“What? Why are you asking me that?”
She looked away, visibly embarrassed. “I was just wondering if you ever thought about it. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
He began peeling the label from his bottle of Samuel Adams as he waited for his heart to start beating again.
“Is that something you think about a lot? Our first time?” Paul cared about Ali and didn’t want to make her feel bad. He didn’t want her to be ashamed of their past. He sure as hell wasn’t.
“Um, don’t you?”
“You broke up with me, remember?” He picked at his beer bottle again. “Where are you going with this?”
“I just wondered if you ever thought about me that way.”
“Of course I do. But what are you trying to do—torture me? I had to stop thinking about you like that, otherwise . . .” Now it was his turn to look embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.” She wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her cheek on her knees. Her eyes found his in the firelight and she looked so lost. So sad.
Paul shifted to stare into the flames.
“What do you think about?” he asked at last.
“The way you smell. The way you sound when you whisper in my ear. The way you used to look at me when we . . .” She gave him a half-smile. “You don’t look at me like that anymore.
“I understand why. It was my fault and I have to live with that.”
“Maybe everything happens for a reason.” Paul kept his eyes fixed resolutely on the fire.
“Maybe. I just wish I could take it back. That I wasn’t so stupid.”
“The long-distance thing was tough for me, too. We were arguing.”
“They were stupid arguments.”
“Yes, they were.”
“I’m sorry.”
Now he was looking at her.
“Stop saying that, okay? You did what you thought you should do. I got over it. End of story.”
“But that’s what I’m most sorry about,” she whispered.
“What?”
“The fact that you got over it.”
Their eyes met, and Paul swore he saw tears swimming in her eyes.
She brushed at them quickly.
“Don’t get me wrong, they’re good memories, happy memories. But after you and I broke up and I started dating someone else, I couldn’t help but think about it again.”
“You dated a guy named Dave, right?”
“Yeah. We worked together but not anymore. He moved to Montpelier.”
“You didn’t date him for very long.”
She pillowed her cheek on her knees again. “He was nice enough, but not as nice as you.”
“Did he hurt you?” Paul’s tone was wary.
“No. But when we had sex he wouldn’t look at me. He always kept his eyes closed. I never felt like he was really there, you know? I felt like I could have been anybody. Any girl he’d taken home with him, rather than his girlfriend.”
“Ali, I—”
She interrupted him. “I couldn’t help but compare him to you. That’s why I brought up our first time. How you insisted that we get to know each other really well before we had sex. How you booked a hotel just down the road for our first time.” Her expression was wistful. “You always made me feel special, even before you told me you loved me.”
“You are special.”
She looked at him steadily.
“Do you think we could pick up where we left off?”
“No.”
She cringed.
He reached over to grasp her hand. “I still have feelings for you. But I’m not ready to jump into something right now. Even if I were, we can’t just pick up where we left off. We’re both different people.”
“You don’t seem that different.”
“I am. Trust me.”
Allison squeezed his hand. “I’ve never trusted anyone more. I was jealous of Julia. Of the way you said her name. Because that’s how you used to say my name. But I broke up with you and you fell for someone else. I would have kept my mouth shut if things worked out between you two. But they didn’t.”
Paul took another long pull from his beer and shook his head.
On January second, Paul had to leave for the Modern Language Association’s annual convention, which was being held in Seattle. All his interviews for prospective jobs would take place during the convention.
Allison drove him to the airport in Burlington. Before he exited the car, she gave him a small gift bag.
“It’s just some chocolate chip cookies I made. There might even be a book in there.”
Paul thanked her with a smile.
“What’s the book?”
“Sense and Sensibility.”
He looked at her quizzically. “Why are you giving me that?”
“I thought you might find it meaningful.”
“Thanks,” he said. “I think.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you, too. Come here.”
He tugged her into a warm embrace.
By way of response, she pulled back slightly before pressing a gentle but insistent kiss to his lips. She was surprised but elated when he didn’t recoil but rather deepened their connection.
“I’ll be home soon,” he managed, when they finally pulled themselves apart.
She answered him with a hopeful grin, waving until he disappeared into the terminal.
Chapter Seventy-one
January 10, 2012
New York, New York
Christa Peterson breezed into the Department of Italian at Columbia University. She’d enjoyed a very pleasant winter break at her parents’ home in Toronto and had even met someone with whom she’d enjoyed a brief affair. Now she was eager to resume her studies and continue her journey toward becoming a Dante specialist.
With interest, she emptied her pigeonhole of all its mail, sitting on a chair nearby in order to peruse it. Much of the mail was junk, with the exception of a single typewritten announcement. Christa scanned it quickly.
The announcement listed the names of three senior Dante specialists who would be visiting the department over the course of the next two weeks, as candidates for the vacant professorship. Christa read the names twice before relaxing in her chair.
She smiled. But not because of the names listed.
No, she smiled because a particular name had not been listed. It would seem that her plan to revenge herself on Professor Giuseppe Pacciani was already bearing fruit.
With that delightful thought in mind, she pocketed the announcement, threw the junk mail into the wastepaper basket, and was preparing to exit the department when Professor Barini stopped her.