Meredith

It’s not a date.

We’re just two people (who, okay granted, may have recently slept together) getting together to return a lost phone…while getting a bite to eat and talking. I know. It kind of sounds like a date. But it can’t be a date. Not if I spend the entire time explaining to Gabe all the ways we’re wrong for each other. Besides, it’s not like he’s picking me up and taking me someplace luxurious. We’re meeting at Belle’s. For lunch. It won’t even be dark out. Pull yourself together, girl.

Why am I trying so hard to convince myself it’s not a date? I know how I feel. It’s plain as day.

I don’t have feelings for Gabe Wilde.

Well, not anymore.

I don’t have feelings for Gabe Wilde. Anymore.

Well, I mean, I still care about him as a person.

Okay, I don’t have those kinds of feelings for Gabe Wilde. Anymore.

But the other night, after all those things he confided?

I put my mascara down and take a good look in the mirror. Eye to eye. “NO. You stop that. You stop that right now,” I say to the middle-aged woman staring at me through the glass. “You are thirty-five years old, and have just begun to pick up the pieces of your life. This is not an opportunity to relive what could have been. Gabe Wilde and his antics, don’t factor anywhere in this equation.” I nod my head in agreement and then worry if talking to oneself is a sign of dementia, or early onset Alzheimer’s, or something, before I shove my lip balm into my purse and head downstairs.

My head bops in time with the radio on the drive to the diner, focusing a little too much on the music, or the scenery, or anything really, as long as it doesn’t have to do with Gabe. Every time I catch myself thinking about him or the thought of seeing him again, my stomach flutters with butterflies.

After parking in the lot adjacent to the diner, I fold the visor down for a final once-over in the vanity mirror and try again to reassure myself. This isn’t a date.

Is it?

So much for reassurance. The butterflies in my stomach take flight, which has my hands shaking as I slam the door and cross the parking lot.

Three bells strung above the entrance ring as the door brushes past, prompting the woman behind the counter to look up from her task and offer a warm smile. “Welcome to Belle’s. Sit anywhere you like.” I’m questioning whether it’s too late to stop and run away, but then I see Gabe. He sits in a booth at the back, biting at his nail while he stares out the window. If that isn’t enough, there’s a bouquet of flowers on the table in front of him, which instantly melts my heart. There’s no way I can bear the thought of standing him up. Gabe turns his attention to the commotion, the uncertainty on his face fading as his eyes light up. He scoots from the booth as I approach, grabbing the flowers as he stands.

“Hey, you.” He extends the bouquet. “It’s a little cheesy, I know, but these are for you.”

“Gabe. You shouldn’t have.” I accept the flowers and skootch into my seat, temporarily forgetting all about how this is not a date. We pull menus from the wire rack containing the salt and pepper shakers. “I haven’t eaten here in…I don’t even know how long.”

“I doubt much has changed, regardless. You know how change works in a small town.” Gabe briefly scans the options and sets the menu down on the table.

“You know what you’re getting?”

“Yep,” he says confidently.

“Do tell—maybe I’ll have the same.”

Gabe chuckles. “I don’t know, it might be a little unorthodox for you.”

I sit back in my seat. “What could you possibly order for lunch, here of all places—” I motion around the diner “—that would be so out of character for me?” Before he can answer, the woman with the sweet smile walks up to the table with a notepad in her hand.

“How are you all doing today? My name is Mollie and I’ll be your waitress. Can I start you off with something to drink?” she asks in a soft, but well-rehearsed way.

“I’m good with water.” I look over the menu, hopeful to find something that appeals to me, quickly.

Mollie turns to Gabe. “And for you? Oh, hon. Your eye. Is that from the wedding?”

Gabe’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “You saw that, huh?”

“I did,” Mollie answers. “You poor thing. You tried to do the right thing, putting yourself between your brothers like that, and look what it got you.”

Gabe puffs his chest, pleased to hear someone acknowledge his intentions. “That’s right. I was only trying to help.”

“Well, what can I get you to drink?”

“Coffee for me. Black—with a side of pie,” he says, as if choosing dessert for lunch is something to be proud of.

Mollie smiles as she jots our order on her pad. “What kind of pie would you like? We have—”

Gabe holds up his hands. “Pecan, please.”

“Okay, then—pecan it is.” Mollie turns back to me. “Do you need a few more minutes, hon?”

“I guess I’ll have the…” Quick Meredith, pick something. Anything. “The chicken salad sandwich.” Could that have been a more random selection? But hey, why not?

“Sure thing.” Mollie sucks in her bottom lip. “Now, I want to be sure you know, that is made with mayo. Not Greek yogurt. Is that still gonna be okay?”

“I didn’t know you could make it with anything besides mayo,” I admit, caught off guard by the clarification. “Mayo is alright by me.” If I skip the ice cream tonight, my diet will be fine.

“Okay then, I’ll be right back with your drinks. Did you want that pie now, or wait until her sandwich is ready?” Mollie asks Gabe.

“With her sandwich. Thank you.”

She hurries off, returning soon after with our drinks before moving down to check on the patrons in the next booth. I poke my straw against the table, freeing it from the paper wrapper. “We need to talk about what happened.” I steel myself for his reaction.

To my surprise, Gabe doesn’t flinch or protest. He simply smiles, looks deeply into my eyes, and says, “I know what you’re saying. And I get where you’re coming from. All I’m asking is that you keep an open mind.”

“Uh, okay? Where am I coming from?”

“I hurt you.” Gabe takes a deep breath. “That doesn’t begin to do justice to what I did. I know that. I’ve known it for years. I was selfish and arrogant and…wrong. Yeah, it was a long time ago, but you’re no average cookie. You’re smart, and sweet, and special. And I can only assume something pretty bad happened to get you to move back home—especially considering the way your parents treat you.”

I’m stunned to the point of speechlessness. I wasn’t sure what to do with Gabe’s words the night of the wedding, but now? I haven’t had so much as a drop of booze to distract or dull my senses, and his words continue to drip with honesty and insight. “I…uh…”

Gabe grins. “What? Surprised that I can be a serious adult?”

“Why would you say that? It’s not like you ordered pie for lunch or something totally juvenile like that.” I playfully kick at his leg under the table. “Now, as far as the first part of your statement is concerned, flattery will get you everywhere. Please go on, Mr. Wilde.” I smile.

“Right. See. Exactly. I get it. You think I’m not what you need. That’s why I’m asking you to keep an open mind. As for the pie…” Gabe sits proudly in his seat. “I’ve always been a man who follows his own path. There’s no point denying that.”

“I agree completely. If memory serves however, it was that same confident sense of self that had your entire future planned out. And mine too, sort of. Though the word ‘planned’ is a bit generous to describe the amount of attention my wants and dreams received. And that was the problem, wasn’t it? In your infinite wisdom, my future had to be crammed in along the edges and corners of yours. Isn’t that what ended up breaking us?” I tap my finger on the table, satisfied with my ability to bring the conversation back to my talking points.

“Mer—” Gabe places his rough hand atop mine, igniting a wildfire of goosebumps along my arm. “I hear you. You’re right. No argument. I’m only asking for the chance to show you I’m sincere.”

Gabe runs his thumb along my knuckle and my entire being focuses on that one point of contact. Forget talking points. Forget ancient history. All that matters is the way I feel when he touches me. The look of longing in his gaze as he searches my face.

Thankfully, Gabe releases my hand—and my thoughts—when Mollie returns to the table with our food. Seasoned fries spill off the plate when she sets my sandwich in front of me. Yum. I expected a small dollop of chicken salad globbed into a smooshed white bun, but am surprised by a generous portion evenly spread across a toasted baguette topped with healthy amounts of crisp lettuce and tomato. “Wow, this looks amazing,” I say as she places a monster slice of pie on the table in front of Gabe.

“I hope you enjoy it. And I gave you a little extra pie, but—you have to promise you’ll tell your brother Mollie says hello.” She looks to Gabe, who’s busy salivating over the treat in front of him.

Gabe finally looks up. “Deal. Just tell me which brother.”

Mollie puts her hand on her hip and lifts her chin. “Why, Hank, silly.”

Gabe and I glance at each other. “Hank?” we ask in unison.

“Yeah. That man couldn’t have been more adorable at the reception. The way he danced with my niece, Vanessa, on his feet, spinning her around like a fairy princess. She was on cloud nine for the rest of the night. There’s something special about that one.” Mollie winks.

“Oh I agree.” Gabe nods to the waitress as she walks away, then leans across the table. “But I suspect our definitions of special may vary.” He lifts a heaping forkful of dessert to his mouth, carefully navigating it in. He leans back against the booth, resting his fork-hand on the edge of the table while a smile spreads over his face, savoring the sweet and crunchy goodness of the bite. “Mer, you have to try this.” He cuts another too-big-for-the-fork portion and hefts it in my direction.

“I’m good, but thanks. I’m not much of a sweets person.” That empty pint of Ben & Jerry’s I tossed into the trash this morning would beg to differ.

“Since when? I remember a girl who liked anything and everything sweet. Ice cream, s'mores, jelly beans, even Sour Patch Kids now and then.” Gabe raises a finger with each item he rattles off.

“Well, I guess that goes to the point I tried to make before. A lot can change about a person over the years. Maybe you don’t know as much about me as you’d like to think, mister.”

Without hesitating, like he had been studying for those words to show up on a quiz, Gabe pulls a response out of nowhere. “You are so right, Doll. So. Right. All I’m asking is for the chance to show you how much I’ve grown. How much I’ve changed. While I learn about all the ways you’ve changed. If you don’t like sweets anymore, that’s okay by me. I just need to know, so I can cross that off my list and find out what you do like, now.”

Damnit.

For every point I make, Gabe comes back with the perfect response. This ‘not date’ was supposed to be my chance to stand strong, but he’s melting me.

Why can’t he just be an asshole and help me out a little?