You’re Still The One: An angsty second chances romance (NYC Singles Book 1)
You’re Still The One: Chapter 17

Ashley turned the corner and guided her Cruze to its resting spot in front of her house. Bringing the gear back to neutral, she turned off the engine and hopped out. One by one, she hauled the bags of groceries she had amassed at Wal-Mart to her doorstep.

Marty, the retired accountant who lived next door, was walking his Australian shepherd on the sidewalk. He sent her a neighborly smile when he saw her at the door.

“Need some help with those bags?” he enquired in his New York accent, while his dog sniffed the trash bins on the sidewalk, then stuck out its tongue and licked its overhanging jaw.

“No, I’m good, thank you. Out for a walk?” she questioned, juggling the bags and her keys in an attempt to open the door.

His dog, Remus, barked, asking in dog-speak whether he could eat the bar of chocolate sticking out of the plastic bag at her foot. Even canines were not immune to the magical sway of sugar.

“Yeah. I had some cleaning to do this morning, so it’s an afternoon stroll instead of a brisk morning walk.” Kneeling down, he stroked Remus.

Moving the bags one by one to the open doorway, Ashley waved and dipped her head in a polite nod. Remus sadly sniffed at the air, grieving the loss of an opportunity to eat chocolate, then bounced down the sidewalk with Marty.

By the time she put away every item into its correct place, her arms stung with the workout. Ashley flopped to the couch with her lunch—a takeout burrito she had gotten on the way—and pulled up her laptop screen.

She was working from home tomorrow, since she had to get the edit for the book she was working on done and read manuscripts mailed to her by various agents. When she opened her mailbox, what immediately caught her attention was Andrew’s manuscript, saved onto her desktop. The manuscript she had been resisting for three weeks.

With her feelings for Andrew slightly more resolved, curiosity got the better of her and she opened it, even though she was supposed to be editing another book.

Scrolling down the table of contents, she was intrigued by the chapter titles, especially chapter eight. ‘She’. Ashley skipped to it, heart pounding in anticipation of what she would replace.

People say that behind every successful man, there is a woman. But behind every unsuccessful man, there is a woman too—a woman supporting and tolerating his failures. A woman who makes life worth living in the darkest moments of despair. A woman who can change his failures into success. ‘She’ was that kind of woman.

I met her in February, a meeting as strange as what would come after it. We met at midnight, almost like Cinderella and the prince, except unlike Cinderella and her prince, we didn’t have a happily ever after. Our parting was of the sadly-never-after-this kind, which has kept me a determined bachelor for the years following our goodbye.

But the impact she had on me was great. I doubt I would be this successful without her. So to this mysterious ‘she’, I offer my heartfelt thank you.

I am grateful every day that I was able to replace you and I pray every day that you are able to forget me.

So ended the chapter. Ashley closed the file, the words haunting her. For the first time in a long time, her mind was blank. Then the first drop of liquid flowed from her eyes, her heart still empty.

Did Andrew still have feelings for her? If the circumstances had not been what they were, she would have thought that the paragraphs had been written to squeeze some sympathy out of her. But no, these words were sincere. He had written them long before he knew she would ever read them. Besides, Andrew didn’t lie or sugar-coat. Even his parting words had been blunt.

She liked that about him. No. She shook her mop of golden curls. She couldn’t like anything about him. He had made his feelings for her clear. She couldn’t accept it, but what other choice did she have?

Her fingers floated to the keyboard. She thought best when she was writing. So she wrote him an email and pressed send.

Dear Andrew,

While reading chapter eight, I came across a factual error. You didn’t meet ‘she’ at midnight. We met at eleven pm.

His reply came five minutes later. With the way things were between them, Ashley had expected him to ignore her e-mail like he’d been ignoring every other e-mail she’d sent him since Carl’s birthday. Refusing to let her hopes grow, she read what he’d written.

Dear Ashley,

I would like to believe the editor knows best, since she was at the scene much before I was. However, in defense of my factual accuracy, I want to point out that ‘she’ was drunk while I was sober.

Ashley couldn’t resist the urge to write him another one, a flat-out invitation.

Dear Andrew,

‘She’ is not drunk now. But ‘she’ wouldn’t mind getting drunk.

He was getting faster with replying. This one came within the minute. A buzz overtook her as she read his next email. He had dropped the salutation and gotten down to the main message.

Incidentally, it’s twelve o’ clock. The author can send a bottle of wine.

Ashley shot a glance at the clock. It indeed was twelve, though it was pm instead of am. But she couldn’t understand why Andrew was being so nice. Had Bella’s call worked its magic? Bella had said that Andrew hadn’t given her any answer, but could he have changed his mind?

’She’ doesn’t accept gifts from authors who break her heart.

The next one made her heart skip a beat.

I hope ‘she’ accepts apologies from them, such as the one written in chapter eight, line ten.

Ashley glanced over at that line. Not that she had to. She knew every line of that passage now.

‘She’ accepts apologies. However, ‘she’ doesn’t forgive so easily.

It’s okay. The author knows that forgiveness is earned, not given.

‘She’ is glad the author knows that.

Does ‘she’ have the time for a phone call to clear up the misunderstanding from last Saturday? The author is sorry for what happened.

Ashley knew what that phone call would be all about—and she so didn’t want to hear that over the phone.

‘She’ would love to chat, but ‘she’ has a manuscript to edit and lunch to make.

What is ‘she’ making?

Egg scramble. ‘Cause ‘she’ is feeling lazy.

Good luck. But the author wants to meet as soon as possible.

As Ashley closed her laptop, the flushing of her skin made it difficult to focus on anything. That e-mail chat had been so much like their younger days—addictive.

No other man could make her smile and cry within the same hour—and she’d been crying before she’d gone to Wal-Mart. Unable to decide whether that was disturbing or delightful, Ashley walked over the kitchen counter and cracked open two eggs. Her mind refused to stray from Andrew and their virtual conversation, only awakening to reality when she smelt burnt eggs.

Tossing the eggs into the bin, Ashley got back to her computer and typed him one last email.

‘She’ burnt her eggs. ‘She’ wants to go out for a meal with the author.

He sat on the message for three minutes, but it was worth the wait because the reply made her jump.

Where would ‘she’ like to go?

Wherever ‘she’ doesn’t have to pay.

12:45 at Carluccio’s.

‘She’ will be there.

The spring in her step was unmistakable as Ashley threw on a fancy top over her blue skinny jeans followed by a face full of makeup.

If ‘she’ was going to meet Andrew for a date, ‘she’ might as well look the part.

***

Andrew wasn’t big on impromptu meetings, especially when they involved dining out at an upscale restaurant with the one woman who was already turning him inside out. He knew there was a lot they needed to talk about. He owed Ashley an apology. And a date. But not a rushed, unplanned one like this. No, he wanted to give her perfection this time. The perfect apology. The perfect date. The perfect relationship. The perfect everything.

After talking to Bella, he’d come to a few conclusions. The first was that trying to keep Ashley out of his life was a losing game. It was impossible to not think about the only woman he ever thought about. Although he felt guilty for what had happened in the past, he had to accept that the best way to overcome it was not to shut her out, but to listen to her.

Seven years ago, he’d not heard, not observed, not noticed. And when he’d been trying to ‘protect’ her, he’d been doing exactly that. Neglecting her feelings again.

Ashley breezed past him, five minutes late.

Ravishing was the only adjective that could do any justice to her. In a red halter-neck top, blue jeans and high heels, she set him on fire with her devilish smile.

But on the heels of lust came another, equally powerful feeling… uncertainty. He had been led here by her snappy emails, yet he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know the right words. And he needed the right words this time.

She knitted her arm around his.

“Tell me we’re both crazy for doing this,” he said.

It reared its head again, guilt.

“Not just crazy, but pigheadedly crazy,” she whispered in his ear, sedating the neurons that were supposed to connect to the part of his brain that dealt with rationality. “That’s why we’re going to go in, instead of running back to our sanctuaries.”

And they did.

A waiter wearing a crisp white shirt and black trousers pulled two copies of the menu from the front desk and helped them get seated. Most tables were unoccupied, so he let them have their pick. The four-person table at the corner near the kitchen seemed the coziest and that was the one they decided on.

Ashley landed on the chair adjacent to his, rather than sitting opposite him.

“It’s empty in here,” Ashley remarked, resting her rounded chin on her palms, when the waiter had left. Those pretty fingers fluttering spontaneously mimicked the motion of his groin muscles. “I didn’t expect such a quiet Sunday brunch.”

“I wasn’t planning on spending my Sunday afternoon eating linguini with you, either. I’m supposed to be going over the year-end reports.”

“And I’m supposed to be editing your book.” Her orange-stained lips puckered. Orange wasn’t his favorite color, but everything looked good on her. “But I think we’ve both decided that other things can wait.”

“Yes.”

Everything else could wait. This conversation couldn’t. It had waited for too long.

“Would you like to order something to drink?” The waiter came around.

“Just water, please,” they said together.

“Still or sparkling?”

“Still.” Again, in unison.

When he was gone, they both broke out in laughter together.

“We should’ve been born twins,” she joked. “We have twin telepathy.”

“Ashley, Saturday was a mess,” he started, not wanting to go off topic. “I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Please don’t bring that up. Let’s just have a good time right now, and leave the unsavory bits till the end.” She scratched the tablecloth with her manicured nails.

“I’d rather deal with them right now.”

When she couldn’t combat his sternness with her puppy eyes, she sat up straight.

“Okay, let’s play a game of Truth or Dare.” Her eyes glinted with mischief.

“This is not the time to play games.” he said.

“We’ll have our serious conversation, I promise. But don’t you think we should lighten it up with a game?”

Andrew gave in. It was training, he told himself. He was training himself to give her what she wanted. To listen to what she wanted.

“Okay. Who starts?”

He shouldn’t have asked, because she looked squarely at him.

“You.”

It would have to be him, huh.

“Fine, I choose truth.”

The enquiry spilled out of her mouth immediately. “I used to write a journal of my thoughts and feelings when I was married to you. I don’t know where it went. Did you replace it when you moved out?”

“It’s in my apartment.” How had they landed on this topic?

“Did you read it?” The queasiness on her face told him he was better off not replying.

“You’re only allowed to ask one question.” he said.

But she didn’t give up. Tenacity was something she’d never had so much of, when they’d been married. “Did you read it?”

He evaded her question. “Your turn now. Truth or Dare?”

“Did you read it?”

He’d hoped he could sidestep this one.

“Yes. Cover to cover. Every page; every word. I read it so many times I know it inside out. Is there anything in particular you’d like me to recall from it?” There was a clear note of sarcasm in that question.

She threaded her fingers between his and closed them over his palm. Then, looking into his eyes, she asked softly, “The part that hurt you the most.”

Andrew’s throat closed up. He chose the refuge of silence. There was no way he could answer this question and keep his cool. No way he wouldn’t break.

“Which one was it? Tell me.” She was persistent today. She egged him, until his determination tore like a thin sheet of paper under the assault.

“The last page.” His words were choppy.

“I don’t remember what I wrote. Jog my memory.”

It didn’t take much for the words to come pouring out. He had buried those words in the deepest recesses of him. Now his reluctance dissolved into nothing. With every syllable, he lost more and more of his grip on himself, bared more and more of the bone-deep sadness that he had carried during these seven years.

“‘I wish I had never loved him. It’s too painful. He is toxic to my wellbeing, but I can’t replace the strength to leave him…’ I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were so exhausted.”

“I wasn’t exhausted. I was depressed. But continue.” she said.

“‘He’s imprisoned me in this miserable life, drugged me with his lies and false promises. The only way I will ever leave him, the only way I’ll ever get him out of my life, is if I leave.’”

Throughout the five-minute recitation, her nails dug deeper and deeper into his flesh, giving him the impetus to finish his sentences, even as he stopped midway to apologize after every full stop.

“And I think that’s it. I’m sorry. I don’t think I can say that enough times.”

Ashley kissed him on the forehead. They had kissed each other everywhere, but this was the most intimate kiss. It wasn’t influenced by hormones, lust or desire. Only love.

“I can’t believe I wrote all that.” Her voice was barely a murmur.

“I can’t believe I led you to write all that. I had been living in my imaginary bubble all the time, thinking you were happy. I never realized how troubled you really were. I’m sorry. I spent that entire year thinking about what had gone wrong. Where we had gone wrong. What had I missed? How had I missed that you were not yourself?”

He had thought and thought about her diary until even his dreams had only spoken the words he had read.

“Depression is not easy to detect.”

“I would have known if I had spent more time at home with you instead of just calling you. I’m sorry.”

Remorse pinched his chest. There was so much he could have done. There was so much he should have done.

Her expression was wooden, with a slight trace of annoyance.

“Do you know that’s what I’ve been wanting to hear from your mouth all this time? That you were sorry for what happened?”

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

The waiter brought them water. Andrew remained transfixed on Ashley. When the man was out of sight, she spoke again.

“Don’t say sorry, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

His chest tightened. “It’s too late, isn’t it?”

“Andrew.” She cupped her chin. The smell of the cologne she wore rushed into his nostrils. It was sweet and divine, just like her. “You do know that I meant nothing that I wrote, right?”

“What do you mean?”

She sucked in a gallon of air. “A lot of what I wrote in the diary wasn’t the real me writing. I was so caught up in my own bitterness at being unemployed that I let criticism and envy possess me. I blamed you for everything, from my not having a job to me being ugly. But I understood how ridiculous I had been after you divorced me. Because none of those things went away, even after you’d gone. What did go was my happiness—the conversations we had, the jokes we shared. The only thing that brightened up my days was gone. You.”

His breath became ragged and his eyes started burning. What she had said made him feel no better about himself or his actions, but it showed how gracious and compassionate she was. She was saying all this to alleviate his burden of guilt, wasn’t she?

But he had read up extensively on depression after the incident, specifically the support he should have given and he had not.

“But I did play a part in your decision to end your life. You wrote in your diary that I was the reason you wanted to die.” he said.

“It wasn’t your fault that I decided to kill myself. When a person is in a depressive state of mind, it’s always someone’s fault. But you didn’t slash my wrists with a knife, did you? So it’s not your fault. Stop torturing yourself over it.” She slammed her fist down on the table to assert her point. “I don’t want to see that sadness in your eyes anymore.”

Andrew was so overwhelmed by the emotions surging in him, he he couldn’t even react. She was so heart-wrenchingly selfless, when she had every right not to be. No wonder he had fallen in love with her.

No wonder he still loved her.

The waiter made his presence known by tapping his shoe. “Can I take your order?”

They hadn’t even spared a perfunctory glance for the menu. But they did now, and Andrew pointed to the first vegetarian pasta he saw. He didn’t have the mind space to worry about lunch right now.

“Whatever is the chef’s special,” Ashley said to the waiter, then shut the menu book and handed it back.

“Any starters to go with your order, ma’am?”

“No.”

That ‘no’ was so belligerent, the waiter didn’t hang around to ask more questions.

Ashley’s cheerful demeanor returned. “So that’s that.” The intense atmosphere was replaced by a playful, easy one.

“And it’s my turn now. I choose truth too and you can ask me two questions, since I asked you two,” she said, drinking water.

Two was two too many truths for him to handle. Andrew drank some water, to make sure his throat was moist enough to handle the throbbing ache that was surely going to come when she laid open her pain.

“Why did you try to kill yourself?” He’d been meaning to ask that one for a long time.

“I’m glad you asked.” Ashley emptied all the water from her glass and then poured herself some more. Memory overcame her composed features and her tone dipped. “I felt hopeless. I felt like I was wandering in a world where no one loved me. No one would cry if I died. No one was going to miss me. I was working at a job even a machine could do, and it made me feel like I was stupid, if I could only do this after having gone to college. There was no future for me. I didn’t want to live in that perpetual uncertainty and nothingness….” She stopped. “So I thought it was better not to live.”

She shifted forward and he fenced her shivering body with his arms. It was now his turn to console her.

“I remember you like hugs,” Andrew said, keeping his voice low, so it didn’t disturb her whimpers.

“And I like hugging you the most.” She reciprocated his hug and made his whole body clench. “Don’t worry. I’m okay now. I don’t feel hopeless anymore.”

“If you ever do, remember you’re not alone.” He shouldn’t have said that. Not when he couldn’t keep the promise in those words. “I would hate to lose you.”

He’d already come so close to losing her once that it was no understatement to say that it was something he never wanted to face again. Never again in his life had he felt the kind of panic he had felt at the moment he found her pulse quiet. Even now, his mind couldn’t let go of it.

“Thank you.” she murmured.

She parted her body from his and put her hand on her lap. Redness loomed in the white space of her eyes. Finding a napkin from the table, she wiped her tears away. His chest swelled with pride when he realized how strong she had become and how easily she could express the emotions she had crammed into herself in the past.

“What’s your second question?” she enquired, digging into her purse and producing a mirror. She looked at her reflection, looking for any runny makeup.

Honestly, even with her eyeliner smudged around her eyes and her lipstick chipped away, she could knock the breath out of him.

“You look great. Don’t worry,” he assured her, when a line drew itself across her forehead.

She didn’t pay any heed to his compliment, instead got to fixing her makeup, thickening the already thick black lines around her eyes with eyeliner. Sometimes, he struggled to understand women and their aesthetic preferences.

“Did you date someone in the years that we were apart?” he asked. It was another question he’d been dying to ask since he’d met her. He would gladly admit that he was a tad too possessive when it came to Ashley.

She lifted an eyebrow. “Why would you want to know that when you’re not interested in me?”

“I’m not immune to idle curiosity.”

“Is it idle curiosity or more than that?”

She’d gotten him there.

“Your mixed seafood pasta, ma’am.” The waiter rotated the white plate three hundred and sixty degrees with flourish before parking it on the table. “And your ravioli with four cheese, sir. Enjoy.”

A genial smile later, he was out of sight and into the kitchen to pick up other orders for other customers.

Ashley scrunched her nose. Andrew knew why. She hated scallops.

“You shouldn’t have asked for the special.” he said.

“I didn’t know it was going to be mixed seafood pasta. Can I taste some of your ravioli?” She had already picked one out with her fork.

He pushed his plate towards her.

“Don’t forget about my question. You’ve read the book, so you know I didn’t date anyone. It’s only fair I should know, too,” Andrew admitted, pricking the ravioli with his fork as she did the same.

“I didn’t date anyone. Not seriously, anyway. It took me a long time to get over my mental illness, and then I was worried that I might scare off some poor guy the way I scared you off, with my behavior.” She chewed deliberately.

“Your behavior wasn’t scary.”

Had he, along with everything else, also given her this scar?

“I was just kidding. Truth or dare?”

She glossed over it, but he had glimpsed the extent to which her self-confidence had been shattered by the episode.

“Dare.”

No more soul-shattering confessions for today, he decided. They’d had enough of those.

Ashley rolled her tongue exotically. “I need compensation for the night that never happened.”

Andrew let a lustful groan get past his vocal cords, making public the passion surging inside. Flashes of her naked among the suds in his bathtub doused his already slipping self-control in kerosene. All that was left was for her to light the fire.

“What kind of compensation are you thinking of?” he enquired, though he knew the answer.

“I don’t know what your feelings are towards me. But I know you don’t love me. And unless you do, I can’t feel secure in a relationship with you. So I’ll settle for sex. Just one time. Then I’ll let you go on your way.” Halting her chewing, she nodded like she meant it.

“You deserve better than one-time mindless sex. So do I.”

“But one-time mindless sex is all I’m going to get, right?” There was accusation buried under the sharpness. “Because without love and without the promise of anything more, that’s what it is.”

Andrew drew a deep breath.

“About the night at Carl’s birthday. I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean any of it. I was trying to protect you… protect both of us. It’s what I’ve been trying to do all along—push you away so you can move on. So I can move on.”

“Is that a nice way of saying that my persistence is annoying you and that I should let you go?” she enquired.

“No, it’s a nice way of saying that I was so foolish, I didn’t know that you’re not something I can move past. I thought I was doing the best thing for both of us, but you were smarter than me. You knew what to hold on to and what to let go. You’ve held onto love and let go of fear. I should do the same.”

She dropped her fork on the plate. “You’re losing me, Andrew. What is it that you’re trying to say? Do you love me or not?”

“I do. It’s the reason I’m here. It’s the reason I’ve never been able to date another woman, even though I had every chance to.”

“Then what you said at Carl’s birthday…”

“I was confused. And so I was confusing you. But I’m not confused anymore. I love you, Ashley. I’ll say that as many times as it takes to assure you that I mean it.”

Her hands covered her mouth and her eyes were inundated with emotion. “I thought I’d never hear that from your mouth.”

“A man can’t be stupid forever, dear, when he’s got a persistent woman like you to get him back on track.” He smiled.

She laughed.

“You know what else I want to hear right now?” she asked.

“I think I know.”

“Then say it.” she challenged.

Lord knew he wanted nothing more than to tell her that he wanted to be in a relationship with her and to have her all to himself, body, soul and breath. But she would have more than a hurried, ‘will you date me?’ from him this time.

“Not here. The setting’s not right.”

He wanted to give her the perfect proposal. This wasn’t perfect. She had mascara all over her and he probably had tomato sauce around his mouth. They were both emotional, after having spilled everything to each other. There was nothing classy, refined and unforgettable about this.

“The setting doesn’t matter. We’re not shooting a movie. This is the moment when we’re being honest to each other. This is the best moment to say it.”

“Let’s get back together. Let’s give ourselves another chance.”

No, he needed to re-do it. Just two sentences were insufficient.

“Wait, I’ll do that again.” He shifted on his chair, trying to replace a posture that was comfortable and intimate. “I want to be in a relationship with you. A relationship like the one we used to have… but better.”

“Mmmmm.”

She drank some water and played with the fork and plate.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m thinking.” A naughty smile draped under her cheekbones.

“I know you want to say yes. Why don’t you?” He poked her arm with the blunt side of his knife.

“I should make you suffer, like you made me suffer, withholding my reply.”

He shook his head. “Sadism doesn’t suit you.”

“I know it doesn’t. But I was trying to see how it feels. Okay, Andrew Smith. You’ve officially been forgiven by Ashley Brown.” she said. “And you’ll make her happy this time.”

“Yes, I will.” Doubts still plagued the back of his mind, but they couldn’t drown the surging optimism.

“And you still have to do what I dared you to do. So the next thing on the menu after the ravioli is afternoon sex.”

“I have to—” No. The year-end report could sit for a few more hours.

Like she’d said in the beginning, everything else could wait.