uPart One/u: Collisionp
Author's Note: Only minor changes. Title change. Stuff like that. Thanks.p IWhat was it with people and their cocktail onions? They weren't particularly tasty and they didn't smell good. But people ordered them without fail, asking for one, two, even three pearl onions with their martinis...br
Rory stared at the half-eaten onion hanging off a skewer in the martini glass. It was still resting on its napkin, with bright red lipstick on the edge. What happened to matte lipsticks that didn't rub off on everything your lips touched?br
Her eyes darted down to her faux Gucci watch; she'd bought it from a street vendor and haggled on it until the man relented at five dollars. The little black hands on the elongated rectangular surface told her it was 9:30. Her friend was most definitely late. But there was nothing new about that. Emma had a chronic time problem—fifteen minutes after the prescribed meeting time was her norm. However, it was even late by her standards. br
It wouldn't have bothered her so much if she only knew why she was here. Emma had only said that they needed to have dinner. There was something that she wanted to tell Rory, and it couldn't be done over the phone. br
Her best friend had quirks. br
The bartender came to check on her again, asking if she was all right with her club soda. Rory smiled slightly, and asked for a glass of white wine. br
He nodded, telling her that he'd be right back. br
Rory almost breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't card her. Although she frequented the restaurant, this bartender was new. br
Twenty-five years old, and she was still being carded on a regular basis. br
She blamed it on her cherubic features. br
As she started musing on that particular irksome thought, Rory felt a person slip in beside her on the stool to her right. One sniff told her it was a man, one with classic tastes if the Polo cologne was any indication. br
The bartender returned with her drink and took the opportunity to ask the newcomer what he wanted. br
"Scotch on the rocks," said the tired voice, a little husky, a little low, and definitely pleasant. br
Rory smiled at his drink of choice. She remembered reading somewhere that real men drank scotch. Did this man drink scotch because he thought himself a real man, or did he truly enjoy the drink that reminded her of pure turpentine? br
His drink was brought quickly and efficiently, set down without a word. The man picked it up with an unadorned hand, and presumably, put it to his lips. br
She casually slanted her eyes in his direction. He had on a dark gray suit, unbuttoned and hanging casually on his frame with a white shirt underneath. Was that a dark red tied with diagonal stripes? Indeed it was. It spoke to her that he was conservative. br
Next Rory stretched her neck in both directions, gathering from her quick perusal that he had spiky blonde hair that looked as though it had been raked through several times that day. His head was fractionally turned away, so she couldn't see his eyes or his face beyond a strong jaw line and a long neck with a sexy looking Adam's apple. br
Rory turned back to her drink. She'd been friends with Emma too long. Since when did Rory Gilmore check out the opposite sex like this? br
"You know, you could have just asked," he said. br
Her spine straightened automatically before she turned in his direction. "Excuse me?" br
"I said you could have just asked. I can tell when a woman's checking me out, and if you'd just come out and said it, I would have sat still and let you look to your heart's content," he smirked, his blue eyes alight with something she didn't quite understand. br
"Oh my goodness, are you always this full of yourself?" br
He lifted a brow. "Only when a beautiful woman such as yourself gawks at me and thinks I won't notice. It's quite flattering really," he said, taking the chance to openly peruse her from her strappy black sandals to topmost flyaway strands of her bun. br
She definitely felt heated. br
Righteous indignation rose faster than you could say onomatopoeia without smiling. "I have never been so insulted in my life, with the exception of an adolescent experience I'm not about to divulge to a complete stranger...but that's not the point!" This was truly frightening; she was sounding more and more like her mother everyday. "For your information, I was not gawking..."br
He started chuckling, and for some reason, she wanted to as well. br
So she did. "I was...checking you out. Oh god, I'm sorry. I don't usually do this. It's my best friend's fault." br
"Really? Was she the one that tutored you in the ways of conspicuously checking out the opposite sex?" he asked, taking a sip from his tumbler. br
"It's not always the opposite sex. Sometimes it's the...never mind. Obviously I'm not good at this." br
"Flirting with strangers? Or are we still talking about ogling?" he asked. br
Was she flirting? And with a stranger? But those eyes...had she seen them somewhere before? Maybe he was just a frequent patron of this restaurant like herself; Rory made it a habit to come at least once a week for dinner. br
"Okay, this isn't flirting, but I really need to ask. I have this feeling that we've met before." br
"Are you in advertising?" he asked. br
"Journalism." br
"Live in SoHo?" br
"TriBeCa." br
"Harvard?" br
"Columbia." br
They came to a stand still. He was staring at her intently, obviously racking his brain. br
His eyes narrowed. "Connecticut." br
"Yes." br
His shoulders straightened. "Chilton." br
Nine years melted from his features, revealing why she thought she knew him. She did. br
"Tristan DuGrey." br
"Mary." br
Mortification gave way to another round of indignation. "Is that your obnoxious way of telling me you still have the emotional maturity of a sixteen year-old, or do you really not remember my name?" br
"No. Rory Gilmore. I remember you just fine now, thanks," he said, turning so that he was facing the bar and not her. br
"It's Lorelai now," Rory said before doing the same, but still managed to meet his gaze in the mirror behind the many bottles of spirits. "Of all the luck..."br
Tristan lifted one corner of his mouth. "You know, there is some serious justice and beauty to this situation." br
"What?" br
He shrugged. "It's just interesting that for all the time you spent hating me in our one year of acquaintance, we meet now because you can't keep your eyes off of me." br
"Are you out of your mind? Try again, Satan. You were a passing observation, and would have stayed that way if you weren't so full of yourself." br
"Whatever you say. But may I remind you, it's one thing to lie to me, Mary. It's quite another to lie to yourself," he smirked. br
Rory growled. She actually growled. "I can't believe this..." She shook her head, not quite understanding her misfortune. "You know, forget it. This isn't worth it. I don't want to argue with you, and you probably don't want to argue with me. How about we just ignore each other and enjoy our drinks? We never talked." br
"If that's what you want." br
"It is." br
"Okay." br
"Good." br
"Fine." br
"Fine," she said before staring ruefully at her napkin, and then taking a gulp of her wine. br
"Coward." br
"Why do you feel the need to provoke me?" She turned on him. "I loathe you." br
"Tell me something I don't already know..."br
"Oh, shut up," she said, swiveling back to her original position of glaring at the bar. On impulse, she turned back. "Just for the record, I was referring to now when I said 'I loathe you.' I never hated you in high school." br
"That's not what I heard you saying to your boyfriend that day you turned me down for the PJ Harvey concert." br
Rory searched her memory. "Oh my...that's what you remember? You can't remember what I look like when you first meet me, but you remember my meaningless babbling from nine years ago?" br
"A, you didn't recognize me either, so you're in no position to point fingers. B, it wasn't meaningless; I spent good money on those tickets and never got to go." br
"C, it was meaningless because I only said it to appease Dean. Honestly, it was easier to tell him what he wanted to hear. And d, why didn't you go?" she asked huffily. When was the last time she'd been forced to argue in this rapid-fire fashion? br
"E, because I didn't know anyone else that liked her, and f...I can't believe you never really hated me. I spent months brooding over nothing..."br
"Hold on a second. You just screwed with the sequence. Give me a moment to regroup." Rory looked up at the ceiling and reviewed both of their words. "Letter sequencing isn't working. How about we cover one issue at a time?" br
"I'm game." br
"Okay. Topic one: PJ Harvey. You should have still gone." br
"Suggestion, please." br
"Sure." br
"I don't really care about PJ Harvey. I'm more interested in this you not hating me thing." br
"Oh," she breathed. "Okay." Rory drew in a breath. "So you brooded over me for months?" br
Tristan chuckled, furrowing his brows. "I'm not sure I want to talk about that either." br
"Hey, you brought it up, not me. It's only fair that we talk about it now. No intelligent woman would pass up such a chance," she reasoned. br
"And you're an intelligent woman." br
"I am," she smiled. br
"I have to say, the confidence is a nice improvement," he said, taking a sip of his scotch. "However, I'm still not about to talk about a painful teenage memory." br
She frowned. "C'mon, can't you just give a little bit?" br
"What possible incentive do I have to divulge feelings I've been able to keep to myself for almost a decade?" br
"Incentive? Can't you just think of it as a charitable donation of information to an old friend?" she asked hopefully, still unsure why she was pushing him on the matter. br
"I'm not caving," he assured her. Tristan watched as she graced him with a pout. He sighed. "Look, isn't it obvious where I was going with the slip about the brood? Do I really need to say more?" br
Rory lifted one corner of her mouth. "I suppose you're right. I still can't believe that you cared that much." br
"You were a good distraction for the time being," he said, hiding a smile behind his tumbler. br
She guffawed. "Distraction? I don't think so. If you were brooding for months, then I wasn't just a mere distraction. Nice try." br
Tristan eyed the half empty wine glass in her hand. br
"What?" br
"I'm just wondering if the alcohol has gone to your head, because that kind of spunk is not indicative of the old Rory at all," he teased. br
"People can change." br
"I'm a big believer in that." br
"As am I." br
They looked at each other sideways, both smiling. They clinked glasses in silent communication and finished their drinks. br
"So what brings you here tonight?" she asked. br
"What makes you think I don't come here all the time? That this isn't my regular haunt?" br
"What you failed to consider is that I might be a regular, which I am. And I would have remembered if you'd been in here before," she pointed out. br
"Because of my dashing good looks?" br
She chuckled. "Because everyone else knows better than to come in here dressed like that," she said with a hint of amusement, referring to his business attire, while the rest of the patrons were clothed in more casual togs. br
"You can't blame a guy for coming straight from work." br
"You're obviously not here for a hot date then," she said with a small smile. br
"Oh, now that's a gross assumption." br
"No man seeking to impress a woman would come straight from the office, without a shower, without some proper attention to how he looks. It shows a lack of consideration and blatant disregard for her olfactory nerves," she reasoned. "Thus, I deduce that you are either on a blind date, or have just stepped in for a drink." br
Tristan sniffed his arm surreptitiously. "I smell fine." br
"You're wrinkled." br
"Barely." br
She hmphed. "So which is it?" br
"Neither," he said triumphantly. br
"Then what is it?" br
"You're awfully curious." br
"I'm a journalist. So sue me," she said, quirking a brow, even as a smile curved her lips. br
It had been too long since she'd engaged in this kind of satisfactory banter. It made Rory miss having a boyfriend, or just someone to challenge her like this. Deep down she could admit that she was glad she ran into Tristan. Only he could push all the right buttons. br
"Actually, I am here to meet someone," he said, his smile fading slightly. "But not a blind date," he amended. br
Rory giggled. "A client then?" br
From beyond Tristan's shoulder she could see Emma slipping between the tables to the bar. She looked fresh and lively in her jeans and white button down shirt, a lime-colored silk scarf tied around her neck. Her wild auburn hair bounced around her shoulders as she hopped past a waiter, nearly knocking the man over. Emma was all smiles as she apologized and kept on coming. br
Rory put a hand over the right side of her face and shook her head. Her best friend was such a klutz. br
"What's wrong?" br
"Nothing, it's just that...I'm meeting someone too. She just almost knocked someone down on her way over," Rory explained. br
"Really?" br
"Yeah, it's embarrassing." br
"So I guess this is the end of our reunion, huh?" he asked. br
Rory felt almost bereft, wishing she had more time with Tristan. Seeing him dredged up an old crush she hadn't admitted to herself until long after he was gone. Maybe meeting him here again was a sign...br
"Maybe," she said wistfully, drumming her fingers on the polished bar. "Listen, I've had a good time talking with you and...there's no reason we shouldn't do this again." br
The look on his face was nothing short of surprise. "That sounds nice." br
"Good," she said, with a small measure of relief. Rory slipped her hand into her bag, wanting to find a card to give to him. She had her finger on the thick ivory card when she felt a body collide into her own, arms holding her tight in a hearty hug. br
"Hey you. I'm sorry I'm late; there was this car accident on 14th, and it took me forever to get around it," she said hurriedly, not even noticing that she'd interrupted something. Emma drew away and grinned at her. "God, you look gorgeous tonight. Did you do something new with your hair?" br
"Em," Rory said, signaling with her eyes that there was someone behind her. br
"Oh gees, did I cut in on..." Emma turned around and finally laid eyes on Tristan. Rory watched as her eyes lit up in a way that wasn't unfamiliar to her. "Well this is a surprise." br
Rory was about to ask Emma if she could have a moment when she caught the look on Tristan's face. Confusion and...was it regret? Suddenly a queasy feeling invaded her stomach, and she didn't know how to stop it. br
"I didn't expect you two to meet before I came," Emma continued, releasing Rory. She slid over to Tristan, giving him a short, but definitely intimate kiss on the lips. "Hi, sweetheart." br
"Hi," he whispered, forcing a smile, hiding the confusion. Then he let his eyes rest on her. "Rory was the friend you wanted me to meet?" br
"Rory. God, no one calls her that nowadays," Emma mused. "So you already know each other?" br
Rory couldn't speak; she was still piecing things together. br
"Yeah, Rory and I go way back." br
"Wow, well this makes things even better. Seeing as how you're already friends, I don't suppose I should stall any longer," Emma began, her eyes still glowing. "Lor, I asked you here because I wanted you to be the first to know." br
Oh God. "What is it, Em?" br
"Tristan and I are getting married." p
Rory flipped on the light switch, illuminating the room with a hazy pink glow; she had left a scarf lying over the lamp accidentally. She padded over to her couch and flopped down, closing her eyes. br
She shouldn't be this upset. It wasn't as though she had any kind of relationship with Tristan. It was one chance encounter in a restaurant...as they were waiting for the same person. br
Her best friend. br
His fiancée. br
They'd only been dating for two months, but they were madly in love with one another. Emma hadn't told her about it because it seemed so improbable that it would go anywhere. br
It explained why she was so busy lately. br
And the two-carat diamond on her third finger. br
The card bearing her name and number had fallen from her grasp and back into the purse as soon as the words left Emma's mouth. She was so foolish. Tristan probably wouldn't have even taken it from her. br
Or would he? He never said anything about a fiancée. Then again, it never came up, and she never gave him a chance. br
This is stupid, she thought. br
They hadn't kissed. They hadn't touched. There were no promises or hopes. br
But there was no denying the loss she felt inside. A loss she had no right feeling. br
Emma asked Rory to be her maid of honor. There was no way Rory could turn her down. No reason she'd want to. It was her best friend after all. She wanted to be there on Emma's day. br
Rory slipped off her sandals and lay down on the couch. She groped around for a throw pillow, tucking it under her cheek. br
Dinner had been awkward at best, not that Emma noticed. She was just so happy that her best friend and fiancée were finally getting acquainted that she didn't see how pale her the brunette was, or how Tristan kept on trying to make eye contact with Rory. Emma managed to keep the conversation at a steady flow, talking enough for all three of them. br
They were getting married in three months. Funny that their engagement would last longer than their courtship. Naturally, Rory would be swept up in the whirlwind of preparations. They'd all spend plenty of time together. br
Wonderful. br
Tristan had tried to talk to her when Emma excused herself to go to the bathroom, but she pleaded that she too needed to go, and followed quickly behind. She didn't return until her friend did. br
It was all wrong, Rory thought. She shouldn't be feeling like this. She didn't begrudge her friend's happiness. She didn't feel jealous. Well, no, she did, but it was only natural that there was some measure of envy. IThere's always a little bit of jealousy. You can't help wishing you were the one who'd finally found their true love.br
It had nothing to do with anything she might have felt for Tristan a long, long, long time ago. br
No, it was just shellshock. br
The phone on the table beside her started ringing. She only hesitated a beat before picking it up. br
"Hello?" br
"Rory?" he asked. br
She almost groaned as she rolled onto her back. "Tristan...how'd you get my number?" br
He sighed. "I asked Emma." br
"What do you want?" she asked curtly. br
"I just wanted to say I was sorry," he said. br
She looked heavenward. "You don't have anything to be sorry about." br
"I didn't know you were the 'Lor' she kept on talking about. I swear I didn't know before tonight." br
"Tristan, it's okay. I'm happy for you and Emma." br
"Of course you are. It's just...you seemed almost as uncomfortable as me during dinner," said Tristan. br
She shook her head, regardless of the fact that he couldn't see. "I was just surprised." br
A long silence stretched between them. What else was there to say? br
"Look, I'm feeling kind of tired, and I have to get up early tomorrow...is there anything else?" br
"I..." He sighed again. "No, I guess not. Goodnight, Rory."v
Rory swallowed her own sigh. "Goodnight, Tristan."
Three months. She had three months to get used to the idea of Emma marrying Tristan. It would be a piece of cake. Wouldn't it? br
To be continued...
Author's Note: Only minor changes. Title change. Stuff like that. Thanks.p IWhat was it with people and their cocktail onions? They weren't particularly tasty and they didn't smell good. But people ordered them without fail, asking for one, two, even three pearl onions with their martinis...br
Rory stared at the half-eaten onion hanging off a skewer in the martini glass. It was still resting on its napkin, with bright red lipstick on the edge. What happened to matte lipsticks that didn't rub off on everything your lips touched?br
Her eyes darted down to her faux Gucci watch; she'd bought it from a street vendor and haggled on it until the man relented at five dollars. The little black hands on the elongated rectangular surface told her it was 9:30. Her friend was most definitely late. But there was nothing new about that. Emma had a chronic time problem—fifteen minutes after the prescribed meeting time was her norm. However, it was even late by her standards. br
It wouldn't have bothered her so much if she only knew why she was here. Emma had only said that they needed to have dinner. There was something that she wanted to tell Rory, and it couldn't be done over the phone. br
Her best friend had quirks. br
The bartender came to check on her again, asking if she was all right with her club soda. Rory smiled slightly, and asked for a glass of white wine. br
He nodded, telling her that he'd be right back. br
Rory almost breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't card her. Although she frequented the restaurant, this bartender was new. br
Twenty-five years old, and she was still being carded on a regular basis. br
She blamed it on her cherubic features. br
As she started musing on that particular irksome thought, Rory felt a person slip in beside her on the stool to her right. One sniff told her it was a man, one with classic tastes if the Polo cologne was any indication. br
The bartender returned with her drink and took the opportunity to ask the newcomer what he wanted. br
"Scotch on the rocks," said the tired voice, a little husky, a little low, and definitely pleasant. br
Rory smiled at his drink of choice. She remembered reading somewhere that real men drank scotch. Did this man drink scotch because he thought himself a real man, or did he truly enjoy the drink that reminded her of pure turpentine? br
His drink was brought quickly and efficiently, set down without a word. The man picked it up with an unadorned hand, and presumably, put it to his lips. br
She casually slanted her eyes in his direction. He had on a dark gray suit, unbuttoned and hanging casually on his frame with a white shirt underneath. Was that a dark red tied with diagonal stripes? Indeed it was. It spoke to her that he was conservative. br
Next Rory stretched her neck in both directions, gathering from her quick perusal that he had spiky blonde hair that looked as though it had been raked through several times that day. His head was fractionally turned away, so she couldn't see his eyes or his face beyond a strong jaw line and a long neck with a sexy looking Adam's apple. br
Rory turned back to her drink. She'd been friends with Emma too long. Since when did Rory Gilmore check out the opposite sex like this? br
"You know, you could have just asked," he said. br
Her spine straightened automatically before she turned in his direction. "Excuse me?" br
"I said you could have just asked. I can tell when a woman's checking me out, and if you'd just come out and said it, I would have sat still and let you look to your heart's content," he smirked, his blue eyes alight with something she didn't quite understand. br
"Oh my goodness, are you always this full of yourself?" br
He lifted a brow. "Only when a beautiful woman such as yourself gawks at me and thinks I won't notice. It's quite flattering really," he said, taking the chance to openly peruse her from her strappy black sandals to topmost flyaway strands of her bun. br
She definitely felt heated. br
Righteous indignation rose faster than you could say onomatopoeia without smiling. "I have never been so insulted in my life, with the exception of an adolescent experience I'm not about to divulge to a complete stranger...but that's not the point!" This was truly frightening; she was sounding more and more like her mother everyday. "For your information, I was not gawking..."br
He started chuckling, and for some reason, she wanted to as well. br
So she did. "I was...checking you out. Oh god, I'm sorry. I don't usually do this. It's my best friend's fault." br
"Really? Was she the one that tutored you in the ways of conspicuously checking out the opposite sex?" he asked, taking a sip from his tumbler. br
"It's not always the opposite sex. Sometimes it's the...never mind. Obviously I'm not good at this." br
"Flirting with strangers? Or are we still talking about ogling?" he asked. br
Was she flirting? And with a stranger? But those eyes...had she seen them somewhere before? Maybe he was just a frequent patron of this restaurant like herself; Rory made it a habit to come at least once a week for dinner. br
"Okay, this isn't flirting, but I really need to ask. I have this feeling that we've met before." br
"Are you in advertising?" he asked. br
"Journalism." br
"Live in SoHo?" br
"TriBeCa." br
"Harvard?" br
"Columbia." br
They came to a stand still. He was staring at her intently, obviously racking his brain. br
His eyes narrowed. "Connecticut." br
"Yes." br
His shoulders straightened. "Chilton." br
Nine years melted from his features, revealing why she thought she knew him. She did. br
"Tristan DuGrey." br
"Mary." br
Mortification gave way to another round of indignation. "Is that your obnoxious way of telling me you still have the emotional maturity of a sixteen year-old, or do you really not remember my name?" br
"No. Rory Gilmore. I remember you just fine now, thanks," he said, turning so that he was facing the bar and not her. br
"It's Lorelai now," Rory said before doing the same, but still managed to meet his gaze in the mirror behind the many bottles of spirits. "Of all the luck..."br
Tristan lifted one corner of his mouth. "You know, there is some serious justice and beauty to this situation." br
"What?" br
He shrugged. "It's just interesting that for all the time you spent hating me in our one year of acquaintance, we meet now because you can't keep your eyes off of me." br
"Are you out of your mind? Try again, Satan. You were a passing observation, and would have stayed that way if you weren't so full of yourself." br
"Whatever you say. But may I remind you, it's one thing to lie to me, Mary. It's quite another to lie to yourself," he smirked. br
Rory growled. She actually growled. "I can't believe this..." She shook her head, not quite understanding her misfortune. "You know, forget it. This isn't worth it. I don't want to argue with you, and you probably don't want to argue with me. How about we just ignore each other and enjoy our drinks? We never talked." br
"If that's what you want." br
"It is." br
"Okay." br
"Good." br
"Fine." br
"Fine," she said before staring ruefully at her napkin, and then taking a gulp of her wine. br
"Coward." br
"Why do you feel the need to provoke me?" She turned on him. "I loathe you." br
"Tell me something I don't already know..."br
"Oh, shut up," she said, swiveling back to her original position of glaring at the bar. On impulse, she turned back. "Just for the record, I was referring to now when I said 'I loathe you.' I never hated you in high school." br
"That's not what I heard you saying to your boyfriend that day you turned me down for the PJ Harvey concert." br
Rory searched her memory. "Oh my...that's what you remember? You can't remember what I look like when you first meet me, but you remember my meaningless babbling from nine years ago?" br
"A, you didn't recognize me either, so you're in no position to point fingers. B, it wasn't meaningless; I spent good money on those tickets and never got to go." br
"C, it was meaningless because I only said it to appease Dean. Honestly, it was easier to tell him what he wanted to hear. And d, why didn't you go?" she asked huffily. When was the last time she'd been forced to argue in this rapid-fire fashion? br
"E, because I didn't know anyone else that liked her, and f...I can't believe you never really hated me. I spent months brooding over nothing..."br
"Hold on a second. You just screwed with the sequence. Give me a moment to regroup." Rory looked up at the ceiling and reviewed both of their words. "Letter sequencing isn't working. How about we cover one issue at a time?" br
"I'm game." br
"Okay. Topic one: PJ Harvey. You should have still gone." br
"Suggestion, please." br
"Sure." br
"I don't really care about PJ Harvey. I'm more interested in this you not hating me thing." br
"Oh," she breathed. "Okay." Rory drew in a breath. "So you brooded over me for months?" br
Tristan chuckled, furrowing his brows. "I'm not sure I want to talk about that either." br
"Hey, you brought it up, not me. It's only fair that we talk about it now. No intelligent woman would pass up such a chance," she reasoned. br
"And you're an intelligent woman." br
"I am," she smiled. br
"I have to say, the confidence is a nice improvement," he said, taking a sip of his scotch. "However, I'm still not about to talk about a painful teenage memory." br
She frowned. "C'mon, can't you just give a little bit?" br
"What possible incentive do I have to divulge feelings I've been able to keep to myself for almost a decade?" br
"Incentive? Can't you just think of it as a charitable donation of information to an old friend?" she asked hopefully, still unsure why she was pushing him on the matter. br
"I'm not caving," he assured her. Tristan watched as she graced him with a pout. He sighed. "Look, isn't it obvious where I was going with the slip about the brood? Do I really need to say more?" br
Rory lifted one corner of her mouth. "I suppose you're right. I still can't believe that you cared that much." br
"You were a good distraction for the time being," he said, hiding a smile behind his tumbler. br
She guffawed. "Distraction? I don't think so. If you were brooding for months, then I wasn't just a mere distraction. Nice try." br
Tristan eyed the half empty wine glass in her hand. br
"What?" br
"I'm just wondering if the alcohol has gone to your head, because that kind of spunk is not indicative of the old Rory at all," he teased. br
"People can change." br
"I'm a big believer in that." br
"As am I." br
They looked at each other sideways, both smiling. They clinked glasses in silent communication and finished their drinks. br
"So what brings you here tonight?" she asked. br
"What makes you think I don't come here all the time? That this isn't my regular haunt?" br
"What you failed to consider is that I might be a regular, which I am. And I would have remembered if you'd been in here before," she pointed out. br
"Because of my dashing good looks?" br
She chuckled. "Because everyone else knows better than to come in here dressed like that," she said with a hint of amusement, referring to his business attire, while the rest of the patrons were clothed in more casual togs. br
"You can't blame a guy for coming straight from work." br
"You're obviously not here for a hot date then," she said with a small smile. br
"Oh, now that's a gross assumption." br
"No man seeking to impress a woman would come straight from the office, without a shower, without some proper attention to how he looks. It shows a lack of consideration and blatant disregard for her olfactory nerves," she reasoned. "Thus, I deduce that you are either on a blind date, or have just stepped in for a drink." br
Tristan sniffed his arm surreptitiously. "I smell fine." br
"You're wrinkled." br
"Barely." br
She hmphed. "So which is it?" br
"Neither," he said triumphantly. br
"Then what is it?" br
"You're awfully curious." br
"I'm a journalist. So sue me," she said, quirking a brow, even as a smile curved her lips. br
It had been too long since she'd engaged in this kind of satisfactory banter. It made Rory miss having a boyfriend, or just someone to challenge her like this. Deep down she could admit that she was glad she ran into Tristan. Only he could push all the right buttons. br
"Actually, I am here to meet someone," he said, his smile fading slightly. "But not a blind date," he amended. br
Rory giggled. "A client then?" br
From beyond Tristan's shoulder she could see Emma slipping between the tables to the bar. She looked fresh and lively in her jeans and white button down shirt, a lime-colored silk scarf tied around her neck. Her wild auburn hair bounced around her shoulders as she hopped past a waiter, nearly knocking the man over. Emma was all smiles as she apologized and kept on coming. br
Rory put a hand over the right side of her face and shook her head. Her best friend was such a klutz. br
"What's wrong?" br
"Nothing, it's just that...I'm meeting someone too. She just almost knocked someone down on her way over," Rory explained. br
"Really?" br
"Yeah, it's embarrassing." br
"So I guess this is the end of our reunion, huh?" he asked. br
Rory felt almost bereft, wishing she had more time with Tristan. Seeing him dredged up an old crush she hadn't admitted to herself until long after he was gone. Maybe meeting him here again was a sign...br
"Maybe," she said wistfully, drumming her fingers on the polished bar. "Listen, I've had a good time talking with you and...there's no reason we shouldn't do this again." br
The look on his face was nothing short of surprise. "That sounds nice." br
"Good," she said, with a small measure of relief. Rory slipped her hand into her bag, wanting to find a card to give to him. She had her finger on the thick ivory card when she felt a body collide into her own, arms holding her tight in a hearty hug. br
"Hey you. I'm sorry I'm late; there was this car accident on 14th, and it took me forever to get around it," she said hurriedly, not even noticing that she'd interrupted something. Emma drew away and grinned at her. "God, you look gorgeous tonight. Did you do something new with your hair?" br
"Em," Rory said, signaling with her eyes that there was someone behind her. br
"Oh gees, did I cut in on..." Emma turned around and finally laid eyes on Tristan. Rory watched as her eyes lit up in a way that wasn't unfamiliar to her. "Well this is a surprise." br
Rory was about to ask Emma if she could have a moment when she caught the look on Tristan's face. Confusion and...was it regret? Suddenly a queasy feeling invaded her stomach, and she didn't know how to stop it. br
"I didn't expect you two to meet before I came," Emma continued, releasing Rory. She slid over to Tristan, giving him a short, but definitely intimate kiss on the lips. "Hi, sweetheart." br
"Hi," he whispered, forcing a smile, hiding the confusion. Then he let his eyes rest on her. "Rory was the friend you wanted me to meet?" br
"Rory. God, no one calls her that nowadays," Emma mused. "So you already know each other?" br
Rory couldn't speak; she was still piecing things together. br
"Yeah, Rory and I go way back." br
"Wow, well this makes things even better. Seeing as how you're already friends, I don't suppose I should stall any longer," Emma began, her eyes still glowing. "Lor, I asked you here because I wanted you to be the first to know." br
Oh God. "What is it, Em?" br
"Tristan and I are getting married." p
Rory flipped on the light switch, illuminating the room with a hazy pink glow; she had left a scarf lying over the lamp accidentally. She padded over to her couch and flopped down, closing her eyes. br
She shouldn't be this upset. It wasn't as though she had any kind of relationship with Tristan. It was one chance encounter in a restaurant...as they were waiting for the same person. br
Her best friend. br
His fiancée. br
They'd only been dating for two months, but they were madly in love with one another. Emma hadn't told her about it because it seemed so improbable that it would go anywhere. br
It explained why she was so busy lately. br
And the two-carat diamond on her third finger. br
The card bearing her name and number had fallen from her grasp and back into the purse as soon as the words left Emma's mouth. She was so foolish. Tristan probably wouldn't have even taken it from her. br
Or would he? He never said anything about a fiancée. Then again, it never came up, and she never gave him a chance. br
This is stupid, she thought. br
They hadn't kissed. They hadn't touched. There were no promises or hopes. br
But there was no denying the loss she felt inside. A loss she had no right feeling. br
Emma asked Rory to be her maid of honor. There was no way Rory could turn her down. No reason she'd want to. It was her best friend after all. She wanted to be there on Emma's day. br
Rory slipped off her sandals and lay down on the couch. She groped around for a throw pillow, tucking it under her cheek. br
Dinner had been awkward at best, not that Emma noticed. She was just so happy that her best friend and fiancée were finally getting acquainted that she didn't see how pale her the brunette was, or how Tristan kept on trying to make eye contact with Rory. Emma managed to keep the conversation at a steady flow, talking enough for all three of them. br
They were getting married in three months. Funny that their engagement would last longer than their courtship. Naturally, Rory would be swept up in the whirlwind of preparations. They'd all spend plenty of time together. br
Wonderful. br
Tristan had tried to talk to her when Emma excused herself to go to the bathroom, but she pleaded that she too needed to go, and followed quickly behind. She didn't return until her friend did. br
It was all wrong, Rory thought. She shouldn't be feeling like this. She didn't begrudge her friend's happiness. She didn't feel jealous. Well, no, she did, but it was only natural that there was some measure of envy. IThere's always a little bit of jealousy. You can't help wishing you were the one who'd finally found their true love.br
It had nothing to do with anything she might have felt for Tristan a long, long, long time ago. br
No, it was just shellshock. br
The phone on the table beside her started ringing. She only hesitated a beat before picking it up. br
"Hello?" br
"Rory?" he asked. br
She almost groaned as she rolled onto her back. "Tristan...how'd you get my number?" br
He sighed. "I asked Emma." br
"What do you want?" she asked curtly. br
"I just wanted to say I was sorry," he said. br
She looked heavenward. "You don't have anything to be sorry about." br
"I didn't know you were the 'Lor' she kept on talking about. I swear I didn't know before tonight." br
"Tristan, it's okay. I'm happy for you and Emma." br
"Of course you are. It's just...you seemed almost as uncomfortable as me during dinner," said Tristan. br
She shook her head, regardless of the fact that he couldn't see. "I was just surprised." br
A long silence stretched between them. What else was there to say? br
"Look, I'm feeling kind of tired, and I have to get up early tomorrow...is there anything else?" br
"I..." He sighed again. "No, I guess not. Goodnight, Rory."v
Rory swallowed her own sigh. "Goodnight, Tristan."
Three months. She had three months to get used to the idea of Emma marrying Tristan. It would be a piece of cake. Wouldn't it? br
To be continued...