Chapter 4: Unforgettable?

"Let's not talk about him anymore," Emily said. "He's a pathetic human being." If Byron had any more compliments, she was hoping to hear those.

"You're right," Byron said. "Tell me what you like to do."

Emily was feeling a little tipsy, and she happily began to list off all the things she liked.

"I like designing hair clips, walking dogs," she began.

"Me too," Byron said. "I like dogs. I don't know how to design hair clips."

Emily laughed, accidentally spitting out small bits of food as her fork clattered to the floor. When he said she was unforgettable, she hoped it wasn't because of her bad table manners.

Byron seemed unfazed, and he simply called Amadeo over to bring another fork.

They went on talking long after they finished their food. In her tipsy mind, Emily wondered how an amazing man like this was still available. He wasn't wearing a wedding ring. But of course, she couldn't assume he was single. He might still have a girlfriend. Whatever it was, she didn't want to know. It was best to enjoy the moment.

It was late, but she hardly felt tired when they got ready to leave the restaurant.

Byron pulled out his phone and talked to someone named Alistair, asking him to pull the limo around to the restaurant.

Limo!? It suddenly dawned on Emily she still didn't know what Byron did for a living. They had been so busy talking about their favorite music and joking around that she never even had the chance to ask.

She thanked Amadeo for the delicious food, and he said, "I hope to see you again, Miss."

Emily didn't think it was likely, unless Byron asked her on another date. But Byron seemed to grow somber as they went out into the rainy street and quickly dove into the warmth of the limo.

It was unwise to get into another stranger's car after her last experience, but she didn't have time to reconsider, and her mind was working so slowly because of the alcohol. Strangely, she felt like she could trust Byron.

There was plenty of room, and she sat beside him, but not too close.

"Whatever line of work you're in, it must be paying off," she said lightly, though she felt a bit awkward because his dour mood was like a storm cloud filling up the whole space of the car.

"Yeah," he said absently, "stocks and bonds, that kind of stuff."

Emily told the chauffeur where to take her, and after that the rest of the ride was mostly silent. She wondered what was going on. Maybe Byron was only happy while eating Italian food.

"Are you all right?" she finally asked.

He didn't reply, and he seemed to be looking off into some faraway place.

She repeated the question a bit louder.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You seem kind of sad," she blurted out. She intantly regretted it since he looked offended. Of course, no one liked to be accused of being sad, especially a tough-looking man.

It was too late. The words kept coming out of her mouth.

"You looked sad when I first saw you too, on the bridge."

He looked at her for a long time with that stubborn frown, and she looked back, trying to figure out what on earth he was thinking. Eventually, a whole minute passed, probably longer.

Just when she didn't think he would reply to her question at all, he said, "You know, I can relate to you. I mean, no one ever followed me obsessively, but..."

"Yes?" she prompted.

"I usually don't tell anyone about this, so please keep it to yourself," he said in a soft voice.

"Of course," Emily replied. It wasn't like they knew any of the same people anyway.

"When I was nine years old, my parents divorced. It was extremely confusing for me. They kept fighting then trying to get back together. Finally, my mother decided she had to leave, and she took me with her. But my father couldn't accept it. He came around to our new place, knocking on the door, yelling, sometimes really late at night. I actually became scared of him."

"That sounds terrible," Emily sympathized.

"I know how much a breakup can hurt," he continued, "but that kind of behavior disgusts me. I wanted to tell you because you told me your story. It must not have been easy to share."

"No," she said, "It's never easy to talk about."

"But that's not why I was 'sad', as you put it," he added.

Well, that was confusing.

"I shouldn't pry," Emily said, "I'm sorry I got drunk on those delicious liquors."

He gently took her hand and ever so slowly brought it up to his lips. The kiss on the back of her hand felt so sweet and passionate.

"You shouldn't be sorry," he said. "I had a wonderful time."

Then the limo stopped, and before she knew it, Byron got out and held the door open for her.

"So did I," she said as she climbed out in front of her low-rise apartment building.

"I'm going to watch you walk in the door," he said, "just to make sure you're safe."

"Okay—" Emily said, but he was already getting back into the limo.

He wasn't even going to say good night or ask if he could see her again?

She walked to the building and opened the door into the foyer. Glancing back, she saw nothing but the dark outlines of the limo parked across the street. Then she went inside.

Emily wondered if he was angry at her for asking about his feelings. She wasn't being nosy. She only asked because she was concerned about him. Once Emily had seen a woman, a complete stranger, crying on the bus, and she went over to ask what was wrong. It just seemed like the decent thing to do.

Then again, he seemed to be moody even before she started that conversation. Who knew what was in his mind?

When she got up to her apartment and looked out the window, the limo was gone.

One thing was clear, Emily thought tiredly as she climbed into bed, he wasn't interested in seeing her again.

Maybe she was forgettable after all.