Page 5 of From the Embers

“Adelaide?” I finally sputter, when it becomes apparent that her locked gaze isn’t leaving mine. One thing is for sure, Daryl did not mention she was working at our local watering hole…

I could have messaged her myself, since Daryl gave me her number, to make sure she was settled in.

I’ve had time to prepare to see her again. Plenty of time to figure out what I would say, and more than enough space between the past couple of decades to string a few sentences together. Surely.

“You catch on quick,” she replies with a wink. Her arm resting on the bar is laced with gold bangles, where a heavy-set charm bracelet stands out. Her fingers are stacked with rings and a deep red hue coats her long, curved nails. “It’s also on my name tag.”

I blink down at her chest… not meaning to, but fuck me, if the tank she was wearing didn’t hug her voluptuous body like a second skin. A gold love heart pendant with a diamond in the middle dangles from her neck, perfectly in line with her full breasts, resting in the middle of them. I clear my throat and meet her eyes again, her full lips forming a smile. “Like what you see, Casanova?”

I stare back at her, wondering if I’d heard right… Wait, did she not recognize me? I’m getting the distinct impression she hasn’t caught on yet.

I mean, I know it has been a while but she isn’t acting like the girl I knew with cute glasses and a swinging ponytail. She was very much the girl next door back then with her chirpy outlook on life. Despite what had happened with that near-death experience at four, she always had the time for anyone and everyone. It was always like her problems weren’t her own at all, she just chose to not dwell on the shit that life dished up.

And to answer her question: Yes, I liked what I saw, more than I should.

Needless to say it’s clearly the start of my sweating palms and heart palpitation era all over again…

Just the start.

The choke hold should’ve been my warning to back off…

two

Denver

“Casanova?” I retort, the irony of that statement is not lost on me at all.

Okay, I’ve been around the block a few times and have been told I can be charming. But I’m not just a nice guy to seduce women. I like to think I am who I am because of my solid upbringing and my parents instilling into me good manners no matter what. Okay, I am a man, and there’s been times in my life where I could have done plenty of things better, but I’ve never mistreated a woman in my life. And I never would. I’ve also never used a woman for my own gain, or just for sex.

She shrugs. “If the shoe fits.”

I scrub a hand over my face, wondering how the fuck I’m going to get out of this one, or at the very lest, give her some inclination of who I am.

Does she really not know?

I was in my twenties when she last saw me… I’ve changed over the years. Maybe I’ve grown a little harder and a little more cynical. I’m stronger though, physically, more solid than I was back then. I grew up. Of course, I instantly regret not shaving today.

“Are you new around here?” I decide to test the theory, at least, for a minute or two.

“New to the city,” she replies. “Not to Chicago as a whole, but that’s a whole other story.” She waves her hand as I smirk. Her eyes catch mine again and hold them there, she narrows them slightly as if trying to figure me out. We’d need more than a few minutes to do that.

I wait for a moment to see if she’s suddenly going to laugh and ask me why the hell we’re making small talk like we’re strangers… but she doesn’t.

I mean, it’s dim in here and all, but I am starting to think I’ve changed more than I originally thought. “What brings you to the city?” I ask.

“Family,” she says, her eyes dropping to the bar for the first time. I follow the fall of her face and instantly feel a dull ache in my chest, a familiar one that I really want to shake as quickly as possible. The tinge of sadness seems to wash over her like a cloudy veil. Even though there are gaps that let in the light, her light, she seems suddenly shrouded in darkness.

The lump in my throat makes me reach for my drink, emptying the last of its contents in one quick gulp. It doesn’t quite have the effect I was hoping for, but it was better than nothing.

“Among other things,” she adds.

And I instantly want to know what those ‘other things’ are. I want to know every damned thing. Suddenly, from where I’m standing, it seems like I know nothing at all.

I want to tell her it’s me, Denver, and ask her a million things about what she’s been doing these last ten years and if life has been good to her. A twinge of sadness hits me hard that it has been so long since I’ve seen her.

I watch as she pushes off the bar to serve some customers next to me. She moves quickly and fluidly, and I know right away this isn’t her first time behind a bar.

She knows what she’s doing with precision and grace… My mind idles back while I watch her carefully, still nursing the empty bottle and my friends rabbiting in my ear about the game that I am only half listening to.