31
Atlanta
August 16, 2016
Kristen yawned. “I hate days when we have to stay late.”
“Away games,” I said with a shrug. “What can you do?”
“Nothing, I suppose.”
We went out into the empty parking lot. Most people had gone home over an hour ago. But the training room had still been full up to a few minutes ago. The preseason had started last week with a win against Washington. The team was flying out tomorrow for their match against Cleveland, and I wasn’t looking forward to being gone on a Thursday. But it was football season, and that was how it went.
I’d been working for the Falcons for a year and had come to accept that this was how things went.
“See you tomorrow,” Kristen said, waving good-bye. “Say hi to that hunk of a man you’re going home to for me, will you?”
“Yes, I’ll let Cole know that you said hello.”
“And after the season is over, we’re going to get trashed.”
“The season just started,” I reminded her.
She winked. “I know. I’m already looking forward to the postseason festivities.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
Once I was in my car, I texted Cole to let him know I was heading home. He responded immediately. My phone dinging noisily in the car.
I’m making dinner, and we’re out of pasta. Think you could run to the store on your way home?
I responded in the affirmative and then drove to the grocery store. I should have picked the one nearest to home, but my favorite coffee shop was next to a grocery store that was a little bit farther away. The benefits of coffee outweighed the added distance.
I jogged into Kroger and picked up spaghetti and penne since he hadn’t been specific, and then I walked next door to the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop. When I’d been on Falcons cheer a few years ago, I’d driven out of my way all the time to get their iced lattes. No regrets.
For a Tuesday afternoon, the coffee shop was packed. It wasn’t far from a few campuses, and college students covered every inch with their laptops open as they laughed with their friends. Ah, easier days.
The line was at least short, and I ordered an iced latte and a flat white to take home for Cole. Then I stood off to the side, dicking around on my phone as I waited for my name to be called.
“Lila!” the barista said, dropping my iced latte down in front of me.
“Thanks.”
“The flat white will take a minute.”
“No problem.”
I took a sip of my drink when I heard my name being called again. I glanced up at the barista, confused because she’d just said it would be a minute. But it wasn’t the barista. Seated at a table in the back corner of the coffee shop was none other than Ash Talmadge.
I hadn’t forgotten that he was going to be moving to Atlanta, but I hadn’t thought that I’d actually run into him. Atlanta was huge. This was something different.
I should have pretended not to hear him, grabbed my coffee, and left. Instead, I walked across the room to a smile I knew all too well and a man that I didn’t want to love anymore. Not that my heart gave a shit.
“James Asheford Talmadge IV,” I said when I reached his table. “What a coincidence.”
“Is it?” he asked.
His laptop was open and off to the left, a book out in front of him, his meticulous handwriting covering a legal pad.
“Suppose nothing is a coincidence anymore. You’re here studying?”
“Yeah. I remembered that you said you loved this place. I thought I’d give it a shot.”
“In case I showed up?”
“That’s a bonus.”
Two years ago, I’d broken our love, destroyed his trust, and walked away, empty-handed. How could he look at me the same way he always had?
“How’s school going?”
He shrugged. “It’s challenging and a lot of work, especially with a full-time job.”
“I know nothing about an MBA. You’re still working?”
I’d been able to work in a clinic and do some athletic training while in PT school, but it wasn’t anything close to full-time.
“You have to,” he explained. “It’s a nights and weekends kind of gig. Made for people who are already running their own business and trying to level up.”
“I see. So, how are you working here when the company is in Savannah?”
“We’re diversifying,” he said with that cocky grin he always got when he talked about his family’s real estate business. Sometimes, I forgot that his family owned half of Savannah, and sometimes, it was painfully obvious that we had come from different social classes. “I’m running the Atlanta office of Talmadge Properties.”
“That must be nice. Not being in daddy’s shadow here.”
His face clouded, as he remembered that I knew him better than anyone. That I knew what this MBA was really about—a way to shine without the persistent presence of his father’s disapproval.