Make You Miss Me by B. Celeste

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

When I arrive at the bar, it’s loud. My phone’s battery on a low charge and not delivering any messages since I left the school. I frown at my empty inbox when I check it to see if Vickie or Sonia texted.

Stumbling when someone bumps into me, I get a soft-spoken apology from the man before his eyes do a doubletake and trail up and down my body with a look of interest crawling over his face as he swigs his beer. I’m nothing to look at, today, especially. I look disheveled and probably as tired as I feel after a long workday and back-to-back meetings. But I know the jeans I changed into fit my legs snugly, and the sweater and jacket covering my torso aren’t too baggy or too tight, showing off what little curves I have. And based on the stranger’s slow curling smirk kicking up the corners of his lips as he lowers his bottle, I’d say he appreciates it.

Even if I don’t.

I offer a civil smile and look around the crowded room, glancing between the patrons and phone to see if I can get a message from my friends about where they are. I’d wanted to back out and get their forgiveness another day, but Vickie wasn’t having it. She’d said if Sonia could come after having just as long a day, I could too.

So, here I am. Reluctantly.

“Wasn’t expecting you here,” a low voice says from right behind me.

When I turn, I can’t help but let the civil smile grow into a larger, more genuine one when I see the man standing there. Without hesitating, I step into his side, and he wraps a bulky arm around my back and draws me in closer. Something presses against my head, and I know after a moment that it’s his lips.

Stepping back, I look up at him. “What are you doing here?”

He gestures toward the bar. “Meeting an old…friend. He’s not here yet. Want a drink?”

Fletcher’s mild hesitation over who he’s meeting makes me want to glance at him longer than I do, but instead, I give another look around the room before turning back to him. “I don’t see my friends yet either, so sure.”

I follow him to the bar, where he parts the crowd with ease, nobody standing in his way once they see him coming. His hand reaches behind him, clasping mine and making sure I keep close instead of getting eaten by the amount of people demanding drinks and waving money at the two bartenders behind the counter.

Staring at our threaded fingers, his long ones interwoven with my short makes the exhaustion I was feeling when I arrived disappear. In its place is something energetic and exhilarating, stirring the beat of my heart in a heavier rhythm until I can feel the thump, thump, thump in my eardrums. I don’t know why, but I find myself squeezing his palm, getting the same response back and absorbing the warmth his hand offers as he gives one of the bartenders our order.

He doesn’t have to ask.

Red wine for me.

Beer for him.

I know from the times we’ve hung out at one of our houses when Dominic is with his mom that he prefers Samuel Adams IPA over Bud Light even though he’ll drink whatever is offered to him because he’s “not picky”. I could tell the kind I’d given him at my place wasn’t as good as his normal because I caught the face he made when he took his first sip. Since I like keeping things on hand for our visits, I replaced it with Sam Adams, catching the small smile on his face when he accepted it, popped the cap, and told me about the newest automotive project he was working on for a friend of a friend.

Since the dinner, we’d seen each other a few times a week. Sometimes, I’d find myself waiting for him hoping he’d come over even if we didn’t make plans. Usually, he didn’t disappoint, like there was some mutual feeling that told him to knock on my door, sometimes with Admiral, other times by himself.

Either way, we always sat down, had something to drink, whether it was coffee or something stronger, and found things to talk about. Movies, which Fletcher isn’t a fan of. Books, which he likes to read during his down time, and his family, which he talks to regularly and sees a few times a month with Dominic. He’s closest to his mother and one of his younger sisters, and they all adore Nicki.

Not that I’m surprised by that.

Fletcher hasn’t told me whether or not Nicki knows of my friendship with his dad. I don’t know what I’d even say, considering he’s giving me time and space, letting me be the one who sets the pace of whatever this is. Friendship. More. He made himself clear the day he made me dinner for the first time, and each word he spoke to me that night has stuck with me since. If I ask him what his son knows, it could jumpstart something that I may decide I’m not ready for.

Something beyond the platonic nature of our back-and-forth conversations, slightly longer-lasting hugs, and house visits.

Maybe it’s because Valentine’s Day is right around the corner, but I can’t help but wonder what I am to Fletcher or what he wants me to be to his son. Even though there’s no real policy against teacher’s dating parents, something I found myself looking up two weeks ago when the hug Fletcher had given me had lasted a lot longer and felt a lot tighter, than any of the other ones we shared, I still can’t help but feel like waiting would be a better option.

I’m sure Ms. Clifton would have something to say about it if word got out that I was romantically involved with a student’s parent. I’d like to avoid that conversation for as long as I can.

Not to mention Mom. She’s avoided the dating topic since the holidays. Nevertheless, I can tell she wants to ask, especially when she brings up her friend’s grandbabies and how much she’d love to be able to hold one of her own someday. “When you’re ready, of course,” she had made sure to add when both Dad and I gave her the same exasperated look.

Fletcher hands over the money and takes the drinks set in front of him, turning and handing me mine. He leans forward, lips brushing my ear until goosebumps cover my arms from his warm breath, and says, “There’s a table over there.”

With his free hand, he pulls me along with him, shooting looks at the few people who nudge me to get by and nodding at others who seem to know him by name before we stop at a small two-person table in the back corner. Then he does something no other man has.

He pulls out my chair for me.

When it takes me a few moments to sit down, amusement flickers in his eyes and curls his lips before he pushes the chair in and walks over to the other side. “See your friends yet?” he asks, his voice not as loud now that we’re in a quieter section.

My eyes do another scan, but I’m too short to see past the people standing around. “I don’t think so. They’ll find me. What about your friend? Somebody you served with?”

He nods. “Someone I used to know. It’s been a while.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Fletcher stares off. “Too long.” His eyes narrow. “Not long enough.”

I try not to dissect his vague response or the way his jaw ticks. “Sorry if I’m prying.”

His sigh comes next. “You’re not. It’s hard seeing people from back then. A lot has changed over the years. Me the most.”

“Were you close with him?”

A shoulder lifts as his fingers wrap around the bottle in front of him. “I wouldn’t say we were great friends or anything, but we had our moments. It was like that with a lot of the men.”

“Rank didn’t matter to you?” Hunter usually hung out with people he worked the most with, others in his rank. Last I heard from hometown gossip, he was about to be promoted to Staff Sergeant.

The man across from me shakes his head, swiping a palm down his stubbled jaw. I’d noticed the shadow he was growing out last time we saw each other but didn’t ask if he was growing it out. Some men couldn’t pull facial hair off. Hunter and his baby face was one of them, but Fletcher…

“The way I see it, there’s always going to be somebody ranked higher and lower than you. I didn’t necessarily have many friends there, but brothers in arms around my age that I knew I could depend on. That was enough for me.”

His answer is exactly what I expect it to be, which is nothing like how my ex would have replied. It’s dignified.

The way he shifts in his seat in some form of discomfort tells me to move on, so I pick up my wine and swirl it. “Nicki has been missed this week. Traci made sure to email me asking for his homework assignments to be collected for when he’s better.”

His eyes finally come back to me. “When she called me on Sunday, I’d wanted to pick him up, but he wanted her.” His voice sounds…off. Hurt. “From what she told me, he’s doing better. Could’ve gone back to school today, but she wanted to keep him at home for an extra day. Give him the weekend to fully recover.”

I reach out, touching his hand. He stiffens before loosening, flipping his hand, and capturing my fingers. Looking from our linked hands on the table to his face, I smile. “I always wanted my mom when I was sick too. Most kids are like that, boy or girl. Have you seen him?”

A nod. “I went to see him last night. Trace didn’t want me to risk catching anything before he was acting like himself again. I brought Admiral and watched them play.”

“Sounds like he’s definitely better then.”

Whatever shadowed his features before lightened with the remark. “Barely anything can get between that boy and his dog. Did I ever tell you how we got Admiral?”

I shake my head.

He leans back, looking a lot more carefree than he did as he takes a sip of his beer before chuckling. “I’d just moved to the house, and Nicki had come over and picked out his room for when he would stay there—this was a while before we decided to move him in and change districts. We were walking into town to do some shopping for a few things I didn’t have when we passed the pet store.” A smile quirks at my lips, remembering Nicki’s insistence on helping me pick out a dog. “He saw the puppies through the window. Before I knew it, he was running inside. Admiral walked right up to him and started licking his hands, trying to climb out of the playpen he was in with the other dogs to get to Dominic.”

Fletcher’s head shakes as he remembers the memory. “When the owner of the store let me pick him up, damn dog pissed all over me. Marked his territory and made Dominic laugh louder than he had in…a long time before then. When I heard that, I knew we had to get him. He was our dog, and he chose us for a reason.”

Warmth cascades over me, and it’s not because of the alcohol flowing through my system. “Some things are destined to be in our lives,” I tell him softly.

He looks at me, then at our hands.

And squeezes.

“I’m inclined to agree, honey.”

One drink becomes two as the conversation flows, then three after the second drinks are finished sometime later. He orders us food that we split, tells me about the early years of his military career, and almost two hours later, he leans forward, brushes his thumb against my lip in the softest, most intimate caress I’ve ever felt, before he murmurs, “You had a crumb…”

I swallow.

His eyes stare at my mouth.

And I want to tell him to kiss me.

Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.

But then his focus trail to something behind me, and the hope deflates in my chest.

“The person I’m meeting just walked in.” His eye twitches as he leans back, staring at the watch always perched on his wrist. If he takes it off, there’d be tan lines even in the winter, but even those tan lines would be darker than my pale skin. “I’d ask if you want to join us, but…”

Nibbling my lip, I look at my nearly empty glass of wine. I’m a little disappointed he doesn’t want me to but choose to let it go for now. “I guess I should go anyway. I don’t think my friends ended up coming.”

And I’m not that upset about it either.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Your friend—”

“Made me wait this long to grace me with his presence,” he grumbles coolly. “He can wait for a little while longer while I walk my girl to her car. As long as you’re okay to drive.”

“It takes more than two and a half glasses of wine to get me drunk, Lieutenant Colonel.”

His eyes narrow.

“Sir,” I tease.

We walk to the door, his hand lifting from where it rested on my lower back and toward the direction of the bar to let his friend know to give him a minute before we head to my car parked in a decent spot, considering how many people were here when I arrived.

Stopping at the car door, I look up at him. “I had fun tonight, even if my friends ditched me.”

He gives me a small smile. “I’m glad they did. Maybe we can have a second date somewhere quieter.”

I blink. “This was a date?”

Fletcher laughs, reaching forward and taking loose strands of hair, and brushing them out of my face. “Not a good one if you have to ask.”

My face heats. “I just meant…” I heft out a little laugh myself. “We’ve already had more than two by now in my mind. The dinners you’ve cooked me and all that.”

His eyes darken, scoping out my face. “Is that right?”

Slowly, I nod.

His hand stays on my face, fingers dancing along my jawline and chin. “Then let me take you on another. Somewhere nice, just the two of us. I know a place.”

In a breathy tone, I whisper, “Okay.”

Sucking in a short breath when he leans down, I let my eyes close as his lips brush against my cheek. They linger for a moment, then two, before moving to my forehead and disappearing altogether.

“Goodnight, Stevie.” He opens the door for me, then closes it when I’m safely inside with my keys in the ignition.

Rolling down the window, I reply, “Good night.”

He waits until I drive away before walking back inside the bar.

And all I can wonder is, why didn’t he kiss me?