One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

16

Saturday night. Date night. Date night with Matthias.

Good-looking, nice-smelling Matthias.

I have nothing to wear.

Everything I put on looks a little too revealing, a bit NSFW if you ask me. I know we’re not at the office, but it feels like it’s going to take at least three dinners and a coffee meetup before I’ll be able to fully separate the worlds.

After an embarrassingly long time deliberating, I decide on a loose blue dress and flat shoes instead of heels. Earrings but no necklace. Powder instead of foundation because in this weather it will melt into my pores no matter what Claire’s bottle of setting spray says.

What are we going to talk about? I’ve worked with Matthias for two years. That’s two years’ worth of small talk already covered. How am I going to talk to him like we’re on a date and not standing by the water cooler?

I think about canceling twice as I get ready or dragging Claire along and pretending I thought it was a group thing, but eventually I force myself out of my apartment, only panicking once on the way about whether I should have worn heels instead.

He’s waiting outside when I arrive and I linger for a moment, allowing myself to look at him properly for the first time. Staring in the office isn’t really encouraged. He looks great in jeans, sneakers and a red button-down shirt. It makes him look younger, a little less perfect, like he’s in a relatable advertising campaign for young professionals who just moved to the city and again I remind myself that, objectively speaking, he’d be a good choice for me. The most obvious choice probably if you were to sit me down and say, “Sarah, you have to marry someone right now or I will kill this puppy.” Or, “Sarah, out of all the guys you know, who would you trust to take care of your plant while you were on vacation?” “Who would definitely hang up their wet towels and not make a face when you ask him to buy you tampons?” It has to be Matthias, right? He’s that kind of guy. A nice, straightforward guy.

The only problem is that after weeks of zero action in the bedroom coupled with two years of sporadically imagining making out with him, I should be, well, more than primed. But now I’m here and he’s here and I look at him and I feel… nothing.

It’s nerves. That’s all.

Not like I’m broken inside. Not like all men are ruined for me just because—

“Sarah!”

I start guiltily toward him as he catches me staring.

Do I hug him?

He greets me with a raised hand, answering for me and he tells me how nice I look and I compliment his shirt and, oh my God, I’m on a date with Matthias Scott. He holds the door open for me and we enter a large open space with high ceilings and plenty of booths. It’s early enough that we get a seat at the bar though the number of staff hurrying about tells me the place is going to fill up quickly.

I spend a little longer than necessary arranging my skirt on the stool while I try to think of something to say.

Matthias notices my awkwardness. “Alcohol will help,” he says. “And if this goes badly, we don’t have to talk about it ever again.”

I relax slightly. “Sounds perfect,” I say truthfully.

He smiles at me. He has a nice smile, white teeth, one a little crooked. “You know, I didn’t think you’d say yes to this,” he says. “After everything that happened with the Grayson Group.”

I glance away, uncomfortable. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But I know it’s tough. We were each other’s competition after all.”

We were? I try not to show my surprise at his words. I’d never thought of him like that. Harvey’s big on the whole “team spirit” atmosphere and while, sure, both of us went for the same promotion, I never looked at it like a game. He wasn’t someone I needed to defeat.

Though maybe I should have.

Maybe then I wouldn’t have lost.

“How’s it coming along?” I ask, trying not to look too interested.

“We’re getting there. They’ve decided on a terrace on the fourth floor.”

“They did?” I stare at him in surprise. “That was one of my ideas.”

“Was it?”

“To save space in the café,” I say as Matthias’s phone buzzes. He quickly answers a text. “Did you take a look at my floor plan because if they’ve reneged on the terrace then—”

He shakes his head, frowning slightly. “They’re going in a different direction.”

“Right.” It’s exactly what Harvey told me. And yet… it doesn’t sound that different. “But maybe you could bring me back on,” I say. “If they’re beginning to rethink things.” It happens a lot on projects, especially when dealing with clients not prone to collaboration. They’ll huff and puff but eventually meet you midway. Half the job at the beginning is managing expectations and explaining to people that not only does the thing they want cost money, but it costs a lot more than they think it does. Which, unsurprisingly, does not endear you to them. But I’d thought Grayson and I were on the same page. Which made losing them even more disappointing.

“Maybe.” Matthias nods.

“I actually was rethinking the entrance for the library on the second floor. If we move it up one, we could…” I trail off at the look on his face. “Sorry. Enough work talk.”

He smiles. “Don’t worry about it. Do you want to get a drink before we eat?”

I take the hint, reaching for one of the small booklets in front of us. “What’s your poison?”

“I think whiskey’s their specialty.”

I do my best to look enthused, remembering what happened the last time I tried it.

“They do a tasting session on Thursdays,” Matthias continues, reading the menu. “We should see if they can—”

“I wouldn’t if I were you.”

My head snaps up at the familiar voice, not fully sure if I imagined it or not. For one wild second I wonder if this is another Josh-in-the-park moment. If my mind is playing tricks on me.

But it’s not.

Declan stands behind the bar, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A black name tag is pinned to his chest, like the other staff wear.

Holy crap.

Holy freaking crap.

“Trust me,” he continues, looking at Matthias. “I’m speaking from experience with this one.” His eyes flick to mine, holding my gaze, but I don’t speak. I can’t speak.

I can’t believe it.

It’s been weeks. Weeksof nothing. No texts, no calls, no communication at all except for dropping by the apartment the one night I’m not in and now he’s just here? He’s here and he’s gorgeous and I’m—

“Do you two know each other?” Matthias glances between us, obviously confused.

“We—”

“Declan is my best friend’s brother-in-law,” I jump in before he can say anything. “We were just at their wedding.”

Matthias’s face clears in understanding. “Right. Harvey said you were abroad. It was in Ireland?”

I nod. There’s a beat where I’m supposed to say something else, but God knows what that is, so I keep my mouth shut.

Declan begins to smile.

“Well,” Matthias says gamely. “If whiskey is out, then what are you thinking? You guys have a lot of summer cocktails.”

“I don’t do sugary drinks,” I say quickly. “Or anything sweet really.”

“So that’s why you never eat the pastries I bring in,” he says with an amused look. “I was beginning to think it was me.”

“It wasn’t.”

“Can I recommend our pale ales?” Declan interrupts loudly. I sit back as he leans over the bar, trying to keep as much space between us as possible. “This one is brewed in Dingle. A beautiful part of County Kerry. Have you been to the Emerald Isle?”

Matthias shakes his head. “Never.”

“Ah, it’s gorgeous. Do you have any family in—”

“We’ll take two beers,” I say before he can launch into his business pitch. “Thank you.” The firmness in my tone only makes him smile more.

“Anything in particular?” he asks.

“You choose.”

“Sounds good to me,” Matthias says.

Declan slaps the bar and plucks the menu from his hand. “Coming right up.”

I watch him turn and grab two bottles from the fridge.

“So how was the trip?”

“What trip?”

“To Ireland,” Matthias says.

“It was good,” I say distracted.

“What’s a wedding like over there?”

“Exhausting.”

Declan drops two coasters onto the bar and places our drinks down with a flourish. I stare at the watch on his wrist. The watch that was under my bed. The bed that we—

“Nice to see you again,” he says, smiling at me before turning to another customer.

“I actually spent a semester of college in Edinburgh.”

I take a long gulp from the bottle, barely tasting it. What do I do? What do I do what do I what do I—

“We can go somewhere else.”

I glance at Matthias, who’s looking at me, concerned. “Oh, no, it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“If he’s making you uncomfortable…”

“He’s not. I’m just nervous.” I twist on the stool so I’m facing him fully and try to focus my attention.

Matthias looks pleased. “I make you nervous?”

The idea of him does. But I’m not about to explain that to him.

“Edinburgh huh?” I ask instead. “What was that like?”

I make all the appropriate noises and nod in all the right places as Matthias goes through a remarkably boring story about his European trip. But I can’t concentrate. I try, really I do, but the whole time my mind is on Declan, who remains just out of my eyeline but who I can hear, talking and laughing.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so aware of another person before. And infuriatingly, he doesn’t seem to be aware of me at all. He sticks to the other end of the bar, leaving us alone, which a part of me accepts is the polite thing to do, while the messier part of me is infuriated by it. I want him back up here, in front of me so I can look at him and figure him out and figure me out and not feel so confused.

“It’s my sister.”

I blink back to attention to see Matthias holding his vibrating phone in one hand.

“She’s in the city this week.”

“You should answer it,” I say as he silences it.

“Are you sure?”

“Totally. Family first.”

“I’ll be two minutes,” he says apologetically, sliding off the stool. “She’s probably locked herself out again.”

I smile until he disappears outside and then turn back to the bar only to see Declan talking, flirting, with a woman a few seats down. I have to admit, albeit grudgingly that he looks… good. He was very put together in Ireland, dressed appropriately for a week with family and friends and a cool sea breeze. Now he looks how I remember him, slightly sweaty and disheveled, his shirt tight and stop it, Sarah.

I look straight ahead, staring at the thin strip of mirror over the bottles of alcohol where I can see the top half of my face.

Was my forehead always this big?

“Admiring yourself?”

I start as Declan blocks my view.

“You’re looking well,” he continues as if him being here and me being here is a completely normal thing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m working.”

“As a barman?”

“What’s wrong with being barman?”

“Nothing,” I say flatly. “I thought you were into cottages.”

“I’m a man of many talents, Sarah. You seem mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“So that’s just your usual expression.” He leans in to let a woman squeeze past him and again I lean back. He acknowledges the movement with a sardonic look. “I own this bar,” he says. “That is why I work here. Where did your boyfriend go?”

“He’s not my—” I break off with a huff. “It’s not working.”

“I’m sorry. He seems nice.”

“Not him,” I say. “You are not working. You’re not getting to me.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. I know it instantly from the spark of a challenge in his eyes.

“I’m not trying to get to you, Sarah.”

“Good because—”

“Apparently, I don’t need to try.” He crosses his arms on the bar, leaning toward me. “You know what happens when you get annoyed? Like really annoyed?”

“You would know.”

“You get these two bright red spots on your cheekbones. Right… there.”

I bat his finger away as he goes to tap my cheek, but my protest gets stuck in my throat.

His face is inches from mine. He’s so close I can smell him. So close I could kiss him. So close that despite the noise of the crowded bar around us, I can hear him perfectly when his voice drops to a whisper, exactly how it sounded in my dream. “It’s the exact same look you get when you orgasm.”

My breath catches in shock as he rears back, looking pleased with himself.

“I’ll admit I was trying there,” he says, grinning. Before I can say anything, or even think of something to say, he nods at someone over my shoulder and I turn to see Matthias approaching.

“Sorry about that,” he says, sliding back onto the seat. He glances between us, noting the tension. “Is everything okay?”

“Just catching up.” Declan smiles. “How do you two know each other?”

“We work together,” Matthias says.

“As her assistant or—”

“I’m a senior project architect,” Matthias says with a humility that sounds fake even to me.

“A senior project architect.” Declan looks impressed. “You’re not the guy who took her job are you?”

My mouth drops open as Matthias’s eyes go wide.

“He didn’t take my job,” I splutter.

Declan is the picture of confusion. “I thought that’s what you said?”

“No, I said he got my promotion. A promotion,” I correct myself.

“That you were going for.”

“That he got fair and square,” I say loudly as Matthias shifts awkwardly on the stool.

“My mistake.”

“Excuse me,” a woman next to me cuts in. “Your accent is amazing. Are you from Ireland?”

“I am.” Declan smiles, giving her his full attention as I try to interrupt again. “Have you seen our whiskey menu?” He brandishes the little brochure with a flourish. “I import some local ones close to my home village. Guaranteed Irish.”

Matthias clears his throat. “Maybe we should—”

“Just a second,” I say as Declan finishes taking the woman’s order. There is no way he can get away with this. Not after everything he’s pulled. Ignoring me at the ceremony and running off without a word. He can’t just stand there, looking like that, talking about orgasms and promotions and oh, by the way I own a freaking bar.

Who the hell does he think he is?

“Could you see if we could get a table by the window?” I ask Matthias.

Declan glances up as Matthias leaves, an almost satisfied look on his face. “Was it something I said?”

“What exactly is your game here?”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s been radio silence for weeks and then the other night you just happen to drop by the one time I’m not in to—”

“The one time?” he interrupts. “Have you been staying in waiting for me?”

“You could have texted me. Given me a heads-up.”

The smug look on his face slips slightly. “I could have,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d respond.”

“Why wouldn’t I—”

“Where’d your boyfriend go?”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” I twist around, scanning the restaurant area behind me. “And he’s…” Gone. I straighten, trying to find him. I can’t see him anywhere.

“What did you do?” I demand, turning back to Declan.

“Oh me? I just pulled my secret lever under the bar here. The old trap door trick.”

“He—”

“Walked straight out the front door,” Declan finishes as I spin on my stool again. “After he tried to get your attention. You ignored him.”

I’m too embarrassed to respond. Did Matthias try to get my attention? How could I have been so rude?

“He left you with the check as well,” Declan continues. “Bit of a dick move if you ask me.”

“Can you stop being you for one moment, please?” I ask as I try to think about how to save this. “This is your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes,” I snap. If he hadn’t been here, this wouldn’t have happened.

The humor vanishes from his face. “You’re going to have to help me out here, Sarah. Because I gotta say, whatever grudge you suddenly have against me is pretty confusing.”

“I don’t have a grudge.”

“No? Then what’s the attitude? You made it perfectly clear you didn’t want anything more from me. You’re the one who called the shots.”

“And you’re the one who disappeared.”

I clamp my mouth shut as soon as I say it. Shit.

Declan doesn’t answer right away, his eyes flitting over my face like he’s looking for a hidden message. “You mean at the wedding?”

“No. Forget about it.”

“I always planned to leave after the toasts. Annie and Paul knew that.”

“Yeah, well you didn’t tell me.”

“Is that what this is about? You’re mad because I didn’t say goodbye?”

“I’m not mad,” I say, hopping off the stool. “I’m leaving.”

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

“And you thought right!”

He watches as I fumble for my wallet. “It’s on the house.”

“I’m paying for the beer.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“I don’t care!” I toss the bills over the bar and storm off. Of course, the way it flutters doesn’t exactly have my desired effect, but I think the point is well made.

“Bye, Sarah,” he calls loudly, causing several heads to turn.

Asshole.

I find Matthias standing on the curb outside, typing into his phone.

I hurry over to him, trying to decide whether it’s better to pretend like I don’t know why he’s leaving or go for the groveling approach. One look at the stiffness of his shoulders tells me the latter would be best.

“I’m so sorry,” I begin.

“You stole my line.” He holds up his phone. “It’s my sister. She’s locked out.”

“I can come with? We could try somewhere closer to you. Start over.”

“It’s too far,” he says, not looking at me. “It’s better if I just go.”

I nod, trying to smile. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I have some history with that guy and I didn’t expect to see him there. It threw me.”

“I get it. It’s not a problem.”

But it is. It really is.

“I was rude.”

He doesn’t deny it, still concentrating on his phone even though I can see no messages are coming through. “I better go rescue her,” he says. “Play the big brother.”

“Of course,” I say lightly as disappointment floods through me. “I’ll see you at the office?”

“Yeah sure,” he says, hailing a cab. “Have a good weekend.”

Goddammit.

I stand by the curb, watching the car drive away.

Locked out. So that’s what that excuse feels like.