Page 18 of More Than Pen Pals

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. The man was a complete … jerk.”

“You can say what you’re thinking. You won’t shock me.”

“No, I don’t curse in front of women, nor very often around men. Actually, I only do it in front of Randall, because he can somehow always bring out the worst in me.”

I almost say it’s the same with my brother, but I press my lips together to stop myself.

“We should probably take a look at the menus,” I say. I don’t want to put off the hard conversation any longer than we have to.

We spend a few minutes discussing the options, and the second we close the menus, our waiter appears.

When we’ve ordered, I ask, “Where did you go to college?”

“Harvard. I was only seventeen when I started, and I didn’t fit in with my classmates, so I focused on my classes. As a result, I graduated in three years. And then I did law school there, too. I finished both college and law school a year before Randall did, which is weird.”

I nod. I’m about to ask him how he ended up getting assigned to our PR firm when he asks where I went to college.

“Knox College in—”

“Galesburg,” he finishes for me.

“You know it?” I’m a little surprised, even though the small liberal arts school is in Illinois.

“Of course. They have a great journalism department there.”

“I know.”

“That’s what you studied?”

“I did. Does that surprise you?”

“Not in the least. It’s what you wanted to do. Did you know Patrick Chamberlain at Knox?”

I almost spit out a mouthful of wine.“Youknow Patrick Chamberlain?”

He nods. “We went to church together as kids.”

“Small world,” I say, although maybe not as small world as Ash careening back into my life. “I didn’t know him well, but he dated a girl who lived a few doors down from me in the dorm. I wonder if they ended up getting married.”

“They did a couple years ago. They’ve got a baby girl.”

“You still keep in touch with him?”

“Not really. Our moms are friends, and I see him at church on holidays.”

Our salads arrive, and we eat in companionable silence for several minutes before talking about different places we’ve traveled. Unsurprisingly, he’s been many more places than I have.

When the waiter delivers our entrées, I’m not sure I can eat my chicken florentine. While Ash and I were chatting, I almost forgot about my upcoming explanation, but now I’m dreading it more than ever. The easy conversation proved there’s still a connection between us. I don’t want to lose that again, but I can’t imagine I won’t.

I pick at my food as Ash downs his meal in record time. We make small talk about the restaurant, the music, and the city itself, but we don’t delve into more personal topics. I can tell he’s trying to put me at ease, but I don’t know why he’s going to the trouble of doing so.

As soon as he swallows his last bite, I put my silverware down.

“I’m tired of stalling, and I can’t eat any more.” I push my plate away. “Are you ready?”

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