Never Fall for Your Back-Up Guy by Kate O’Keeffe

Chapter 21

We stay standing together, watching the sun set on the glass bridge until my tummy begins to rumble—always so romantic.

“Sorry about that,” I mumble, embarrassed.

“You’re a little hungry, huh?” Asher asks with a laugh.

“I’m starving. What does a girl have to do on this date to get some food?”

He waggles his eyebrows suggestively and I bat him lightly on the arm. “Actually, I’ve got a place booked for nine.” He consults his watch. “Which is perfect timing. Shall we go?”

“Have you got the double decker bus waiting for us or are we Tubing it?”

“That was a one-time thing. How about a black cab?”

“The bus, the Underground, and now a black cab? Asher, you really are playing loose and wild with the different transport options London has to offer.”

“What can I say? I like to live dangerously.”

We make our way down from the bridge and Asher hails a cab. As we whiz through the streets, he tells me about his love of surfing.

“That is the one thing I don’t like about living in London. No beach. Back in San Diego, whenever the mood struck me, I could be at the beach within thirty minutes. Here it’s a major trek and you risk hypothermia the moment you step in the sea.”

“It’s not all bad. We’ve got the rain, cups of tea, and the Queen here, you know.”

He lets out a low laugh. “Which are the precise reasons why I choose to live in this fine city. Particularly the tea.”

“I’ve never known you to drink a cup of tea.”

“I’m working up to it.”

“Tell me more about surfing. How old were you when you learned?”

“Oh, I was just a kid. My dad and older brother would go out and I’d tag along. I’m sure I was a total pain to start with, but when I got the hang of it, we’d go out all the time.”

“It was father-son bonding time.”

A smile claims his face. “It was.”

I think of the hand-made rack I’ve ordered for surfboards and smile to myself. It’ll be ready soon, and I know he’s going to love it.

“When Lucas, my older brother, left for college, Dad and I would go out early in the morning together. That’s the perfect time to surf. Afterwards, we’d go to Marina’s House of Pancakes and eat up a storm.”

“Health food all the way.”

“Pancakes are super good for you. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“I like that you surf. Can we go to the beach one weekend soon so I can watch you do it?”

“You’re already planning weekend trips for us?” he teases. “I’d love to take you away for the weekend.”

We share a smile.

“You know, Zee, this may be our first date, but it feels like our thousandth.”

He’s voiced precisely how I feel. “In a good way?”

“In a really good way.”

The black cab comes to a stop and the driver clears his throat, interrupting our moment. He tells us how much the fare is, and Asher pays as we climb out of the cab.

I look up and down the street, recognising it straight away. “We’re in Notting Hill,” I say in surprise.

“I thought I’d take you to my favourite place to eat.” A look of uncertainty waves across his face. “If that’s okay with you? I mean, I know it’s not a super fancy place in Mayfair with a view or anything—”

I stop his words with a kiss. “I’m sure I’ll love it, hubby.”

His face morphs into a smile. “Come this way.”

We walk through the door of a buzzing restaurant and immediately I’m hit by a delicious aroma of garlic and Italian herbs. Asher is greeted by name by the waiter, who looks genuinely happy to see him, shaking his hand and slapping him on the back.

“And who is this beautiful lady?” he asks as he turns to me.

“This is Zara,” Asher replies, and the waiter raises his brows, his eyes widening. “So nice to finally meet you, Zara,” he says to me as he takes my hand in his and kisses me a total of three times on the cheeks.

The thought that Asher has talked about me to him fills my chest with warmth.

He shoots Asher a meaningful look, and he offers me a sheepish smile. “I am Antonio, and this is my restaurant,” he says with an expansive arm gesture.

“It smells amazing in here,” I tell him.

“The best Italian food in all of the city. Come, come. Sit here. I have your usual table ready for you, Asher.”

Antonio leads us to a candlelit table in the window, where Asher pulls my chair out for me and we both take a seat.

“Wine?” Antonio offers.

“Do you feel like a glass?” he asks me.

“Definitely. Red?”

“We’ll have a bottle of Chianti, please, Antonio, and some of your awesome garlic bread.” He turns his attention to me and adds, “You are gonna die for this bread, Zee.”

“If it’s half as good as it smells, I bet I will.”

Antonio leaves us and I turn to Asher and ask, “Your usual table? Do you bring a lot of girls here?”

He shake his head. “You’re the first.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that?”

He reaches for my hand. “Nope. I’ve been saving it for, well, for you.”

Those tummy butterflies from before start a Highland Fling. “Really?”

“Really.”

We settle into talking, eating, sipping our wine, and enjoying one another’s company. By the end of the evening, I am sold on Antonio’s, and the man himself gives me a warm hug as we leave.

“You are just as beautiful and clever as Asher has been telling me,” Antonio pronounces.

“Thanks a lot for giving me away,” Asher replies with an embarrassed laugh.

But I’m not embarrassed. I love that he’s talked with Antonio about me, and I love that I’m the first girl he’s brought here to his special restaurant.

We say goodnight to Antonio and walk slowly down the road towards his flat. It’s a beautiful evening, with only a slight chill in the air, and he places his arm around my shoulder which fends off the cold.

“That place is great. I can’t believe you’ve never told us about it before. Like when one of us has said, ‘I wonder where a good Italian place is,’ and you said nothing?”

He chuckles. “I know this is gonna sound lame, but I wanted to keep the place to myself.”

“That is a little lame,” I joke.

“Look, it was the first restaurant I went to in London when I arrived here. I was going through some stuff, and Antonio lent me his ear. I needed it at the time, and we became close. I guess he’s like a dad to me. My London dad. Does that sound silly?”

“Not at all.” And I know exactly what he’s referring to: his wife cheating on him and his consequent fleeing to London. “Why did you bring me here tonight?” I ask.

“Because I wanted to share that part of my life with you. I want you to know the whole me, not just the fun, party guy, the guy I’ve been for so long.”

“I want to know the whole you, Asher. So much.”

“Zee,” he says as he stops and turns to face me, his features losing the animation of earlier, “I was in a bad state when I got here. I was running away, I guess. I needed someone to talk to.”

“You could have talked to me.”

“But you see here’s the thing. I couldn’t talk to you. Not then.”

“Why not?”

“Because I knew that if I opened up to you and told you what I was going through, you’d see me in a different way. And I wanted to start fresh, with new friends, a new job, a new city, the works. I needed not to talk to you or any of our friends about what I was going through.”

“I get it. You wanted to be perceived in a particular way.”

His features loosen up as he smiles. “There was another reason, you know.”

“What was that?”

“I thought you were pretty darn cute and there was no way I wanted to mess things up with you. And believe me, back then, I would have.”

I nod, chewing on my lip. Is he going to tell me about her? Should I ask him? Is now the time he can finally open up?

He looks down at his feet and lets out a puff of air and my heart aches for him. This is so hard for him, and I want to make it better, but I’ve got no clue how. “And now?” I ask softly.

“Now you deserve to know the full truth. You see, the thing is, Zee, I came to London because I—” He stops speaking abruptly as he focusses on something over my shoulder, his features hardening.

“What is it, Asher?” I ask, but his eyes are transfixed on whatever it is behind me. With a hint of trepidation, I turn to see a woman standing outside his building. She’s about my age, dressed in a short black dress and high heels that even I can tell make her look super-hot, with long auburn hair down her back and a frankly beautiful face.

A beautiful, familiar face.

“Hey, Asher,” she says in an American accent with a tentative smile as she takes a couple of steps closer to us.

I gawp at her, not believing my eyes.

It’s her.

It’s the woman from the photo.

It’s Asher’s ex-wife.

She’s here, in flesh and blood, dressed to kill and smiling at Asher as though she hadn’t cheated on him with his best friend. As though she hadn’t ripped his heart from his chest and stomped all over it in her killer heals. As if he hadn’t run away from her to come here.

“Kristen,” Asher says in a deep voice, his jaw clenched, his features tight.

She takes another tentative step closer to us, and I can see the nervousness etched on her face.

I want to pull him away, take him back to his favourite restaurant, back to the vibe we shared, the sense that we were taking a step into our new, exciting, burgeoning relationship together.

I don’t.

Instead, I tighten my grip on his hand to let him know I’m here for him. “Are you okay?” I ask him in a soft voice.

He flicks his eyes to mine briefly before he returns them to his ex-wive—Kristen. “Why are you here?” he asks, his tone cold.

“I wanted to see you. I have things to say.” She turns her gaze on me. “I don’t know who you are but I’m guessing you’re Asher’s date.”

“I am,” I mutter.

A million thoughts are running through my head.

She’s back.

Does she still love him?

Does he still love her?

Should I leave?

“Pleased to meet you,” she says with an outstretched hand.

I blink at it, not knowing how to play this.

“Kristen.” Asher’s voice has a warning tone.

“What?” She says with a smile. “Don’t you think your date should get to meet your wife, Asher?” She turns her gaze on me and waits for my reaction with a look of smug satisfaction on her face. “Because I think it’s only good manners. Don’t you?”

Her words don’t have the effect on me she’s looking for.

I flick my eyes to Asher’s. He’s watching me with a wary, concerned look on his face.

“Zara, I can explain,” he begins.

“It’s okay,” I reply breathlessly, my heart hammering against my ribcage. Of all the ways for us to broach this emotional, difficult subject this is how it’s going to happen?

“We were married, but we separated over two years ago. I wanted to tell you. Truly, I did. It was just so hard for me and I—”

“You ran away,” Kristen says, her arms crossed across her chest.

I place my hand on his arm and lift my gaze to his. “It’s okay,” I repeat.

He studies my face for a beat, two, before he says, “You knew?” His voice is small and tight.

It’s like everything stops around us.

“I…I saw a photo album in your wardrobe when I was measuring up. It fell out as I was moving some boxes. There was a picture of you and her,” I gesture at Kristen, “on the cover.”

He recoils from me, stepping back. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I glance at Kristen and note a look of satisfaction on her face. I reply quietly for only Asher to hear, “What was I meant to say? ‘Hey, I see you’ve been married but you’ve never told me about it?’ Come on, Asher. I couldn’t do that.”

A muscle in his face twitches. “You went through my things.”

I shake my head vehemently, my eyes wide. “No. I did not. I saw the album on the floor, but I didn’t open it. I promise you. I put it straight back in its box. You have my word on that.” I reach for his hand, but it’s balled in a fist at his side, taut with tension. “Ash, please,” I say.

“He’s not good with conflict,” Kristen says behind me, and I’m certain I detect a note of pleasure in her voice. She’s clearly been listening to every word we’ve said.

Asher glares at her. “Don’t.”

She puts her hands up in the surrender sign. “I’m just saying.”

I step closer to him and place my hand on his forearm once more. His body is like an unmovable rock, his features set to hard stone. “Asher, please.”

He drags his gaze from Kristen back to me. “I’m gonna have to take some time here. I’ll, err, call you later.”

“You want me to leave?” I ask, and my voice comes out like a scared little girl’s.

A muscle twitches in his cheek. “I do.”

And just like that our wonderful first date comes to a crashing, soul destroying end.

“But—”

“Please.” The look on his face breaks my heart in two. Sorrow, disbelief, betrayal.

My throat tightens as panic rises in me like a hot air balloon.

This can’t be how this goes.

But this is how it goes.

I let out a defeated breath. I know when I’m beaten, and I’m well and truly beaten here. “Okay. I’ll go.” Tears prick my eyes and I blink them rapidly away. I glance at Kristen as I turn to leave. Her chin is high, a smirk teasing the edges of her mouth, and she looks down her nose at me. In a word, she looks victorious.

As well she might.

I’ve been kicked to the curb, exposed as a liar.

With a heart as heavy as a boulder, I shoot Asher one last look, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.

On unsure feet, I walk away. I retrace our steps back down the street.

Alone.

Regretful.

Sorrow twisting inside.