Love And Miss Communication Part 22

"It wasn't that long ago," Evie corrected him.

"Yeah, I guess I don't remember that well," he said. "Well, again, great to b.u.mp into you. I hope everything's good."

"So how long have you two been engaged?" she asked Emily, pretending to be oblivious to Luke's curtness.

"Thirteen months. Long engagement, I know. But wedding planning is really hard work," Emily said, as earnestly as humanly possible.

"I can imagine," Evie responded, dripping with empathy.

She recognized the power she was holding. She could persist in the conversation with Luke and Emily, explain to this wide-eyed young girl with the sparkly ring that she met Luke just over seven months ago at his cousin's wedding. Emily would go to sleep questioning how bizarre the interaction in Bloomingdale's was, and wonder why her fiance was so awkward and rushed. She'd wonder why Luke didn't take her to the wedding.

"Anyway, we've got a few other stores to get to today, so we've got to go now," Luke said, this time more firmly.

"Wait a second," Evie said. She even reached for his arm to hold him in place. "There's something I need to say."

Luke looked like he might expire. She took great pleasure in watching him squirm. Emily sensed the tension in the air. She looked like she was bracing for what Evie would say.

"Yes?" Luke asked, timid as a tadpole.

Evie leaned in and signaled to Luke and Emily to come in closer. When they were huddled together in an unlikely trio, she could hear Luke's labored breathing.

"The china pattern you guys are considering," Evie said. "It's gaudy. I would definitely consider something more elegant."

Emily looked like she might burst into tears. If having her taste criticized was enough to make her cry, Evie wondered how she'd react to hearing her future husband was a cheat.

Luke smiled for the first time since running into Evie.

"She's right, Emily. We really should reconsider." Luke shot Evie a grateful look.

The couple stepped away to a.n.a.lyze different dishes as Caroline glided over to Evie.

"Who were those people?" she asked.

"n.o.body important." Evie thought to herself for a moment and added, "You know what is so weird, Care?"

"What's that?" she asked, yawning.

"How you can obsess over something so much and concoct a million different scenarios in your head, and then when you discover the truth you realize you had no idea what was really going on, so fixating on it was just a big fat waste of time."

Caroline yawned again. "I have no idea what you're talking about, and I'm beat. Forget the bureau plat. Let's just go and make you beautiful."

Chapter 17.

Caroline delivered on her promise to transform Evie for her date with Edward. After they finished furniture shopping, they headed straight to the European designer floor at Bergdorf. Evie winced at the prices of the clothes she was trying on, but Caroline waved her off.

"I'm going to rescind on my offer if I see you look at another tag."

Evie settled on an elegant Christian Dior black c.o.c.ktail dress. Despite her promise, she sneaked a glance and saw it was almost $3,000. For that same money, Evie had purchased velvet drapes, a leather love seat, a desk stained to look like it was walnut, faux-silk lamp shades, a substantial desk blotter with matching pen set, and a wool throw blanket.

But once she tried it on, the dress almost seemed worth the exorbitant price. The fabric, a wool crepe, was the softest and most luxurious material to ever touch her skin. The fit was impeccable. Small silk bows were st.i.tched atop the shoulders and at the bottom of the zipper, just at the base of her spine. The dress had a subtle sheen, the result of the meticulous weaving of iridescent silver threads. The Bergdorf dressing room was bathed in lavender and illuminated with soft, indirect lighting, and Evie suspected just about anyone would have a shot in there. The saleswoman had three stacks of shoe boxes brought over (Caroline appeared to be something of a Bergdorf VIP), from which Evie selected a pair of four-inch-high nude stilettos. After the salon worked her over, coiffing her hair into a falling tower of loose waves and penciling in eyebrow arches worthy of a design patent, Evie's confidence was sky-high.

"You look unreal," Caroline said, when they were back at Evie's apartment. She pulled out her phone and snapped a photo of Evie. "Can I post this? I know you're above computers these days, but surely you'll allow me to broadcast this image."

Evie shrugged. "Sure, if you want to," she said. Not too long ago she would have been delighted to float this image into the digital universe. h.e.l.l, she would have taken a selfie. Now she was indifferent at best. She just wanted Edward to appreciate her.

"Okay, I'm going to split before he comes to get you." Caroline grabbed her fur coat and buzzed Jorge. "You look gorgeous. Edward is going to pa.s.s out when you open the door."

Evie hid her pleasure. "With my luck, he's probably taking me skating. I'll end up looking like an Ice Capade."

"Stop the negativity, lady! You look too pretty to be pessimistic. It's New Year's. You're going to have a great night."

"Let's hope so. I'm going to tell Edward about Jack tonight. I feel like it's important, you know? I wanted to marry the guy, for crying out loud. I wish I'd just told Edward weeks ago, when he told me about Georgina. But he was in a rush, and I was still in shock over him asking me out. Now that I didn't, it's like this big thing that's s...o...b..lling every day. It'll at least explain the motivation for going off-line. Partially, anyway."

"You should tell him about Jack," Caroline said, pulling on a pair of sumptuous leather gloves. "And the Internet. You obviously want a future with Edward, so you have to be up front with him."

"I know. I think I've been scared to say anything because it makes me look crazy-giving up a major means of communication because my ex got married. But it was more than that really. I felt like the whole world had voluntarily signed up to be on Big Brother. I couldn't keep up. And I didn't want to. Do you get it?"

"I do get it, though obviously I have not followed in your footsteps." Caroline extended her palm with her iPhone balanced on it like a tray. "As for telling him about Jack, of course you should. It's always a good idea to be up front about significant exes-or wives, in Jerome's case." She smiled sheepishly.

"I guess I'm also a little embarra.s.sed. Like Edward will wonder why Jack didn't want to marry me, especially because he married someone else so soon after. He's going to think I'm so foolish-believing all of Jack's no-marriage c.r.a.p, wasting my time like I did."

"Evie, Edward's a big boy. He can make his own decisions. He's not going to be influenced because someone out there, some guy that he doesn't even know, didn't want a happily ever after with you. I would hate to think you would break up with someone if you found out they had been dumped before."

"Thanks. I know you're right," Evie said. The old Evie might have done just that very thing, ditched a perfectly good prospect because someone else had deemed him unsuitable. "It'll probably be like a five-minute conversation and then we'll move on. I don't even know what I'm so worried about."

Caroline blew her a kiss and headed out the door. "Anyway, Evie love, thank you, thank you, thank you for your help. I hope you'll come by tomorrow. Feel free to bring Edward."

Feel free to bring Edward. That sounded nice.

Ten minutes later, her doorman called up to announce that Dr. Gold was downstairs. She told him she'd be right down, but the doorman said her guest would like to come up. Edward had never been to her apartment before. They always met in her lobby and ended their evenings at his place.

She propped her door slightly ajar and watched with glee as a beautiful bouquet of flowers was the first thing to poke into her apartment. At least three dozen white roses obscured Edward's face. The blossoms were artfully a.s.sembled, long stemmed and thorn trimmed, tied with a heavy grosgrain ribbon.

"These are for you," he said as he handed them off to Evie, adding with an adorable head bobble, "obviously."

Evie motioned him inside, noticing a tiny bit of stubble on his jawline when they kissed. It made Evie think how much better off they'd be when they got ready together-she'd point out a patch of hair he'd missed and he'd zip up her dress. She'd remind him to take his phone, he'd help her with tricky jewelry clasps. Maybe her mother was right: it was a couples' world.

Tonight Edward had replaced his usual horn-rimmed gla.s.ses with contacts. He was still a few inches taller than she was in her skysc.r.a.per heels. She was glad she had let Caroline make her over because Edward was looking his absolute best that night, in a black velvet blazer, suede loafers, and the darkest shade of indigo jeans. She thought she even detected the slightest hint of hair gel, which gave away that he too had gone through extra effort for the night.

"The flowers are gorgeous," she said, and leaned in to give him another kiss. His spicy aftershave wafted pleasurably into her nose.

She headed toward the makes.h.i.+ft bar area she had created in her kitchen and grabbed a vase for the roses.

"You look incredible," he said. "That dress is really pretty."

"Nice of you to notice," Evie said. "My friend bought it for me, actually."

"Nice friend," he said. Evie kicked herself for telling him her friend bought her the dress. Why couldn't she just accept the compliment without diminis.h.i.+ng herself in the process?

"Yeah, well, I did her a big favor so I kind of earned it."

"Being married to Georgina I learned a lot about fas.h.i.+on. Plus Olivia is already into shopping, even though she mostly wants sparkly princess costumes." He rolled his eyes with a smile and Evie enjoyed seeing his parental pride surface even while he was technically complaining about his daughter. She brushed off the Georgina reference. If she was going to have a real future with Edward, it would mean hearing about Georgina from time to time. She'd just have to get used to it.

"Your apartment is amazing," he said. "Not that I'm surprised. Just affirms my opinion you should start an interior design business. I know you thought I was crazy when I first said it, but you have real talent."

"Thanks. I've actually had the chance to play decorator quite a bit recently. I guess I'm test-driving your career advice. It's a far cry from being a lawyer, but a h.e.l.l of a lot more enjoyable."

"I told you so," Edward said and gave Evie a warm shoulder squeeze. "I love the coffee table. It could be in a magazine."

Evie beamed. Edward had singled out her favorite piece of furniture. Unable to find a coffee table that she liked in her price range, she had a.s.sembled one out of coffee-table books. Four stacks of neatly piled books about everything from religious iconography to modern architecture made up the base of her table. She topped the books with a heavy gla.s.s top from a table that had rested in her father's home office in Baltimore.

Edward walked around her place, examining the furniture and the artwork closely. He approached her bedroom and turned back to Evie to ask, "May I peek?"

"I'll show it to you later," Evie said with a wink. She loved how flirting with Edward came so naturally to her. He made her feel s.e.xy and desirable, giving her the confidence to say things that would ordinarily get stuck on her tongue.

"Sounds good to me," Edward said and looked at his watch. "We should go. The place we're going to is really popular. I don't want them to give away our table."

Evie was famished. She and Caroline only had time to scarf down some frozen yogurt during their shopping expedition.

"So we're not going ice-skating?"

Edward looked at her curiously. "No, we're not going ice-skating. What a strange question."

"Never mind," she said, reaching for his hand. "Let's go."

"We can walk. It's only a few blocks away." Edward put on his coat and helped Evie into hers.

She wondered where they were going, hoping it was the new Italian place on Amsterdam that was recently featured in New York magazine, which emitted the most heavenly garlic smell through its front door. She'd been dying to try it, but the tiny candlelit tables and soft music made her feel unwelcome as a single.

They walked several blocks south from her apartment, giggling each time they pa.s.sed a group of New Year's Eve revelers in tiaras and oversize numerical sungla.s.ses. Evie started telling Edward all about her adventures decorating Jerome's office on a shoestring budget. She forgot all about the Italian place she hoped they were going to, which was in the other direction, and let herself be led by Edward, who was clasping her gloved hand.

"We're here," Edward said, putting his hand on Evie's arm to halt her from walking. She was looking down at the street when they stopped and noticed that the rattan doormat at her feet seemed familiar.

"I hope you like French food. This place is supposedly the best on the Upper West Side. Have you been here? It's called JAK."

"It's very good," she whispered, her appet.i.te, her confidence, and her enthusiasm vanis.h.i.+ng simultaneously. Before she knew it, she was on the other side of the door, and cursing herself for not making an excuse for why they should go elsewhere. Not that they could have gotten in anywhere. Jack had once told her New Year's Eve was the busiest night of the year for restaurants. In fact, she knew that to secure an 8:00 P.M. reservation, Edward had to have arranged the dinner a month in advance. She wished she could have appreciated his foresight, but in the moment she was too wrapped up in the stress of her surroundings.

Once the restaurant door closed behind her, she might as well have stepped into a time capsule. The smell of brown b.u.t.ter and rosemary, which Evie knew came from Jack's famous filet of sole preparation, thrust her olfactory sense into dej vu. She was transported back to when she'd drink red wine at an empty table after midnight while Jack reviewed the evening with his staff. Jack would admonish her for putting her bare feet on the tablecloth; Evie would tease him that the creme brlee was overly torched. Looking at Edward, all she could think was that they were both entering this relations.h.i.+p with a trolley full of baggage.

Their table wasn't ready, so they stood at the crowded bar. She fixed her eyes on the glossy purple of the Montepulciano in her hand-anything to avoid looking around. Edward ordered himself a Scotch, neat, and if she weren't so distracted, she would have taken the time to appreciate his taste in manly drinks. They strained to talk over the din, Evie doing her best to appear as normal and composed as possible. When they were finally seated, Evie was stressed their conversation was waning-a first for them, but she just couldn't focus on anything Edward was saying. Fortunately the server came over right away to hand them menus. Evie used hers like a burka, hiding most of her face except for her eyes, which were darting around the room, looking for Jack. He was nowhere in sight. Maybe he was at Degustation or Paris Spice for the night.

The waitress ran through the list of specials, not even glancing down at the pad in her hand once. Jack always insisted his waitstaff memorize the plats du jour.

"And finally," the server said, "our master chef, Jack Kipling, is in residence, so if you have any special requests or questions about the menu, he is available to speak with you."

So much for him being elsewhere. Please, please, please let n.o.body in this restaurant ask him any questions. Let him stay in the kitchen all night long, and maybe even burn his hand on a Crock-Pot.

"Should we meet the chef?" Edward asked. "Could be interesting. Maybe ask him to whip up some fantastic dessert for us."

"Um, let's not. I'm sure he's busy." Busy ruining my life, she added to herself.

"Okay then," Edward said, looking a little disappointed. "Are you ready to order?"

"Let me give you two a moment," the server said, perhaps registering Evie's look of abject distress.

Evie was frustrated. It was a small matter, but she didn't want to seem like a party p.o.o.per shooting down the suggestion of meeting the chef. She had planned to tell Edward about her relations.h.i.+p with Jack that night. Then she could ring in the New Year Jack-free-and with no significant parcels of her life story left untold to Edward. Was that so much to ask? Now, fl.u.s.tered and flailing at her ex's restaurant, there was no way she could imagine getting through it.

Evie reviewed the menu. Many of the dishes were new, but her favorite appetizer and main course remained. They were among Jack's specialties, and he'd often prepare them for her at his apartment, especially if she was feeling under the weather. That was one of the things she loved most about him. The way he could ignite her senses with his craft, waking her with the smell of freshly prepared waffles or drawing her to the kitchen with the sound of turkey bacon crackling in the pan. Jack said he liked to see the pleasure on her face while she ate his food. Maybe it was self-referential. More about feeding his ego than feeding her soul. But maybe it wasn't. Maybe he just liked seeing her happy. And maybe that's why he kept those items on the menu. Even Jack was subject to sentimentality.

When a different server returned to take their order, Evie said, "I'm going to have the macaroni and cheese with asparagus to start, and then the branzino with-"

"Broccoli instead of haricot vert?" the waitress asked, smiling at her. "I switched tables when I spotted you over here."

"Tasha?" Evie squinted her eyes to focus on her face, still in disbelief of her surroundings.

"Yep, it's me. Still working here, still pursuing acting. Got a speaking part on Law & Order but it's only two words. Did get my SAG card though. What's going on with you, girl?" Tasha's eyes s.h.i.+fted her gaze to Edward.

"I'm good," she said. Then realizing everything she said would get directly reported to Jack, she added, "Actually, I'm great. Never been better."

Edward beamed, oblivious to her reason for amplification.

"Well that's good to hear. Happy New Year to you both. Enjoy your meal, hon," Tasha said, and bounded straight into the kitchen.

"Wow, you're famous," Edward said. "I thought I was well known after my picture appeared in the paper for six days straight, but n.o.body knows my order by heart."

"I used to come here a lot." At least that was true.

"Well then I'm glad I chose it." He leaned in closer. "I made a reservation after our first date. I was hoping we'd be together on New Year's."

"So thoughtful," she said, knowing it wasn't enough but somehow unable to say anything more.

"I made it on OpenTable about five minutes after you left that first night. Call me optimistic."

"Uh-huh," she said, again not delivering nearly what she should.

"Obviously I could live without online reservations, but seriously how do you function without the Internet? And, I guess more to the point, why?"

She took a deep breath and swept the room one more time for a sighting of Jack. "It's a long story."

"That's okay. We've got until midnight," Edward said, glancing at his watch jokingly. "I a.s.sume you'll be done before the ball drops?"