Where We Meet Again

So, his taste in sex music sucks. Would Nickelback put you in the mood?ˮ
“No. Just no.”
“I didn’t realize you were so high maintenance, Cam.”
“I’m not.” Move people. I count the three people ahead of me. Pulling the phone from my ear, I check the time. 9:30.
“I still think this is just another excuse for you.”
Kiersten’s voice comes at me loud enough to hear above the whirr of blenders and grind of coffee beans, so I return the phone to my ear. “Leave it alone. I’m not seeing him again.”
“In fourteen years, you’ve gone out on approximately twelve dates, none of them ending in sex. Unless you’re hiring prostitutes from some internet website, that means you haven’t gotten some in fourteen years. Are you sure your vagina still works?”
My spine straightens in affront. “I’m getting coffee right now. In the middle of a coffee shop. In public,” I hiss.
“Maybe you should get yourself checked to be sure. By a hot doctor, perhaps?”
“Do you want me to grab you a drink or not?” The line creeps forward, making me customer number three.
“Mocha macchiato with a double shot.”
The conversation pivots to a normal topic.
“Oh! A Gerard Butler look-a-like OB-GYN. Can you imagine the size of his–ˮ?
“Kiersten!”
“What?” She feigns innocence, but I’m not stupid. “I was going to say hands, you perv.”
My eyes roll at the back of the stranger before me. “See you in fifteen.”
“That would make a good movie though. Gerard Butler, the hot, mercurial OB. By day, he feels up vaginas and by night he fuc–ˮ.
“Goodbye, Kiersten!” I censor her ridiculous fantasy. My cheeks flame hot, even though the rest of me is cold from my walk.
“Oh hey, what time is the party? And what should I get her? I suck at buying gifts.”
A topic I’ll happily discuss in the middle of a public place.
“This Saturday at noon. My place, as usual. What does any fourteen-year-old like? Makeup, books, music, clothes. Nothing dating related.” Dating advice from Kiersten is a disaster waiting to happen. My best friend is beautiful, kind, but uncensored. I don’t want to imagine the knowledge she’d impart on a fourteen-year-old. “I can’t believe how old she’s getting. I’m not ready for this age.”
“You’re a great mom. You can handle anything. Okay, see you soon, chick.” With that, she hangs up.
As I lower the phone from my ear, ready to indulge in a serious amount of coffee, an ominous vibe slithers around me. My skin prickles as I place my phone into my purse and glance up. Hairs raise on the back of my neck as a shiver races down my spine. The tall man in front of me turns to face the back of the line, angry eyes aimed at me.
All of a millisecond passes in breathless silence before I get my first look into the fourteen-years-older face of my childhood love, Lawrence Briggs.
Or as I’d always called him—Law.
Oh, God.
He’s as beautiful as I remember. Same dark, unruly hair and grayish-green eyes. Now that dark hair contains a few threads of gray near the temples and feathered creases outline his eyes.
He’s tall. So much taller than the last time I saw him. And built. Law was always strong, but more lean than buff. Now big, rounded biceps stretch the sleeves of his Henley.
My mental calculation of all his changes sever when he opens his mouth.
“Explains a lot,” he growls, not concealing the tone or volume of his voice.
Panic steals over me. I bob a glance around the room for assistance. Everyone conveniently rushes around or ignores my blatant plea for an intervention.
“I-I’m sorry?” Shivers strengthen into a full-on tremble.
“Fourteen years ago, you disappeared into the night without a trace. Nobody had a clue where you’d went. Hearing you now, it sounds like you got yourself a teenaged daughter. Explains a lot.”
My jaw drops. The inclination to deny, deny, deny, thrums through me, but playing dumb will get me nowhere. There’s not a chance in hell I wouldn’t recognize the man standing before me, just like he noticed me as soon as I stepped into line behind him. Hell, it wouldn’t surprise me if he clocked me the second I opened the door to this place.
My gaze falls to study my wet shoes. “You don’t know anything.”
“I never was a stupid kid,” he grinds out.
My heart stutters to a halt and my eyes snap to his. He knows. He’s figured out the truth after all this time.
Not needing my reply, he continues. “I’m sure as hell not a stupid man. I can do simple math. You wouldn’t have run away for the hell of it. Even if your entire life went to shit, you still had me.”
“I’ve got to go. I’m sorry.” Screw the coffee. If I stand here another second, I’m going to break down.
Even as my feet carry me to the door, my heart aches to pull me back toward him.
“Just tell me who!” His voice is the crack of a whip. The hurt in his tone is malevolent as it slithers into me, tucking itself into the ancient cracks in my soul.
My spine straightens almost painfully, the realization that he doesn’t know hits me like a semi-truck. “Who, what?” I whisper, too cowardly to face him again.
“Who knocked you up?” He growls this from beside me, right adjacent my ear. The closest I’ve been to Law in fourteen years. It hurts like a physical ache to have his body so near, but emotionally, he’s never been further away.
My head tips forward, too heavy to support with the weight of guilt engulfing me like the unforgiving sea “It doesn’t matter.”
“Matters to me. Matters whose dick was so important you’d throw everything we shared away. Dammit, you dropped out of school and left town without so much as a note in my mailbox where you went. Do you know what that did to me?”
Agony.
He tries to conceal it, but it burns through his words and his tone like a hot iron, branding us both. It scores itself