The Line
Meet-Cute Follow Up
Author’s Note: Matthew Holvey became a paid sub (what?!), and so he gets a story prompt. This is a follow-up to Meet-Cute. Also, the one and only Fiona Bridges narrated this, along with other stories from amazing Stackers, outloud during her new series “Fiona After Dark,” so if you tuned in, you got a sneak peek already! (Fiona, I’m writing your story now, too!).
They sit across from each other in a small half-circle booth. The restaurant is dim, and a single lamp sits in the center of the table, providing an amber glow across their faces.
Neither of them should be there. They know this. It wasn’t planned. It had been fifteen years since they had last seen eachother and this was just a chance encounter.
“It’s been so long,” he had said earlier in the day, “can I take you to dinner? To catch up?”
She hesitated, not because she didn’t want to, but because she remembered how it ended last time.
Still, she agreed.
“How long are you in town for?” He asks her now at dinner.
“Just until tomorrow. Flying back in the afternoon.”
“Want me order us a bottle to share?” he asks, something they used to do often.
“I do,” she says, “But I don’t.”
He looks at her, studying her face.
He moves closer to the center of the booth.
She does too. Not enough to be obvious.
They sit in silence for a minute, and their hands rest on the vinyl seat between them.
Not touching.
She stares forward and takes a sip of her water with her other hand.
His pinky then touches hers. Nothing more.
The contact is barely there, but it’s enough. The years melt, and memories move through her like an electric current, and she catches her breath. She inhales carefully. She can feel her body responding to him, and she adjusts in her seat. But she does not move her hand.
He then hooks his pinky around hers.
She stills and lets him hold her pinky with his, and it feels like they’re weathering a storm together.
She hears a breath he can’t hide.
“How do we do this?” She asks, turning toward him.
“Do what?” He says coyly, with a grin rising on just one side of his mouth.
She can’t help but smile.
She pulls her hand away and finds the menu.
He does the same.
Their thighs are closer now. Touching. Neither of them moves.
The waiter takes their order, and they both nod politely.
When the waiter leaves, she turns to him.
“What did you want to meet for?” She asks, finally.
“Just a meal with a friend is all, to catch up.” Again, playful.
“Is that what we are now?”
“What else can we be?” He asks, seriously now.
“I don’t know. It’s complicated, isn’t it?”
“Is it?”
Slowly, he places his hand on her bare knee. Not moving. Just there. The weight of it is louder than a grab would be.
She covers his hand with hers, gripping it hard, holding it in place.
They both know this is the line.
He slides his thumb once over her skin. Barely.
She closes her eyes for half a second.
“Fuck,” she whispers. Not angry. Not amused.
Just.
Undone.
He leans closer, voice low. “Say the word.”
The appetizers arrive. They both straighten.
Under the table, his hand remains exactly where it shouldn’t be.
“We can’t do this,” she says, “I can’t do this. It almost broke me last time,” she says quietly, her eyes are glistening.
But she doesn’t move his hand.
“We walked away, remember?” she says.
“You walked away.”
“You didn’t even fight for me,” she says.
“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”
Silence sits between them.
The lamp hums softly.
“I thought if you wanted me,” she says, “you would have said something.”
“I thought if you wanted me,” he replies, “you would have stayed.”
“You know I couldn’t have done that.”
Their knees are touching now. Neither of them moves.
She swallows, “I would have waited for you.”
He exhales.
Tears swell in her eyes but do not run down.
“You’re in ‘someone else’s sky’ now,” she says.
“Yeah,” he says and pauses before speaking again, “It just took me too long to realize I was in the wrong place.”
She catches her breath and closes her eyes. A single tear runs down.
She opens her eyes to see him staring intently at her.
The weight of fifteen years presses between them. There’s no anger or accusation anymore. Just facts. Just history.
He leans back slightly, finally creating space.
She studies him. The lamp light softens the lines around his eyes, and she remembers when those lines weren’t there.
The waiter appears, polite, oblivious, “Can I get you anything else?”
She feels his knee still brushing hers.
She feels the history.
The almost.
The depth of the ache from years ago.
She looks at the waiter.
“Yes,” she says. “I’ll take a glass as well.”
He glances at her.
“Just one?” he asks quietly.
She meets his eyes.
“For now.”
END.
"The weight of fifteen years presses between them. There’s no anger or accusation anymore. Just facts. Just history."
Great line.
Also, we need Before Midnight next.
I've told you elsewhere but you do emotional tension very well :)