48 First Dates (Seeking Romance #1)

The Prince I Scared Away

23

This one runs away.

He had reason to do so—

blackout number two.

T he weekend came, and my date with Cynthia’s last pick, Brian, arrived. He suggested we meet at Vino Tinto , one of the nicer bars in town. This time, no one questioned me about the location.

When I got there, I was pleasantly surprised by what I saw. Brian was much better looking in person than his profile picture. He had a scar on his chin that gave him a sexy, young Harrison Ford kind of vibe.

As we sat down on the plush burgundy velvet chairs, Brian ordered a bottle of wine. I smoothed a nonexistent wrinkle out of the white tablecloth as the waiter poured both of us a glass. I took a sip and set down the goblet.

You can handle slow-drinking. This won’t get out of control. I promised myself as I twirled the stem of the glass between my fingers. After all, I’d done so on my date last weekend with Kyle.

I focused on Brian and asked, “So, your profile said you were studying business?”

“Yep, I had an internship with a marketing firm in New York over the summer, and they offered me a job for when I graduate. I’ll be at their regional office in Knoxville to start, but I’m hoping to make it back to the Big Apple one day.”

“So, it’s bright lights, big city for you?” I fingered the edge of the gold cloth napkin in my lap.

“That’s the plan. How about you? You’re a wildlife major, right?” Brian leaned forward and placed his elbows on the table.

“Yeah, my dream job is to work for the National Park Service in the Smokies. So we might end up as neighbors.” I said as I picked up my glass and took a sip. I was about to ask him if he liked to hike when a cheer rose from one corner. We both turned, and the sight caused all the color to drain out of my face.

It was Wyatt.

And Cecelia.

Wyatt and Cecelia embracing.

A she-said-yes-to-my-proposal embrace.

That was supposed to be me.

The crack in my slow-drinking resolve split wide open as I drained my glass before putting it down. “Pour me another glass of wine, now,” I said with a growl.

“Okay.” Brian tentatively reached for the bottle and poured me a glass. I scooped it up and drained it before he had placed the bottle back on the table.

“More,” I demanded through tight lips

“Are you sure?” Brian raised his eyebrows.

I nodded vigorously. He poured another, and I drank that one down faster than I should have as well.

Finally, the warmth spread and I relaxed a bit. My eyes swept around the room. Dark burgundy walls. Tables at regular intervals. Paintings of vineyards in the open spaces. The lights hid seamlessly in the ceiling—all except the chandelier that hung over the table where Wyatt and Cecelia sat drinking champagne.

I reached my glass out and shook it, signaling that I wanted it filled one more time as the ring on her finger glinted.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. That’s the last of the bottle. Don’t you think that’s a bit much to drink all at once?” Brian said with a tilt of his head.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” I grabbed the bottle out of his hands and poured the rest of it into my glass, spilling a bit on the pristine tablecloth.

So much for moderation…

Brian stared with pursed lips and wide-open eyes.

“I can’t believe that he would do that. I mean, it figures, but why did it have to happen when I was here?” I said under my breath before I took another gulp of the wine. I glanced over at Brian, and his expression forced my mind back to our date. “Sorry, that’s my ex and the girl he cheated on me with. The jerk managed to ask her to marry him.”

Brian nodded. He spread his fingers as he pushed his palms onto the table and stood. He took in a deep breath before saying, “This is a bit more than I swiped up for. You seemed to be hung up on him still.”

My mouth opened in protest, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

“I think I’m going to walk away. I’ll pay for the bill, but...” His unspoken don’t-ever-contact-me-again request hung like a heavy cloud between us.

I raised my glass in a toast, saying with a bit of snark, “Thanks for your generosity.”

Good riddance!

Brian turned and wove his way through the round tables to the door, shaking his head as he left. The wine in my system softened the blow as my focus turned back to Wyatt and Cecelia.

I sent daggers in their direction, but they had the gall to continue to gaze deep into each other’s eyes. Five minutes later, when they got up to leave, I followed. The heavy glass door closed behind me as I shouted, “Wyatt!”

They both stopped. His shoulders heaved with a deep sigh as he let go of Cecelia’s hand. He murmured something to her, kissed her cheek, and turned to face me.

I closed the gap between us, ready to read him the riot act with every crunch of the gravel under my heels. But when I got close, the resigned look on his face kept me from speaking.

“Hey Adelaide, how are you doing?” Wyatt asked in a monotone voice.

“I’m...” My foggy brain searched for the right words. Movement caught my eye, drawing my attention to Cecelia. The newly placed ring glinted in the street light, standing out against Wyatt’s black car. The words clicked into place. “Doing? How do you think I’m doing? I just witnessed what was supposed to happen between us. How could you?” Without my permission, the angry tears flowed.

“Come on, Adelaide. Be honest with yourself.” Wyatt’s dull eyes stared at me. “We were never going to get married. I’m sorry for the way things ended between us. I wish it could have been different, but you and I both know the end was inevitable.”

“What? No, I did not.” I argued, but he stood there staring at me. I swayed as more of the liquid courage hit my system. “I was going to stay. I was going to work it out. You decided for us.” Tears fell.

“Adelaide, that’s not true. We had problems that were bigger than that moment. You—”

“You didn’t love me enough to wait,” I cut him off, wincing at the volume of my voice.

“Calm down, it wasn’t about that. You never let me in—into your heart, not your bed. I thought… it doesn’t matter what I thought. The reality is that every time we got together with your friends, I was reminded of how little I knew about you. Brenn knew more about how you liked your coffee than I did.” Wyatt pinched his lips as he shook his head.

The coffee shop right before Christmas break.

The memory of what he was referring to danced across my mind. He had ordered me a vanilla latte, and Brenn spoke up. She only drinks vanilla lattes in the summer. Winter is for peppermint mochas. Fall is for pumpkin-spiced lattes. And she likes caramel lattes in the spring. Adelaide’s a seasonal latte lover. Brenn had grinned at me. At that moment, a chuckle had escaped my lips as I had said, You know me so well. Wyatt’s gaze had left Brenn and settled on me. Is that so, he said with a tight smile.

We had a huge fight that night. It started with him demanding I tell him why I hadn’t told him about my seasonal latte habit. And ended with how I wouldn’t let him get close to me. I thought he meant in the physical sense, so I stormed out. I had left for a break, unsure of where we stood, but several days later, he had called with all sweet words and apologies. We moved past it, or so I thought.

Standing there in the semi-empty gravel lot, I wondered if I had been mistaken. I stood there—the words to argue with him refusing to come out.

How many of those moments had I misread over the year we were together?

Wyatt sighed. “Good luck, Adelaide. I hope you find what you are looking for,” he said with a small nod. Then he turned to walk back to Cecelia.

I watched him kiss her cheek on the cheek.

I watched him open the door for her.

I watched them get in the car and drive off.

I watched the taillights disappear.

Still, I stood rooted to the spot with my mouth open. A wooden statue. The despair and gasoline fumes threatened to ignite his words.

Was it true?

The flash of headlights from a different car pulling into the parking lot jolted me back to movement. I turned around and headed back into the Vino Tinto . I sat down at the dark wood bar and ordered a cheese platter and a bottle of wine, hoping they would silence the questions in my head.

Half the platter gone and two more glasses in, the question disappeared.

The next morning, as my consciousness resurfaced, it brought with it no memory of how I got from Vino Tinto to my soft bed. The pounding in my head was worse than it had been in Puerto Rico. I barely made it to the adjoining bathroom before my guts spilled out.

When I was done, I washed out the acidic taste and vowed never to drink again. Even the sips here and there needed to go.

I wall-crawled my way to the kitchen and grabbed a Gatorade. I used the liquid to wash down the Ibuprofen in my hand before I continued my wall crawl into the living room. I collapsed on the couch where Mitzi and Cynthia were reading.

I moaned.

They ignored me.

I moaned louder.

They kept turning pages.

No one said a word as I finished my Gatorade sip by tiny sip. After half an hour of lying motionless on the couch, the fog in my head cleared. The evening flooded back in flashes.

Meeting Brian.

A few sips of wine as we chatted.

Wyatt and Cecelia getting engaged.

A lot of wine. Brian leaving.

Wyatt outside—his words cutting through me.

More wine inside. And the cheese.

My stomach protested. DO NOT think about the cheese.

I turned my head and observed my friends still ignoring me. “Okay, guys, what happened? How did I get back here?” I croaked out.

When they didn’t offer an answer, I continued. “The last thing I really remember was yelling at Wyatt out in the parking lot. I think...”

Cynthia was the first to speak up. “Oh no, honey, you did more than yell at Wyatt. Let’s just say it was bad enough that Wyatt called me worried about you. He told me all about his engagement and your fight. He told me about how he left you there—”

“Slimeball,” Mitzi said.

Cynthia gave her a pointed glare before saying, “At least he was decent enough to let someone know you needed to be checked on. I called Brenn because I feared we might need some muscle to get you out of there. I was right. When we got there, you refused to leave—said you were busy dancing. You were twirling around with a napkin and a broom like you were Cinderella. The bartender had already called the police, and we had to talk them out of taking you to the drunk tank to sober up. You’re lucky you didn’t do any damage with your little performance, missy, or you would have woken up there instead. Anyway, Brenn threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and we hightailed it out of there. You yelled that you wanted to see under his hot Irish kilt—he wasn’t wearing one, in case you’re wondering—as we got you into the car.”

I winced.

Mitzi took over the narrative. “You managed to throw up all over what he was wearing in the parking lot right before he carried you up the steps to our apartment. You owe him a pair of jeans and new shoes, by the way. You passed out in his arms, asking to take a bath in his Irish leprechaun scent. After that, we laid you on your bed. And here we are... again.”

I sat there, stunned. How had I let this happen for the second time?

You know how.

The annoyingly wise part of my brain answered. But a few daily sips that no one knew about hadn’t caused this. Wyatt and a ring had caused this.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” Mitzi prodded.

“I... I don’t... I was sitting there with Brian, enjoying his company and slow-sipping the wine. And then, boom, Wyatt and Cecelia. I lost it. I think I drank most of the bottle in less than five minutes.” I groaned.

“I followed them out. I screamed at Wyatt, and he apologized. But then he said our relationship was over long before Cecelia. That Brenn knew more about my lattes than he did. I just couldn’t face the idea, so I went back into the bar to silence the questions. And... well, you know the rest. I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to lose control. It won’t happen again.”

“Sure, that’s what you said the last time.” Mitzi spat out as she got up and stalked away.

Cynthia’s gaze turned to pity.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I said.

“Honey, how do you want me to look at you? I’m sad at what I’m seeing.”

I started to cry again.

She handed me a tissue. “Honey, I’m not the best person to... I have my own stuff... we all do. But you gotta deal with what happened at the end of last year. Your dad... Wyatt... because if you don’t, stuff like this is going to keep happening.”

“I know,” I whispered. I really meant what I had said. It wouldn’t happen again. I could fix it on my own. When she said nothing, I added, “Thanks for rescuing me.”

“Anytime, honey.” Cynthia sighed as she got up. “Can you just do your best to make sure I don’t have to?”

I nodded, and she walked away as I pulled a blanket over my head, hoping to escape the guilt I felt at that moment. Under the cocoon of warmth, I promised myself I would pull it together this time.

I had a plan. No more alcohol... unless I really needed it. And then, only a sip at a time.