?” Mary asked, her eagle nose aimed at Ashley.

Ashley swallowed. There was a sticky situation there. “I think Randall is going to be late handing in the revisions. It’s been a month since I sent him the editorial letter. I’m spamming his and his agent’s inbox every day and calling them every other day. They say he’s working on it, but he refuses to give me a timeframe. And he’s not responded to my emails for the last two days. I am worried about the book release date.”

Perfect Chemistry was one of the lead titles on the fall list. The marketing department was promoting it heavily due to the perennially popular subject matter of the book—relationships—and its promise to ‘decode’ the science behind attraction once and for all. The marketing department had even arranged for Randall to go on air on the Today show.

“Oh, great!” Mary said, slamming her petite fingers on the stack of papers. “An author pulling the disappearing act.”

“I’ll try to meet with his agent sometime this week and I’ll keep sending him emails.” What else could she do, anyway?

“Okay, do that. And keep me in the loop about what happens with it.”

“In all probability, the release date will have to be shifted.”

“Not my favorite thing to do,” Mary said, looking irritated.

The meeting stretched on until eleven, when, at last, they managed to get through everything they had to cover for the week. Ashley lifted up her bag, eager to get back to her computer where there were mountains of emails waiting to be cleared. At two, she had another meeting with the art director to look at some cover concepts he’d come up with.

“Oh, right, I totally forgot about this one.” Mary’s navy trousers got to the gap between the door and the frame, then pulled away. “Ashley, can I have a word with you?”

Ashley eyed the other women in the room nervously. “Sure.”

“See you around,” Aoi said and vacated the room along with the other editors, leaving Ashley alone with Mary.

Mary closed the door. The tense expression on the older woman’s face made Ashley’s heart turn like a merry-go-round.

“Ashley, can I ask you for a favor?” Mary’s voice lacked its usual confidence.

“Sure,” Ashley said, dreading what would come next.

Mary dabbed her temples with her lithe, manicured fingers. “Sorry to drop this on you so suddenly, but I’m getting a divorce.”

“Oh.”

Ashley didn’t know whether to congratulate her or look sorry. Her own divorce had aroused a mixed bag of emotions in her.

“Good luck.” It was not the most sensitive thing to say. “Divorces can be tough.”

She should know that. Hers had been an uphill climb emotionally and mentally. The procedure itself had been laughably simple—a few signatures on sheets of paper. But the real pain had started after the two-minute legal procedure. Like a heart surgery, once the anesthesia of the operating room had worn off, the real ache had set in.

And there had been no painkillers to numb the agony.

She half-expected Mary’s next question.

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience. Did anyone in your family go through a divorce?”

“I did.”

She had not planned to talk about her divorce with her boss. She hated talking about it with anyone, but Mary’s haggard face had made the words spill out.

“I didn’t know you were divorced.” Mary was surprised.

She wriggled her toes inside her red platform-heeled shoes. “It was a long time ago.”

“You must’ve been very young.”

And stupid. Stupid enough to fall for a pretty face with no heart.

“I was. But I think it would be difficult at any age.” she said.

“You look like you’ve weathered it well.” It was a compliment. “It gives me hope.”

Ashley squeezed her feet together. She didn’t deserve that compliment.

“It becomes easier with time. You forget a lot of things. And you become good at ignoring whatever you remember.”

“Nicholas and I have been together for ten years.” The grimace was a precursor to what Ashley suspected would be the reason for divorce. “I never thought he would cheat on me with my son’s tutor. She’s five years older than me! Five. And he wants custody of Mark. How am I supposed to let my son live with a cheating bastard and that woman?”

The hurt pride and self-esteem… Ashley recognized that. The nagging sense of inadequacy, the fear of facing an uncertain future… those, too.

“Don’t worry about custody. I’m not a lawyer, but I think if you’re economically independent, you can easily get custody.”

“My lawyer says the same thing. But all this is really stressful. Was it like that for you too?”

Ashley understood Mary’s need to compare and seek validation. And she wanted to provide the validation that no one had given her.

“Mine was a mutual consent divorce, but it was still rough. You’ll start to feel better once the unpleasantness is over.”

“His actions don’t make any sense. Am I not pretty? Am I not smart? Wasn’t I faithful?” She was talking more to herself than to Ashley. Divorce had a way of making emotional outbursts appear out of nowhere.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Ashley consoled. “You’ll find a much better man who recognizes who you are.”

Well, she hadn’t found that man yet, but she could give others hope, couldn’t she?

“You’re right. I will.” Mary’s shaky confidence settled. But Ashley knew that it was only a temporary equilibrium. Permanent confidence took years to build.

Confidence was really the most delicate object in the world—it shattered like glass at the slightest provocation. It deserted you when you needed it the most.

In that sense, it was a lot like Andrew.

Mary’s knuckles took away the traces of her tears. Inhaling, she returned to her earlier calmness. Her marsh-green eyes slanted to Ashley.

“Oh, by the way, the reason I’m telling you all this is because I signed a new writer. He’s a well-known entrepreneur, working on an autobiography. He sent me the completed first draft yesterday. I was looking forward to editing it personally but due to my divorce, I’ve fallen behind on the other books on my list so I don’t think I can complete this project. I was wondering if you could take it on.”

With the deadline to turn in manuscripts for the fall 2016 list barely two months away, this was a busy time all-around. Ashley had the lightest editing load amongst the five editors at present, so she knew why Mary was asking her. After sending out the most recent manuscript for proofreading, she had only three more books on her list, which by an editor’s standard was almost a mini-vacation.

“I think you would enjoy this one. It’s in the vein of what you edit.”

Ashley edited non-fiction books on popular psychology and business, not autobiographies. But since saying no to your distressed boss was never an option, she nodded. She’d have to inform Bella that she couldn’t make it to the Thursday night alumni meet. She had to stay in and work on the book.

“Sure, no problem.” She flashed a big, fake smile at the editor-in-chief.

“Good. We’ll need to come up with a title for the book next week.”

“Who’s the writer?” Ashley was warming up to the idea of missing meeting her friends on Thursday.

“Andrew Smith. You must have heard of him. He’s very famous.”

“Andrew Smith? As in the founder of Dracosys, tech icon and multi-millionaire?” And my ex-husband?

Mary nodded.

Ashley’s heart delved into the bottom of the ocean.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Mary added, with her fingers curled around the door handle. “I was supposed to have lunch with Andrew and his agent at one tomorrow, but I think you should go instead, since you’re going to be working on his book. It’d be a good chance to have a chat, get to know him and his agent.”

“Sure, no problem.” Ashley managed her best impersonation of a million-watt smile.

And the Oscar for the best supporting actress goes to… Ashley Brown.

“Thank you. Thank you so much.” The relief on her boss’ face was obvious. “I owe you one for this.”

Ashley was too lost to reply.

The clean, burgundy-carpeted office floor sank into her vision as she drifted back to her desk. Backs stuck out from the row of cubicles decorated with Post-Its, books and assorted personal baubles. She turned on her computer screen.

Her mind was still unsettled.

Her instincts rebelled against editing Andrew’s book and seeing him again. It was too soon. It had been seven years, but in her mind, time had stopped the day he had handed her the divorce papers at the hospital.

“Sign them when you’re feeling better.” He had uttered those words without an iota of mercy.

She’d been unable to frame a reply, having just regained her consciousness in the hospital. Not that he had waited for her response. He’d walked away. Andrew’s lawyer had collected the papers from her and the divorce had been granted a few weeks later.

Her wounds from that time were still raw, still waiting for some miracle to heal them. Thinking of them made her tear up.

Ashley mindlessly opened her drawer to find the bar of chocolate she had stashed away there. Bite after bite, she tried to numb the discomfort in her heart with sugar.

The chocolate didn’t work, though, because her throat still stung and now she had phlegm to deal with on top of pain. Tears rolled down one by one, until the taste of salt on her lips robbed her of the sweetness of chocolate.

You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay without him. She chanted the words like a mantra. Those words were what she had lived by for the last seven years. Every time her needy, lovesick side reared its head, she would quash it with her monologue.

Bringing up her limbs onto the chair, she wrapped her arm around, shut her eyes and saw his face. She opened them again.

Her fingers clicked open her inbox on autopilot. But when she saw the number of new emails, she snapped awake.

Three hundred unread emails. Time to start working.

***

There were some people you never wanted to see again.

For Ashley, Andrew Smith was one of them.

At thirty-one, she had her life sorted out. She was an editor at one of New York’s top publishing firms. She had what every woman in her twenties dreamt of—a shapely body, a dream job, an apartment and smashing shoes. Hell, she even had a nice car.

So why was Andrew trying to mess up her life again?

She checked her phone for the zillionth time, hoping he’d have left her a message saying he couldn’t make it to the restaurant—he was a millionaire, he could have his pick of excuses.

Instead, she found a message from his agent Derek saying he couldn’t make it because his daughter had fractured her arm in school, but that she should still meet with Andrew.

And so, lunch with Andrew and his agent had turned into a lunch with her ex-husband only. She tried to not let that get to her, but it did.

Knowing she wasn’t going to get through this without a shot of something strong, Ashley flipped the drinks menu. Nah, wine wasn’t strong enough. Jack Daniels sounded promising, though. Something with forty percent alcohol by volume had to pack a punch.

So she ordered a glass of that.

While waiting for it and the ‘author,’ who was ten minutes late, she stared at the fish tank.

No one could miss the fish tank inside the Pink Fish. It was humongous and it was in the centre of the restaurant, so that every patron could snap up a view of the magical underwater world from their table.

Glowing purple jellyfish and bright orange starfish levitated like angels. There were many other colorful fishes crowding the cerulean waters. Spellbound, she watched them float in the miniature ocean. It was breathtaking.

The rest of the restaurant had a more traditional Japanese vibe, with bamboo paneled floors and low tables and mats arranged in concentric circles around the water tank. The partitions between tables created a secluded atmosphere of privacy, which was ideal for business conversations.

She had never been to the Pink Fish before. It was the kind of posh place that was out of her reach. But since the company was paying for this lunch, she could enjoy herself without having to worry about her wallet.

Editing was a wonderful job, but in terms of annual income, five figures was as good as it was going to get for her.

“Your drink, ma’am,” the Japanese-American waitress, wearing a beautifully draped pink kimono, said. As she trotted away, Ashley looked at the reflection of fishes swimming in the amber liquid inside the tall glass. Pretty.

But before she could take a sip, movement at the entrance distracted her.

It didn’t take her even a millisecond to pin that jawline. Andrew. As he walked towards her, he was in equal parts dangerous and graceful—like a leopard crawling towards its prey. The fever he brought on her senses robbed them of their ability to recognize anything except him.

She hadn’t been prepared to see Andrew again, she realized that now. The stunning six feet of memories, the flesh-and-bone version of the demons in her heart—she wasn’t ready to face him.

In his tailored navy business suit, Andrew looked cold, controlled and cautious. That made her feel all the more at disadvantage.

The cut of his face had honed itself to sharpness in the gap of time. He’d always had a perfect face. If only he’d had a perfect conscience, they could have stayed together.

He squatted down opposite her and folded his legs. The pen sticking out his pocket reflected her alarm-stricken face. She shifted to the left. Proximity to him did strange things to her.

“Good afternoon.” His voice had changed. Become deeper. Sexier. Huskier. It stroked her folds and slicked them with aching heat. How could he still do this to her body?

“Good afternoon, Mr. Smith.” The words were softer than a whisper. All the air had left her lungs, so how was she supposed to talk?

“Call me Andrew. Mr. Smith makes it sound like you’re addressing my father.”

He didn’t miss the whiskey sitting on the hip-level surface of the kotatsu. Its alcoholic smell mingled with the woody perfume on his white shirt—the same Calvin Klein perfume he had worn all those years ago. It was masculine, seductive and utterly him. She hated this fragrance.

“How are you doing? I appreciate you taking out the time to come here. I’m sorry Derek had to cancel at the last minute.” Pretending to be friendly was hard work when she didn’t feel even remotely amicable towards him. No wonder actors earned millions.

“I’m good. How about you, Ashley?” He spoke her name without emotion, but it still made her heart flutter. Why ask her now? He should have asked this question when she had been in hospital.

Dropping her gaze to his legs, she avoided direct eye contact. His navy trousers clung to his hard, muscled legs. He crossed them, making it impossible for her not to steal a few glances. He’d been good-looking when they’d married, but his arms and legs had definition now. He must have started working out. Discipline was his forte, after all.

“Better than I’ve ever been in my life.” She ground her teeth as she pushed out the words. She couldn’t show weakness.

He smiled that half-smile of his, which cracked an untouched corner of her heart open. “Glad to hear that.”

She would almost have believed he cared. But rocks were not capable of caring.

Uncomfortable silence enveloped them as they both tried to break the ice.

“Mary told me you’ve finished writing the manuscript.” Ashley took a gulp of whiskey to calm the nerves that were jittery.

“I sent the document to her. Didn’t you receive it?”

“I did. I haven’t read it yet. I’ll be sending it to one of the freelance editors we work with for a developmental edit, then I’ll do my edit after that. Then there’s copyediting and proofreading, after which your book will be typeset and go into production. The process of editing will take around two months and we’re looking at November for the release date.”

“November is a long way away. It’s only August.”

“The process of publishing a book takes time,” she said. “But a release date close to Christmas means you can count on holiday sales.” Ashley gulped down another hit of whiskey. She couldn’t stop drinking. He was making her nervous.

“Oh, right.”

She slid the drinks menu across the table to him. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Green tea.” What was with this green tea fad? First Mary, now him.

“Nothing alcoholic?” She’d have assumed he needed something strong too, to be able to face her.

“I have to drive back. I assume you don’t have to.”

Oops. She’d forgotten about DUI. She eyed the glass that was now half empty—and no, that wasn’t the pessimist in her saying that.

Time to change the topic. “Isn’t the fish tank gorgeous?”

“It is.” He spaced out, looking at the fishes. “Did you know that if starfish get hurt, they can regenerate themselves? Don’t you wish humans had the same ability?”

Oh, yes, she wished they did. Then she wouldn’t have to carry around the scars that he had given her like a badge of honor.

“What’s the reason you decided to write an autobiography?” she enquired.

The gurgle of water in the aquarium had him distracted, so she had to repeat her question.

“There were some facts I needed to clarify to the public.”

“Like what?”

“Things about Dracosys’ beginnings, and our IPO. There are a lot of misconceptions surrounding that. And I wanted to talk a bit about my experience with marriage. Our marriage.”

Ashley balled her palms into fists. She had been dreading this topic but it seemed it would have to be dealt with.

“What about our marriage?” she asked, sharply.

“You’ll know when you read chapter eight.” He left her hanging.

The first file she would open on getting back to the office would be chapter eight of the document Mary had emailed her.

“You wrote a chapter on our marriage?” Had it meant that much to him?

“Two, actually. One on you and one on our marriage.” There wasn’t the mildest inflection in his tone. No tenderness.

“If you mentioned my name or about my depression and suicide attempt, I’m going to edit it out. You don’t have the right to write about those things.”

She was beginning to see the advantages of being his editor.

“I’m not that insensitive. You remain anonymous throughout. There’s nothing revealing there. In the process of writing my autobiography, I think I’ve mastered the art of saying nothing while sounding like I’m saying something.”

We’ll see, she thought.

“What else have you written about that I need to know about?” She tapped on the table.

The edge of his mouth shifted up. “My marital status.”

Her stomach knotted, and it wasn’t because of hunger. Was Andrew single? Wait, that shouldn’t matter. Despite the curiosity she felt inside, she had to act aloof on the outside to avoid misleading him.

“Your marital status doesn’t matter to me. I’ve moved on. And I’ve changed. I’m neither as timid nor as dependent as I used to be.”

“You were never timid. Always a spitfire—since the moment we met.”

She was flooded with memories of their first meeting.

Her nipples hardened instinctively, waiting for the brush of his fingers, the flick of his tongue to send them back to that same frenzy. She was grateful he couldn’t see how aroused she was. Padded bras were the greatest invention of this century after the internet.

“Just remember that I’m not going to let the book go to press if it contains anything personal about me.” she asserted.

“I got the message. You don’t have to keep repeating it, dear.”

Dear. It was a meaningless endearment. But it made her blush.

“I’m glad we’re both clear on my low tolerance for nonsense.” She must look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, she was blushing so furiously.

He didn’t fail to capitalize on that. “We are, although I’m not quite clear on why your face is red as a strawberry.”

Too embarrassed to make anything but shallow excuses, she did just that. “Must be the heat. I’m sweating in these clothes.” She pretend-fanned herself.

“You’re suffocating wearing a skirt and sleeveless blouse?”

“You must have high heat tolerance to be wearing a suit and not feel the heat. Not everybody can do that.”

“I can handle the heat.” The double meaning behind those words was accentuated by the constancy of his gaze on her.

The mercury shot up a few more notches. To distract herself, she checked the time. She hadn’t noticed how quickly time had passed. Then again, she never did when she was with him.

Thirty minutes had flown by and they were yet to order anything. If she had to get back to her desk by two, this lunch had to end in the next half hour.

“The entrees look so mouthwatering.” And expensive, she mused, guiding his attention onto the menu—away from the sparks between them. “Do you have any particular preference?”

“I’m vegetarian,” he said flatly.

“Since when?” He hadn’t been a vegetarian when they were married.

“Since seven years ago.”

“Do you eat fish?” she asked, not quite sure whether anything on the menu was vegetarian.

“No. Pescatarians eat fish.” He scanned the menu for something that met his dietary restriction.

The smiley waitress, the one in the pink kimono, took their order. Edamame beans, gomae salad, assorted sushi, beef teriyaki and grilled tofu. The post-small talk lull dragged on as they both avoided asking any more personal questions.

Ashley coughed and checked her email to seem occupied. His presence made it difficult for her to focus on anything, though. He had the kind of presence that commanded attention. Demanded attention. Yes, she was still physically attracted to him. There was no woman in this world who wouldn’t be physically attracted to Andrew Smith. He was hot. Period.

But she was smarter now. She never repeated her mistakes. She wouldn’t fall for those smoldering eyes again. For all his hotness, his heart was more frigid than the North Pole. And emptier than the Grand Canyon.

“So who do you think is winning?” He finally broke the ice, adjusting his lilac silk tie.

“Winning what?”

“This war of silence.”

His eyes trailed over her neck, following the curve all the way down to the point where it converged with her breasts. There was something about the way he looked at her. He was dousing her nervous system in kerosene and lighting a matchstick.

She breathed deeply. Andrew Smith was a blunder she couldn’t make again.

“I was under the impression that you didn’t want to talk.” she said.

“What made you think that?”

Nothing, actually. But she couldn’t say that.

“You were looking at the fish tank. I thought you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

“I wasn’t looking at the fish tank. I was looking at you. You are the one who’s been looking at your smartphone screen.” The baritone, low and mellow, was laced with a hint of irritation.

“Oh, sorry.” Making small talk was becoming harder and harder. She looked to the bamboo shoots at the entrance. “Those bamboo shoots are arranged very artistically. It must have been difficult to get them to look so aesthetic.”

“Neither you nor I give a fuck about how well ordered the bamboo shoots are.”

She smiled politely, trying to keep her composure. Yet she felt it crack as the cauldron inside her bubbled up to her tongue.

“So what is it that we do give a fuck about?” she asked.

Andrew gulped down some water. “Sorry, that was unwarranted. I’m edgy these days. The bamboo shoots are very artistic indeed.”

“Problems at work?” In her one-year internship as his wife she had learnt that stress at work always showed up in his attitude.

“We’re expanding to Europe, so it’s exhausting because of the time difference between London and New York. But I’m excited. And it’s going great.”

Still a workaholic. Some people never changed.

Their steaming hot dishes were delivered to them, just as her stomach was beginning to rumble. Ashley took in the scent of the various delicacies spread out on the table, waiting for him to start, not wanting to be the first one to eat.

“Please, go ahead.” She played the gracious hostess.

Andrew picked up a block of tofu with his chopsticks and chucked it into his mouth.

“It’s firm and well seasoned, like tofu should be,” was his verdict. Talking of tofu must have reminded him of the long-ago comparison she’d made between her fingers and tofu. “Your fingers are as beautiful as ever.”

The compliment raised every hair on her arms and legs. Not that there were that many—she had shaved in the morning.

“Thank you,” she uttered, holding back the urge to use her fingers to feel the bridge of his upturned nose. It was so close. Close enough to touch.

He continued to eat, not aware of the secret glimpses of him that she snatched while pretending to have her nose buried in the rice bowl. She had mouthfuls of the Jack Daniels, to distract her one-track mind, until she hit the bottom of the glass.

Please don’t let me get me arrested for DUI, she prayed.

When the waitress removed the plates, they still didn’t communicate. Ashley sank her arm into her brown handbag to draw out her wallet.

“Can we have the bill, please?” she requested.

“I’ll bring it over.” The waitress said with a genial smile.

The bill arrived and she put down her card. It was standard protocol for editors to pay for lunch. Besides, there was no way was she going to let him pay. To his credit, he let her pay without argument. After the payment was done, she gathered her purse.

They got up, at the same time.

“It was nice meeting you, Andrew.” She shook his hand with forged amicability.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

His body moved with a feline grace as he held the door open for her.

“Be careful on the subway,” he said, ducking to save his head from the too-low doorframe of the Pink Fish as they both came to a halt under the rays of the mid-July sun.

“Okay.”

As he walked away, she could trace every muscle in his lower body through his tight trousers. Places where her hands had once been. She tried to erase that image from her mind.

There were some roads that were too precarious to travel down twice.