Sixteen
Piper
Martello’s was a small, hole in the wall, Italian restaurant on the edge of Bradberry. Anthony Martello and his wife, Elena, moved to Bradberry when their youngest child got married almost forty years ago. It was their wish to open an Italian bistro in a small town somewhere. Anthony said it reminded him of the restaurant he worked at as a boy, back in Italy.
I always loved Martello’s. Anytime there was a special occasion or celebration my parents would bring Audra and me. They let us order whatever we wanted, including a plate of cannolis for dessert.
The restaurant hadn’t been the same since Elena died. When she passed, the whole town went into mourning right alongside Martello. He shut down the restaurant for six months. When he opened again, he acted as if nothing happened. He went back to work doing what he loved. He would greet everyone just as he did before his wife’s death. The only difference was the small photograph of Elena that now stood in the middle of the entryway.
When I walked inside that night, my eyes fell on Elena’s picture immediately. Tears filled my eyes without my consent. I hadn’t realized how much I missed Martello’s until that night.
Logan was sitting in the back corner of the restaurant at a table for two. I saw him before he saw me, which gave me the chance to watch him for a few seconds unnoticed. He was staring down at the menu in his hands with a concentrated frown on his face. There were two glasses of water on the table and two empty wine glasses. The scene definitely had the makings of a proper date. The thought made my stomach flip.
As I watched him, Logan flipped the menu over and examined the back. I knew he was just making himself busy. We’d both been here so many times that reading the menu was no longer a necessity. Still, he stared intently, with no idea that I was right there watching him. His dark eyes were narrowed slightly, but even from where I stood I could see them sparkle. God. Why did he have to be so handsome? It would have been easier if my attraction to him had faded, but it was stronger than ever.
When I finally got up the nerve to walk over to him, my palms began to sweat. The closer I got, the better he looked. His shirt was tight against his chest and I could see the outline of every muscle. My head was spinning. I wanted to run my fingers over those muscles and watch as he…
“Hey,” Logan said as I approached the table. “There you are.”
“Here I am,” I said with an awkward little nod. “Have you been waiting long?”
“No,” Logan shook his head. “Not really.”
“Good.” I smiled and sat down.
Logan handed me a menu and cleared his throat. I waited for him to speak, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes once again focused on his own menu. Now that I was closer, I could see that he hadn’t shaved in a couple days. His stumble was just beginning to grow past the five o’clock shadow length. It gave him an edgy quality. I couldn’t help but think how sexy it made him look.
He glanced up and caught me staring at him. I looked down quickly, letting my nerves get the better of me, before I remembered my age and laughed. I looked back up apologetically and set my menu down on the table.
“This is ridiculous,” I said boldly. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I am, too.”
“But we shouldn’t be,” I argued. “We’ve done this a thousand times before. You know me and I know you. There’s no reason this should be so awkward.”
“Isn’t it always awkward with exes?” Logan asked.
“Does it have to be?” I countered. Logan looked at me for a second before he chuckled and leaned back in his chair.
“You really haven’t changed much,” he said.
“I like to think I have,” I said. “But I guess I’m still the same me.”
“That’s a good thing,” Logan said. “That wit of yours is infamous.”
“Sometimes I’m not so sure,” I said. “I left Bradberry so I could change. So, I could move on and grow up. What was the point if none of that happened?”
“It happened,” Logan assured me. “You’re still you, but you’re more poised. You have a confidence now that you didn’t have five years ago. When I knew you, you were always just this little ball of energy. It was like you were going to burst out of your skin at any given moment. You don’t have that same energy anymore. You’re calmer, more sure of yourself.”
“You got all that from just one conversation,” I laughed.
“It was a good conversation,” Logan shrugged.
“It was,” I agreed. “I’m glad we decided to do this.”
“I’m just glad you said yes,” Logan laughed again. “I really didn’t think you would.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Because a part of you still hates me,” Logan said bluntly. It was almost too easy to be honest with each other.
“Hate isn’t the right word,” I said.
“What word would you use?” Logan asked. His eyes were fixed on mine and I knew he really wanted to know the answer. He was being sincere. It terrified me.
“Let’s order our food before we get into the heavy stuff,” I suggested, trying to keep my tone light hearted. Logan’s face told me he knew I was avoiding the question, but he was kind enough to let me.
We ordered a glass of wine each and nibbled on some breadsticks while we waited for our food. Our conversation stayed in the shallow end as he discussed my family and his. He told me about his parents moving out of state and I told him that Audra had another baby who was now almost four. He talked and I listened, I talked and he listened. We fell into an easy, unassuming rhythm that put me at ease.
It wasn’t until our plates were cleared and the dessert ordered that things once again turned serious.
“Piper,” Logan said. “I want you to know that, despite everything, I still care about you. You may not believe this, but I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”
I watched his eyes as he spoke and I knew he meant every word he said. My fear escalated as I thought of the secret I was keeping from him. Over the years, I told myself it was better that Logan never knew. I reassured myself over and over again that it was for the best. But, sitting there with him, enjoying a plate of cannoli, listening to him tell me how much he still cared for me… my resolve began to weaken. For the first time, I considered telling him everything.
“Can I ask you that question again?” Logan asked. His words pulled me out of my head. I blinked a couple times and frowned. “About hating me?”
I laughed weakly and said, “I really don’t hate you, Logan. Not even close.”
“Then, how do you feel about me now?”
“Well,” I said, speaking slowly. “When you left, I was mad. And hurt. It felt like our entire relationship was just marking time for you. Like you were using me as a distraction until your real life came along.”
“That wasn’t…”
“Let me finish,” I said quickly. “But, when I moved to New York I was able to get some distance from this town and from the memories I had of you. I knew then that I never hated you. There were times when I wished I did, but I couldn’t. You can’t hate someone when you spent so much time loving them. I think what I felt was just resentment. I resented you for getting out first, for leaving before I could. I resented you for not asking me to go with you, for not waiting to go with me.”
“What would you have said?” Logan asked softly. “If I asked you to go?”
“I don’t know.” I shook my head and thought hard about my answer. “I think, back then, there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have done for you.”
At my words, Logan’s eyes closed for a fraction of a second. When they opened, I could see the pain he’d been hiding rise to the surface. Without thinking, I reached across the table and held his hand. He stroked my palm with his thumb.
We sat in silence, holding hands and staring at each other, for what felt like hours. I knew he was remembering the same things I was: all those nights together in my room or his, in my car or his. Just the slightest touch made those desires flood back to the surface for us both. As he watched me, I saw that familiar glint in his eyes. He wanted me just as badly as I wanted him.
This easy date was about to turn into some night.