“Thanks for the invite,” I say, the taste of flowers and tequila on my tongue.
“It’s crazy how much you look like him,” Melrose leans over me, pointing her finger in Ian’s face.
“Right,” I place my hand around her arm and guide her back to her spot, “since they’re identical twins. Ian, this is Melrose, my cousin.”
“You two must get mixed up all the time,” she says, her elbow in front of me as her chin rests on her hand.
Ian nods. “It happens more than I like.”
He looks to me.
“But it isn’t always a bad thing,” he adds.
Melrose’s jaw falls and she nudges me, making an awkward deal out of nothing. “Can I ask you something, Ian?”
“Anything,” he says as another one of his friends approaches the table and starts handing out bottles of Dos Equis like it’s going out of style—two per person. These guys don’t mess around, though I imagine working in finance has got to be stressful. It’s so unpredictable, so volatile at times. Too many highs and lows for the average person to handle. “What do you want to know?”
“So what’s the deal with your brother?” Mel asks. “Why is he such a fucking dickwad?”
I hide my eyes in my hand. Here we go. Once the filter comes off, it’s impossible to put it back on.
“Can we not make tonight about him?” I ask.
Ian takes a sip of his beer as his gaze passes between the two of us. “I don’t know why he is the way he is. I just know that the only thing we have in common is the way we look. Other than that, we’re night and day in every way possible.”
“Who just freaking ghosts the nicest, smartest, prettiest girl in the world?” Melrose asks, barely trying to hide the slur in her voice.
Ian looks to me, his lips curled at one side. “A fool. That’s who.”
My cheeks warm as I turn my attention to my margarita, twisting the stem of the glass between my fingers.
“My brother hates commitment. He’s a closed book. He holds grudges longer than any bastard I know. He has a nephew he won’t acknowledge. And see, the thing about my brother is that if he’s not in control at all times, you’ll lose him. He’ll turn his back on you and not think twice,” Ian says, taking a generous swig. “My family singlehandedly blames him for what happened to my father a decade ago. He’s got demons.”
“What happened to your father?” Melrose asks.
I elbow her in the ribs. “Mel, enough. It’s none of our business.”
Ian picks at the label on his bottle for a moment. “He died in an accident when we were seventeen.”
My hand lifts to his. “Oh, god. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
He offers an equally as apologetic smile and holds my gaze before his expression softens. “What do you say you finish that drink so I can buy you another one?”
“You really don’t have to—”
His mouth pulls up at the sides and for a split second, I see Isaiah in him more than I ever have before, in the mischievous, sexy smirk that once made me fall harder than I ever anticipated.
But the man sitting in front of me is the furthest thing from the man who once wrapped his arms around me and pointed out constellations on a perfect spring evening, and it isn’t fair to compare the two of them after learning what I’ve learned, after experiencing what I’ve experienced, after feeling the way I’ve felt.
I don’t know Ian quite yet.
And as it turns out, I never really knew Isaiah.
The only thing I do know is that I’ll never allow a man to make me feel half as disposable as Isaiah made me feel.
Never again.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Isaiah
Nervous is not a sensation I’m familiar with.
Scared is a feeling I’ve ever truly known once before, when my life literally flashed before my eyes and settled in a cloud of smoke so dark I couldn’t see the screaming comrade in front of me.
But none of that compares to the way I feel right now, standing outside Maritza’s café, watching her stride across the checkered floor in her little black shorts and little green apron, smiling at everyone she passes, not a care in the world.
There’s something light and buoyant about her, and for a moment, like a woman who moved on from the meaningless fling she had eight months ago and found someone new to love her and treat her the way she deserves.
I wouldn’t fault her for it, but sometimes life happens and impossible things get in the way of the things we want most and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it.
I’ve been home three weeks now.
I’ve stopped by the café seven times, each time only to find that it was her day off or I’d already missed her.