Bait & Hook

34. Response

Twenty-five to eleven, and Xander still hasn't seen it. Do my expense claim, hand it in and bridge my overdue coffee break to the overtime comp. Yeah, I can watch this from home.

As I walked across Cambie Bridge from the office, my usual ogling at the huge boats in the marina took on a new focus. Oh, dear God! Why am I looking for Tastevin? Need to work at forgetting him. Not reminding myself.

Thankfully, movement below helped distract, and my attention was drawn to a gaily-coloured AquaBus approaching the Yaletown landing. As I watched, a large tender altered to give it way, and while the ferry berthed to discharge passengers, the tender continued into the marina. Slower than the usual speedsters. Someone who respects regulations.

My eyes followed the tender as it headed between the rows of boats and manoeuvred behind one of them. Then I stopped as my heart sped. Oh, Dios mío! It's gone to Tastevin. That's him.

Why do you do this to me, God? Am I not already sufficiently tormented?

I resumed walking, trying to focus on something else. Anything. Please.

That's why he hasn't yet seen my message. Busy with real life – not with the false one I presented to him.

Then catching myself watching him run along the float, I shook my head and turned it to focus on where I was going. He's moved on. Why can't I?

But has he? How could he have? He has no idea what might have happened to me. By now, likely creating horrible mental images to explain my no-show. Accident, abduction, worse. Oh, dear, God, what have I done?

I winced. Profiled him. Treated him as a criminal.

As bad as the police in the States. Worse – because I know better.

And he offered me nothing but kindness and respect.

And sex beyond my wildest dreams. Oh, God!

I watched him run up the ramp and across the crescent. He'll soon see my message and at least know I'm alive and safe.

But what else? What did I write? I took my phone from my blazer pocket and turned it on, receiving a red Low Battery warning before it shut down. Aargh! So distracted – way off routine.

With the phone back in my pocket, I began running, memories of the curt tone of my message clanging in my head as the girls did their freedom dance beneath my blouse. When the chafing became too much, I slowed my pace and pulled down on the blazer fronts to restrain, my mind still spinning.

How do I rewrite to show more sensitivity? At least, explain before I close the account. But how do I explain without spilling that I work there? He'll easily find me. Yeah, that's why I wrote it the way I did – to remain untraceable.

So, what's the rush?

To get it done with, so he can move on. So we can both move on.

A few minutes later, Ruffles followed me into the kitchen and sat by her bowls. "In a short while, puss; more important things first."

Then up onto a stool at the island, I opened my MacBook, ignoring her mewling. When I tabbed to the site, the New Love Letter icon was blinking, the cursor showing it was from Xander. Oh, God! He's replied.

Dare I look at it?

I blew a deep breath. Yeah, help bring closure to this mess. I clicked and read:

        I was captivated by your mascarade.
        But I cannot imagine reality as enticing.
        I'd love to meet who's behind the façade.
        Surely, she'll prove even more exciting.

What? He's not angry? Wanting to see me again?

I reread it, and then, again and again, extracting more meaning each time, my heart doing flip-flops in my chest while I composed a reply. Then with no hesitation, I clicked Post.

        I was bound by company policy.
        We can start over – if you desire.
        This time I promise you'll have the real me.
        Unmasked and stripped bare, my heart is afire.