My Favorite Souvenir(60)

“I miss you,” I whispered.

He let out breath of frustration. “Do you realize how messed up this is, Hazel?” He shook his head. “So messed up.”

“We need to talk.”

It nearly broke my heart when he said, “Is there anything left to say?”

“Maybe it’s not right, but yes, I have so many things I need to say to you, things I need to ask you.”

He glanced out to the dining room again before he lowered his voice. “You think I want that girl out there? I feel like I haven’t been able to breathe since I left you in Atlanta. And now I’m just…choking. I want to be with you tonight, and that’s so fucked up, because you’re my best friend’s woman.”

I wanted to take him into my arms and hold him, but I refrained. His words left me speechless.

Fishing in my purse, I took out a pen and found a gum wrapper to write on. I jotted down my number.

“We can’t do this right now. But please call or text when you can. Don’t go back to Seattle until we’ve had a chance to talk,” I begged. “Please.”

He took the wrapper and placed it in his pocket before heading back to the table ahead of me.

We didn’t say anything to each other for the rest of the dinner, and he barely looked at me.

And once the live music started, everyone’s attention turned to the band. That was a good buffer in the midst of a tense night. But as the four of us supposedly watched the performance, Kimber was gazing at Matteo. And I was watching both of them. Matteo and Brady seemed to be the only ones truly paying attention to the music.

While I was sure Kimber would try to weasel her way back to his hotel room, I trusted Matteo’s word when he said he wasn’t going to entertain that. He didn’t owe me anything, but I somehow knew he wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.

During a break in the performance, Matteo left the table. At first I thought he was headed for the bathroom. But then he went up to the lead singer and started talking to him.

The next thing I knew, the guy handed him a guitar. My heart beat faster as it hit me that he was about to perform.

Matteo took a seat on a stool and adjusted the microphone in front of him. “These guys were nice enough to let me entertain you during their intermission. Just don’t throw stuff at me, okay?”

The audience laughed.

“This is a song called ‘Almost Lover’ by A Fine Frenzy.”

Almost Lover.

When he started to sing, everything else in the room faded into the background.

I closed my eyes, listening to his gravelly yet soothing voice and took in every word of the song he’d chosen. It was about saying goodbye to an unrequited love. It was haunting and beautiful all at once, and I was one-hundred-percent sure he was singing it to me.





Chapter 19




* * *



Matteo



It had been a couple of days since I saw Hazel, and I still hadn’t called her. I’d also been avoiding Brady, which was ridiculous considering the purpose of this trip was to visit him. Brady had no clue that the song I performed at Finn’s was meant for his girlfriend. There was no end to how screwed up that was. And yet I couldn’t help trying to get that message to Hazel, wanting her to know that I cherished what we’d had, but nothing could likely ever come of it now.

I struggled with whether I was in the wrong for continuing to want her, despite knowing the truth. And what Brady had confided in me about her had made the situation even more confusing. He’d called off the wedding because he had the hots for some Greek chick and that made him have second thoughts? What the fuck? And now he’d come to his senses? He seemed to really care about Hazel, but I wondered how she would feel if she knew the full story. And was I a bastard for wishing she did? Would that even change anything? If she left him, we still couldn’t be together. As much as Brady was in the wrong for how he’d handled things. He was my friend and deserved my loyalty. At least that’s the way it’s supposed to work.

Sitting on a bench in the middle of Central Park, I’d become so wrapped up in my own head that I didn’t notice an old man sitting to my right until he said something.

“Boy, you must have gotten yourself into some serious shit.”

I turned to him. “Why do you say that?”

The guy had bushy eyebrows and was holding on to a cane. He gestured to a woman sitting across from us on another bench.

“That looker over there has been eyeing you for a full ten minutes, and you haven’t noticed her once. You must be preoccupied.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“It must be a lady. Only a woman you’re hung up on could keep you from noticing that one over there.”

Nodding, I chuckled. “You’re right.”

“Feel like unloading on an old geezer?” He leaned in. “Maybe I can help?”

While I doubted the guy could offer me any solid advice, I took the opportunity to vent to a stranger who couldn’t judge me. I proceeded to tell him everything over the next twenty minutes.

It turned out his name was Sherman. He’d lived in Manhattan all his life and had never been married. He shared a story with me about the one who got away—a woman who’d been traveling through the city some forty years ago. They’d had a whirlwind romance for two weeks before she left to go back to Norway. In those days, there was no Internet or any easy way to keep in touch. So he lost track of her and always regretted not fighting harder to make things work.