Page 14 of Forked (Frenched 2)
“My pleasure,” I said. “I’m a huge fan of Two James.”
He smiled. “What can I get for you?”
“How about the five-spirit tasting flight?” Nick looked at me. “You up for sharing that?”
“Sure.”
Sebastian left us, and Nick swiveled his seat to face me, dropping his folded hands between his thighs. “So.”
I glanced briefly at his wrists, which happened to be resting near his crotch, causing another unwelcome yet pleasant tickle between my legs. I pressed my knees together and forced myself to meet his eyes. “So.”
He said nothing, just continued looking at me for a moment, and then he tucked his full bottom lip between his teeth, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should. Very unlike him.
“What?” I squirmed in my seat.
“What, what?”
“You’re staring at me.”
He shrugged. “Can’t help it. You’re beautiful. Even more beautiful than you’ve been in my thoughts, which shouldn’t be possible.”
Feeling heat in my cheeks, I looked down at the bar and busied myself folding the napkin Sebastian had set there into ever smaller squares. “Don’t.”
“Come on, you have to let me look at you a little. It’s been so long.”
I nodded, refusing to meet his eyes, scared that if I did, somehow time would begin rolling backward. “It has been.”
“Seven years.”
“Seven years,” I echoed.
“Seven years, two months, five days, fourteen hours...” He looked at his watch. “And six minutes.”
My mouth fell open, my heart thudding in my chest. Had he really been keeping track of exactly how long it had been since he’d seen me? “Wait a minute. You seriously know that?”
He grinned. “Nah, I’m just teasing. But it’s probably close, right?”
I slapped his leg. “Ugh, I believed you for a second, you asshole. God.” Rolling my eyes, I turned back to the napkin, unfolding it and starting over.
Nick laughed gently. “Sorry, couldn’t resist.” He paused, shifting in his seat. “You know, I can’t decide if it feels like it’s been seven years or seven hours since I last saw you. In a way, it’s like no time has gone by at all.”
I wondered if he meant that it seemed like I hadn’t changed physically or if he meant that his feelings for me hadn’t changed, that they were rushing to the surface in the uninvited and uncontrollable way mine were. “I know what you mean,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “And then in other ways, it’s clear how much time has passed.” Unable to resist teasing him, I reached over and flicked a finger through the few gray hairs above his ear. “Old man.”
“Very funny.” He grabbed my wrist and we grappled for a moment, his eyes lighting up as I struggled and failed to get my arm back. My heart started to race as I realized the last time he had my wrist circled like this he was probably fucking me. I froze. Glancing at my arm, he noticed the tattoo I had running from my inner wrist toward my elbow, a quote from a book I’d loved as a child. “Nice. Is it new?”
“No, not really. I got that one in Paris.” Our eyes met as unspoken history flowed between us.
“What does it say?” He studied the French script.
“It says, ‘Here is my secret. It is very simple: one only sees clearly with the heart. What is essential is invisible to the eye.’ It’s from The Little Prince.”
Nick looked at the tattoo again, so tenderly that for a second I was terrified he would kiss it and I’d be lost. But he didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“For everything.”
