Made in Manhattan

And it was the last bit of confirmation she needed that she was making the right choice.

She went around the table and, placing her hand lightly on his shoulder, bent to kiss his cheek. “Goodbye, Keith.”

Violet turned and walked away, relieved, but not surprised, when he didn’t follow her.

She retrieved her jacket from coat check and stepped into the January night air.

The restaurant was in easy walking distance of her apartment. She started that way and pulled out her cell phone to invite Ashley over to recap the night’s events, then remembered her friend was at a work event.

She had other friends she could call, there was an open house birthday party she could stop by, but she wasn’t in the mood to field the where’s Keith? inquiries. Not until she’d had a bit longer to process, and to figure out that particular script.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Violet paused and asked herself the question Keith had asked.

What did she want?

How did she want to spend a Friday night? The first one in a long while where she didn’t have standing dinner plans with Keith, or a fundraiser, or a friend’s bachelorette party, or a movie night with Edith and Alvin?

A night just for her, when she could do anything she wanted?

Then it hit her, the urge pure and strong. She knew exactly where she wanted to be, somewhere nobody in her life—not even Ashley—ever cared to join her, and tonight, she was just fine with that.

Violet lifted her hand for a taxi. Being a busy Friday night, she had to wait awhile, and by the time she arrived at Columbus Circle, she knew her chances of getting a seat this late, this close to the start of the set, were slim, but she made her way up to the jazz club anyway.

It was one of the swankier clubs in the city, but not a favorite—she preferred the small, crowded ones, packed with people and history. But they had a great trio tonight featuring an up-and-coming female bassist she’d been following.

“All of my tables are taken,” the hostess said with an apologetic smile. “But I can squeeze you in at the bar if you just give me a second to ask a couple people to shuffle.”

“That would be so great, thank you.”

“Sure, just give me a moment,” the hostess said, smiling in apology as she picked up the relentlessly ringing phone on her hostess stand.

Violet stepped to the side and scanned the scene, taking in the dimly lit room buzzing with quiet conversation, an employee adjusting the microphone onstage and setting out water bottles for the musicians.

Feeling eyes on her, Violet’s gaze swung to her right where a man sat at one of the tiny tables, studying her over a glass of whiskey.

Cain.

He wore a suit, though as Keith had noted derisively, he didn’t wear a tie, and Cain had unbuttoned the top two buttons. The blend of formal and casual suited him, she was irritated to see. The man was relentlessly appealing, no matter the attire.

Cain lifted an eyebrow, his shoe shifting beneath the table, and used his foot to gently push out the chair opposite his in silent invitation.

Without registering her intent to move, Violet found herself walking toward him, moth to flame. And when she dropped into the chair, she felt an unexpected sense of comfort.

She hadn’t realized just how heavy and flat her time spent with Keith felt until it was contrasted with this moment. Here, Violet could simply be. She could do whatever she wanted, order whatever she wanted…

Be with whomever she wanted.

Violet was still mad at Cain. His punishing kiss, his crass words, his intent to hurt were still fresh in her mind.

But even the anger felt good.

She felt almost crackling. Vibrant. Alive.

Here, with him, there was no pressure to keep conversation rolling with inane chatter about the weather or traffic, to not be on constant “awkward silence” patrol.

In fact, other than Violet ordering a sauvignon blanc from the server, they didn’t say a word until the musicians were headed up to the stage.

“I was a jerk,” he growled suddenly.

Violet glanced at him in surprise. She hadn’t guessed he’d be the one to break the silence, nor had she expected an acknowledgment of his boorish behavior.

“Yes,” Violet said, holding his gaze steadily, refusing to make this comfortable for him. “You were.”

He dipped his chin down in acknowledgment. “I apologize. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you for that,” she said quietly.

Cain lifted a shoulder and turned back to the stage. The silence continued for a few more moments, and this time it was Violet who spoke.

“I broke up with Keith.” She announced it casually, in between small sips of mediocre wine.

Cain took his time looking her way again, his eyes seeming to study every nuance of her features.