"Shit!"
The soda tipped up over her in one quick movement, instantly soaking through her t-shirt and making a lurid, orange stain.
"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, here let me help-"
She looked up at the stranger who had run into her - he was scrambling in the napkin box on the nearby counter, grabbing a handful of tissues and bringing them up to the stain.
"Whoa, hold on," Emma said, stopping his hands inches in front of her chest, "Let's not get too familiar, shall we?"
The man stopped and smiled. Looking into his soft brown eyes, her breath caught in her throat. Damn he was handsome. Typical, she thought - her mind going straight to her greasy hair and stained jeans - of all the times to meet a hot guy.
"I really am sorry," he promised. His brow was a little crinkled - he was older than her. Maybe 20?
"It's fine, really." She soaked up as much of the soda as she could and then balled up the tissues and tossed them in the nearest trash can.
"At least let me buy you another soda."
She smiled; he was persistent, "I work at the Crab Shack," she replied, pointing to her name tag, "Unlimited soda is one of the perks."
"Well-" he began, stepping a little closer and using a finger to lift up the tag, "-Emma, how about something stronger?"
Blushing a little, she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, "Can you wait four years?"
"You're seventeen?" he exclaimed and she nodded as he ran his fingers through his hair, "Wow, I mean…"
Raising herself on her toes, she whispered into his ear, "But I do have a thing for older guys."
"Oh, do you now?" he teased.
She felt her heart racing a little and she knew her cheeks were flushed - she was still pretty new to this whole flirting thing.
"Alright then, dinner, on me - to apologize and everything."
He gestured to her stained shirt and cocked his head a little to one side. He had a nice smile, she thought.
"Okay." Rifling through her purse, she pulled out a Sharpie and grabbed his left arm, pulling it close and writing her number in looping script. "Call me," she said, turning and walking back to the Crab Shack.
"Neal," he shouted, calling after her, "My name's Neal."
As she walked she smiled, Neal. That's a nice name…
It was like waking up from a deep sleep. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but now, instead of the cold concrete floor, she was seated on a glossy plastic reclining chair that was slippery and smooth beneath her fingers.
She sighed deeply, her fingers darting to the side of her head which was hot and throbbing, where she felt an angry welt beginning to form.
"Shhh." The voice was soothing, "Here, drink this."
Her lashes fluttered open a little as a glass was brought to her lips. Everything was still blurry but the water was cool and she gulped it down greedily, pushing herself up as she pulled away from the drink. "What happened," she murmured, rubbing at her eyes with her palms as her vision and hearing began to return to normal.
"You fainted." Killian was crouched in front of her. Her purse and shoes were in his hands and his small smile did little to hide his concern. "I told you to eat more at lunch."
Emma smiled weakly, flexing her toes and rolling her shoulders. "I'm fine. Maybe I was just tired from the flight."
"Maybe," he nodded, slipping her shoes back on her feet and then helping her to stand. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yeah," she promised, enjoying the way he was looking at her like she was something precious, "But maybe we can leave soon?"
"Of course," he agreed.
Looping her hand into his offered arm, she tried to remember the moments before she passed out. The memory was fuzzy. Blurry shapes, colors-
"Hey-" called Killian, pausing mid step, "Ben! How are ya, mate?"
Lost in thought Emma didn't look straight away. What had happened-
"Killian, it's been a long time."
Wait. That voice. It sounded like - no, she scoffed, it couldn't be.
Then it all came, tumbling back in a crashing wave of recollection. Across the room, him - same eyes, same hair, same voice-
Looking up, she started. There he was, not six feet away. Neal.
He didn't look her way at first, he was shaking Killian's hand. God, she wanted to run. She could do it, just disentangle her arm, turn around-
"Emma love, I'd like you to meet an acquaintance of mine, Ben Cassidy."
Then his eyes met hers. She saw him swallow. A shadow passed over his face and his gaze flickered downward for half a second, until he seemed to compose himself and held out his hand. "Emma. Nice to meet you."
So that's how this will work, she thought, Pretend we don't know each other. And a fake name too? Emma was halfway between shock and fury at the evening's turn of events. Flexing her jaw, she shook his hand and gave him a small nod.
He turned back to Killian and the two men chatted briefly. She noticed his eyes flashing to her face from time to time. Her skin felt like it was burning as a multitude of emotions tumbled around inside her. How was it possible that they should meet again - after all this time? After all she had done to forget him. Bile began to rise in her stomach and she excused herself, taking the few steps to the small bar that had been set up in one corner of the room.
Picking up a glass of champagne, she sank back a mouthful and swilled it around her cheeks. The tart liquid stung her tongue and she quickly swallowed. Disbelief was beginning to be outweighed by anger. God, she wanted to punch his face - grab his hair and scream at him for everything he did. Slam her fists onto his chest as she beat out all the pain of his abandonment and the consequences that still followed her to that day.
But then she looked at Killian: smiling, unaware. Handsome and kind and - he liked her. She didn't want to take a chance of messing up whatever was happening between them. She pushed back the wave of bitterness and tipped the rest of the champagne into her mouth. He seemed to want to pretend they didn't know each other and that worked for her.
"Ready to go?" Killian asked, approaching the bar with a warm smile, kissing her on her cheek so that her skin tingled with electricity.
"Yeah," she replied, in a breathy whisper.
"I'll get our coats."
He was only gone for a second when she felt a presence at her back.
"Emma."
Turning on her heel, she sucked in a breath, stumbling back a little on her heel, before composing herself and pushing back her shoulders.
"Neal," she replied, raising her brow.
"I go by Ben now." Bending his arm to rest at the bar, he leant into it nonchalantly and Emma had to check her rising fury.
"So I see," she spat, turning to look out for Killian returning, "You have a lot of nerve coming over here."
"Em," he mumbled, taking a step closer, reaching for her arm, "I'm sor-"
"Don't touch me," she snapped, glaring at him with blazing eyes.
His head dropped and he bit his lip, "I know it's probably too little, too late, but I was young and stupid and-" he shrugged, "I'm sorry."
"Yes, Neal," Emma hissed, "It's far too little, far too late - 13 years too late."
His face twitched, his lips pursing for a second, as he reached into his jacket. "Look, I'd really like to talk. Apologize properly. Here's my card. If you change your mind-"
He pushed the card along the bar.
"I won't," she snapped and he gave a terse smile, nodding, before he slipped away.
She stared at the blue, rectangular piece of card. 'Ben Cassidy, Event Management' was written in plain, bold type, below it a cellphone number and an email address. Her fingers danced tantalizingly close to it, slipping backwards and forwards as she waited.
"Ready?"
She was startled when Killian appeared from behind, placing her coat over her shoulders. Once more, her fingers slid forward, this time pulling it back into her grasp as she shrugged on her coat.
"Yes," she smiled, slipping her purse over her shoulder and dropping the card inside.
Killian was working. Emma had yet to start looking for a job, so she found herself alone in the apartment on a rainy Friday afternoon. Her purse from last night sat on the living room table where she had left it - unopened and almost forgotten. Almost.
But its contents seemed to be calling to her. She needed to do something about it.
Pulling the card out, she walked into the kitchen, dropped it on the countertop and stared. The blue burned her vision and when she briefly looked away, a ghost of its image danced before her eyes.
Walking to the trash can, she palmed the card and pressed the pedal that opened the lid. She dangled the card between finger and thumb before taking a deep breath and letting go.
Wiping her hands together, she walked away.
*30 minutes later*
Shaking slightly, she punched in the digits, the slightly soiled card clutched in her other hand. Her stomach was churning, her head was telling her to hang up, and she almost did until-
"This is Ben Cassidy speaking."
"Neal,"she whispered, "I changed my mind. When can we meet?"
13 years ago
"How's your pasta?"
"It's good,"Emma smiled, twirling her fork in the fettuccini, "How's your…?"
"Calzone,"he answered, "Pretty great, thanks."
The little Italian place he had chosen was a stone's throw away from the Charles River. The tiny dining room was fitted with small tables covered in checkered red and white table cloths and the candles that lit them were stood in old bottles of wine that were layered with different colored waxes that had melted onto the glass.
"This place is nice."
"Thanks. I found it when I moved here six months ago - best pizza this side of Italy."
He pulled a silly face and she laughed, trying to take a drink of her Coke to settle the butterflies that were currently taking up residence in her stomach.
This guy was nice - real nice.
"I'll take your word on that,"she replied, looking over and catching his eye - blushing as he stared into hers. His gaze was hot and a little overwhelming.
"So, Emma, about your shirt - am I forgiven?"
"Hmmm,"she mumbled, shrugging her shoulders a little, "I mean it was a favorite shirt…"
He reached across the table and took her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles, "Is someone trying to get a second date?"
"Oh this is a date, is it?"she teased, leaning closer to him.
"If you want it to be,"he replied softly, his head leaning closer to hers.
Damn she was thankful the table was so small.
"Maybe I do."
Neal smiled, tilting his head and reaching his mouth to hers, pulling her into a soft kiss.
Emma felt herself melting into a warm puddle as his lips teased hers open and the room began to spin.
Yes, she thought, this is definitely a date.
Her mind far away, she turned the coaster over in her fingers, tapping each edge against the bar as she waited. In her other hand, she held her straw, swirling it in her glass of Coke, watching the ice cubes twirl around in the cocoa colored liquid.
He was late. She wasn't surprised. It seemed some things never changed.
It was mid-afternoon and the bar was quiet - just a few old guys watching baseball on a flickering TV and a couple of college kids playing pool. Looking at her watch she began to get annoyed. Why had she put herself in this situation - to be let down, again? Sometimes she was her own worst enemy.
Just as she was about to give up - there he was. Searching the bar, he smiled when he saw her. She lifted her hand and he hurried to her table, making a rushed apology as he pulled off his scarf and coat.
As he left to get a drink, her foot began to tap anxiously against the floor - quickening with every minute that passed. Her stomach was tightening and she began to think that this had been a very bad idea.
"Did you find this place okay?" he asked, as he sat down.
"Did you?" she sassed, lying back in her seat.
"I deserved that," he nodded, taking a sip of his beer. "So, how's things?"
"Things?" Grabbing her glass she bit her lip until she was sure it had turned white. "Things are good. No thanks to you."
He reached out his legs under the table, crossing them at the ankle and reaching up to scratch his head, "Again, that was deserved."
"Oh, so you realized what a dick move that was? Walking out on me? I spent three months in jail. Jail, Neal!" She raised her brows to emphasize her point. His thumb went to his lips and began to trace over them.
"Ah Em, I had no idea-"
"Of course you didn't!" she cried, lowering her voice as she noticed the few faces in the room turning to our table, "You just left and didn't even look back. Damn it Neal, I trusted you!"
He was rolling the bottle between his hands now. "Look, Em, it's a shitty excuse but here's the way it was. I was in deep - I didn't tell you but I'd been selling some weed on the side, trying to build up some cash so we could move away - you know, like we talked about?"
Emma dropped her eyes to the table. Yes, she remembered. They were going to move far away, somewhere warm with lots of sunshine. They were going to get an apartment and proper jobs - and be happy.
"Well, I fucked up, lost some money and I had to go. They told me if I didn't leave I'd be dead."
"This is a great story Neal, but why the hell didn't you tell me? I would have come with you-"
His thumb began to pick at the bottle's sodden label, "Honestly I was scared - I thought if you came with me, you might get hurt and I wouldn't be able to stop it. I thought it was the best thing for you."
Emma stayed silent. His words were barely sinking in. You could call them reasons; she called them excuses.
"I would never have done that to you Neal. Left - not said goodbye, not explained why…"
Hot tears were welling up, the pain of being abandoned so easily fresh in her mind, even after all these years. A lump was forming in her throat.
"I know. And I've regretted leaving you like that, every single day. I never stopped thinking about you Em."
Her chest became tight.
"How can you say these things? After all these years? Damn Neal, I thought you were dead for Christ's sake! Do you know what it's like thinking that the man you are in love with has abandoned you? That he doesn't care about you enough to even say goodbye? That he'd let you take the fall for his dumb crimes-"
"Em…"
Reaching across the table, he took hold of the hand she had placed there, running his thumb over her knuckles, just the way he used to.
Little tears peeled down her cheeks.
"This was a bad idea," she sniffed, wiping her cheeks with her other hand, trying to pull out of his touch.
But his fingers tightened and she looked up. "Em, I still love you."
No. No. No.
The word pounded in her head as old emotions began to stir - getting twisted together with the pain and hurt of 13 years of feeling abandoned.
"You have no right to say that."
"I don't suppose I do," he agreed in a whisper, loosening his grip, running his fingers over hers. "But I mean it."
Head aching, mind a jumble, stomach twisted - she stood. "Far too little, far too late," she replied sadly as she turned to leave, "This was a bad idea, I should go-"
And before he could reply she was racing towards the doors into the drizzling, afternoon air.
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