We stay perfectly professional the whole entire dinner, which is hard for me because I’m slowly starting to boil.  It goes from a slow simmer, tiny bubbles breaking the surface, to all out boiling turmoil in my head.  It might be the whisky.  Tom orders another double halfway through the meal, and a strange competitive streak rings through me, urging me to do the same.  He’s ordering Glenfiddich, and I’m sure it’s expensive but he doesn’t seem to care, and so neither do I.  I’ll spend my entire salary on blasted Scotch, drinking him under the table and he can go stuff himself.

“Thirsty?” He murmurs into my ear, while the rest of our company is distracted, engaged in a conversation about the architecture of the building.  I’m a bit too fuzzy headed to really be interested in that at the moment.

“Parched. Absolutely parched.” I raise an eyebrow at him. He slips his arm behind me, resting it on the back of the booth.  I’m far too aware of it, the way his sleeve brushes against my shoulders every once in awhile if I move too far back.

“How are you, Gracie?” He asks, his eyes lowered.  I raise my chin slightly, and brace myself, wanting to push back.  It’s been over six months since we’ve last spoken.  I’ve spent a lot of time trying not to think of him.  A lot of time convincing myself I wasn’t in love with him, but simply in lust with him.  We hardly knew each other, right? We knew what we liked, but we didn’t know each other.

I had let the words “I’m tired of you” roll over and over through my mind.  I let it seep into the little cracks of my brain, and deep in my heart.  It wasn’t love I’d felt for him.  I had convinced myself of that.  Infatuation, friendship, and of course a rather healthy, bone rattling dose of lust.  If I’d ever been in love with Tom, I wasn’t anymore.

“I’m good.  Were you drinking Glenfiddich the last time I saw you, too?” I shoot at him.  Tom coughs softly, swallowing his drink the wrong way.  I turn my head just slightly to look at him, and then turn my focus back on the group. 

“No, that was tequila.” I hear him mumble beside me. “Tequila and I are not good friends.” I don’t answer, but turn back to Bernard, who is describing something about plumbing in old buildings.  I pretend it’s the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard, smiling and nodding my head, trying to ignore Tom. 

The night creeps along, and before I know it, it’s nearly midnight.  I’ve been tense for most of the dinner, and the effects of traveling all day have caught up with me.  That and the whiskey.

“Boys, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go back to the hotel.” I say, just after the men have ordered yet another round of drinks.  They are all getting along splendidly, as if they aren’t near strangers, but old friends. 

“Good night, dear.  We’ll meet tomorrow morning around half ten to go to the site.  Does that sound good?” Bernard rises, giving me a quick hug.  I nod, waving a quick goodbye to Johnathan and Marcel.

“Yes, sounds good,” I agree. “Take it easy, boys.” I say with a quick smile, and then turn to where Tom is standing.  He slips out of the booth, so I can leave. 

“I’ll walk you.” He puts a hand at the small of my back.

“I’m fine.” I say softly, not wanting to cause a scene.  I turn and catch his eye.  Tom gives me a stern look, and I can tell I’m not going to talk him out of it.

“Tom, make sure she gets back safe, will you, chap? Join us for another drink after?” Bernard asks.  Tom smiles warmly, and I can still feel his hand on my back. I step away, slipping my arms into my sweater, knowing it will be cool outside.

“I think I’m going to retire for the night, gentlemen.” He says with charm and apology.  

“Tomorrow, then.” Marcel raises his glass to Tom, biding us goodnight.

 I turn and leave the table, not quite waiting for Tom.  I didn’t ask him to walk me back to the hotel, and certainly don’t need him to. It’s a short walk, and though it’s late, the streets are completely quiet and deserted.  The air is brisk and much cooler than when we’d arrived at the restaurant, but the whiskey in my stomach keeps me warm.

I walk quickly, not wanting to prolong the torture. Tom keeps up with me without really even trying, my short legs no match for his longer ones.  I hurry along, ignoring him.  I’m thinking about my warm bed, and maybe a hot shower. 

“Are you going to turn into a pumpkin?” He says sounding a bit breathless.

“What?” I turn and glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest as we walk. 

“You’re hurrying like a spell’s about to wear off.” He jokes.

“Oh no, that happened quite a long time ago.” I mumble. I can see the B&B just up ahead, the windows glowing with yellow amber light, warm and inviting.

“Ouch.” He says softly, falling slightly behind.  I don’t want to feel bad. Don’t feel bad, Gracie, don’t do it.

We make it to the house, and I quickly climb up the stairs, reaching for the door.

“Gracie girl.” His voice stops me, and I hesitate, waiting with my hand on the door knob.  “Please, I…” He’s quiet, his voice barely over a whisper.

I spin around so fast, that he stumbles backwards on the porch.  Even in the dim moonlight, I catch the surprise on his face, and for a moment, I see the man I first met.  The blond, sweet, excitable man from three years ago.  I can feel heat rush to my face, and I reach forward and shove Tom hard on the chest.  He’s sturdier than he looks, and though I push hard, he barely budges, the bastard.  He looks surprised though, his features just visible in the dim light from the house.

“Don’t.” I warn him, poking a finger into his breastbone.  He puts up his hands, as if my finger is a gun.

“Gra—“

“What are you even doing here?” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in exasperation.  He relaxes slightly, leaning back against the porch pillar.  I stand in front of him, hands on hips, waiting.

“It’s for work, Gracie.  I’m in this movie—“

“Did you know I’d be here?” I ask, aggravated.  He shakes his head.

“No.”

“Are you t-trying to hurt me? Or rub whatever it is in my face?” I ask angrily, the words tripping and falling out of my mouth as I speak.  He looks surprised and his emotions flash over his features.

“No. No, not at all.” He says simply.

“Then leave me alone. Please.” I say, feeling my chest tighten as I do.  “I’ve had a lot of time to think over the last few months.  And I’m tired.” I say, recalling some of the last word’s he’d spoken to me.  Tom blinks and presses his lips together. 

“Fair enough.” He nods.

“No, it’s not fair. But it’s what it is.” I say angrily, and then turn to go inside.  Before I can move far, Tom’s hand shoots out, and he grabs my wrist.  He spins me around, yanking me toward him.  I move without resistance, but I stop myself before I bump flat against his chest. He still has one hand wrapped around my wrist, and the other comes up as if he’s going to touch my face or push it through my hair, but he stops himself.

“I’m sorry. For what I did the last time we saw each other.  For the things I said.  It’s not an excuse, but I was drunk. And hurt. And angry, and it got the better of me.  You didn’t deserve that. Any of it.” He speaks softly, his eyes searching for mine in the dark.  I breathe softly, smelling the clean cotton of his sweater and the sweetness of his skin.  An intoxicating mix that I’ve missed.

“You’re right.  And it’s not an excuse.” I say lamely, the fire leaving me.  He still has my wrist in his hand, holding it delicately in his fingers. I pull it away, and then take a step away from him.  He slumps forward slightly, looking beat.  I bite my lip, trying to figure out what to say next.  I walk forward, opening the door to the house.

“Richard kissed me.  I didn’t kiss him. I didn’t want to kiss him.  He forced it on me.  I don’t know what you thought you saw that day, but I didn’t want anything to do with him.  Then or now.  He wouldn’t listen to me. Just like you wouldn’t listen to me.   And I…I had been stupid enough to convince myself that I was in love with you.” I feel as if the air has left my lungs for a moment, because I hadn’t expected to say that.  But there it was.  Tom’s silent, not moving.  His face is mostly hidden in shadows.

“But I’ve been wrong before.  And I was wrong seven months ago.” I finish, softly.  Tom shifts, and his face comes into view, illuminated by the glow from the windows.  I can’t read his expression, but his eyes are fierce, locked on me, his jaw set and clenched.

“I’m just here to do my job, Tom.  That’s it.  We’re not hooking up anymore.  We’re not friends anymore.  I don’t know that we ever really were.  So please, just let me be.” I breathe in and hold it, but he says nothing.  He looks at me, his eyes bright and watery blue green in the amber light.  He gives me a quick, nearly imperceptible nod, and then I turn and let myself quickly into the house.  I don’t wait to see if he follows me in, knowing that he’s got a room somewhere in the B&B as well.  I don’t know where his room is. Where Tom sleeps is none of my business anymore.