Married to my Heartbreaker

A Second First date

CASSIDY

The very first time Mark and I had interacted with each other, his hand had been on my back. All the time we spent having s*x back then, his hand had always been on my back because we never got enough time alone to have s*x with ease, instead, we settled for quickies at every possible chance and Mark always held me so tight to him as he thrust into me with passion. The day I was supposed to move with my parents and Maureen — a day filled with more tears than I had ever cried on any other day of my life—I had been so engrossed in trying to apologize to Mark that I hadn't paid much attention to the road behind me. Both of Mark's hands plastered across the part of my back not covered by the cropped top I wore was the only thing that prevented me from ending up six feet under the surface of the earth.

“Sid?” Mark snapped his fingers. “Sid, are you done here?”

My mind jogged back to the present and I focused on Mark's face. A big mistake because I found that I couldn't think clearly after that.

“What's that?” I asked in confusion as I tried to remember whatever he had been saying before my mind was invaded by sweet-bitter memories.

“I said, are you done here?” He repeated.

“Yes, yes,” I replied, quickly. “I was on my way to the cashier when I knocked you off. Sorry about that again.”

“I sa—”

“I know, I know,” I cut him off. “But I still have to. Why are you here? Do you live around?”

“Something like that,” he replied. His phone vibrated in his pocket but he ignored it. “I just moved to town recently. Lancaster.”

“That's a little bit far from where I live,” I pointed out. The phone vibrated again and I nodded my head at him.” Aren't you going to answer that?”

Sighing, he took the phone out of his pocket and tapped the screen. It stopped vibrating and he put it to his ear. The conversation was short and he mostly gave the person one-word replies. After ending the call, he returned the phone to his pocket and turned back to face me.

“Got somewhere you need to be?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly. “How about you?”

“No. I was just heading home,” I replied.

“How about we go grab dinner then?” He offered. “It doesn't matter if you have eaten or not.”

“I haven't,” I said.

“That's better.” He moved to one side to give me space to move. “Let's go then.”

“I haven't even given you my answer,” I protested.

“Do you need to?” He asked. “Because I am sure you'll go with me.”

“What makes you think so?” I asked. His arrogance was irritating but I couldn't deny my attraction to him. The fact that I knew that he was aware of that made me more irritated.

“Because you can't resist me, Sid,” he replied. It didn't look like he was going to stop calling me that anytime so I let it slide.

“You're so full of yourself,” I said.

He laughed at that. A hollow, pleasant laugh. “Let's play a game then,” he said. “If I can make you shiver, then you'll go to dinner with me. If not, we can go our separate ways.”

I was still trying to decide whether to play the game with him or not when he moved closer to me and bent his mouth to my ears. His hand came to the back of my back and his fingers trailed their way down. I shivered as if a cold wind blew past me and Mark burst into laughter.

“I win then,” he said, obviously pleased with himself. “Let's go.”

“That's unfair,” I cried out. “I hadn't made up my mind yet.”

“Coms on, Sid. Stop playing hard to get,” he urged.

“Fine,” I said in agreement and I followed him as he walked down the aisle. He waited while I paid for everything I bought and we exited the supermarket together. He led me to where his car was parked and a few minutes later, we were driving on the Upper Manhattan highway, back the way I had come.

“Where are we going?” I asked as he made a fourth turn since we left the highway.

“You'll see,” he replied without looking at me. He was holding the steering wheel loosely, like one does when caressing a lover and I found myself imagining something like that. Almost ten minutes later, he made a final turn and pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant. In all the years I spent in Upper Manhattan, I'd never known about the existence of this restaurant until now. And I knew this part of town very well.

“You're probably wondering how this restaurant got here,” he said as we alighted from the car. “Don't worry, it's new. The building was used for another purpose until a month ago.”

“Didn't you say you just moved to Manhattan recently?” I asked, my face twisted in confusion.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Two months.” He locked the car and offered me his hand. I was still trying to make a decision when he grabbed mine and pulled me forward gently. Whenever it came to Mark, I always found it hard to make a decision. It was very annoying sometimes but there was nothing I could do about it.

“Two months is not very recent,” I pointed out.

“Maybe,” he said.

The restaurant was called Food Garden and it was even more exquisite on the interior than the exterior. Polished floors, lavishly designed furniture, a very pleasant smell, and many other things complemented the luxurious appearance of the place. Mark led me to a table and we sat down. A waiter showed up shortly after and we gave our orders. When it arrived, the food was even better than I expected and I couldn't stop myself from digging into it immediately.

“So, what happened after you moved from Spring Grove?” He asked as we enjoyed our meal.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Oh, so you finally agreed that I didn't run away?”

“Would you rather I presented it like that?” He asked.

“Definitely not,” I replied. “Anyways, I hated where my parents made us move to. I started missing Spring Grove a few days later but I couldn't tell my parents I wanted to move back.”

“So you resigned to living in a place you hated, thereby making yourself unhappy for years,” he supplied.

“I didn't say I was unhappy,” I objected. “I only said I hated it. And that was because there was no Mark Milton in Sherrigan.”

“But you didn't call,” he said. “You said you hated leaving me but you didn't call.” He took a sip of his wine and replaced the glass on the table.

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” I said. “I told myself that it would be too painful if I did and it would be better if I just kept my distance and tried to forget you. I now realize that it was a very foolish thing to do.”

“No. You're anything but foolish,” he said.

“Maybe,” I said, disagreeing with him.

It felt really good to be with him again and I found myself imagining where we would be now if I hadn't moved all those years ago. We told each other stories of things that happened to us in each other's absence and at the end of the meal, I was unable to stop myself from ordering again. He did the same with his food and wine and we continued sharing our experiences over another round of chicken salad.