Chapter 22: Second First Date

I hadn't slept. Not really. I'd laid in bed staring at the ceiling for hours, my phone clutched in my hand, willing it to buzz. Every creak of the house, every distant car passing by made my heart jump. What if she switched again? What if she'd touched someone on her way home and Emma had slipped even further away? What if I never heard from her again?

By 10:30 a.m., I'd given up on the idea of rest entirely. I shuffled into the kitchen, my eyes burning, my whole body tense with exhaustion and anxiety. Ashley had gone home a few hours ago, reluctantly, after I'd convinced her there was nothing more we could do but wait. I knew she was probably sitting in her own apartment right now, just as terrified as I was. She'd just gotten her sister back, only to lose her again.

I made coffee on autopilot, watching the dark liquid drip into the pot like it held some kind of answer. It didn't.

I kept checking my phone. Every thirty seconds, maybe. The screen stayed dark and silent.

I poured my coffee, took a sip. It was too hot and burned my tongue. I didn't care.

My phone buzzed.

I lunged for it so fast I nearly knocked my mug over, my heart hammering in my chest.

Software update available.

"Jesus Christ," I muttered, setting the phone back down harder than I meant to.

I rubbed my face, trying to pull myself together. This was insane. I couldn't just sit here all day waiting for—

The phone buzzed again.

This time I grabbed it more carefully, my hands shaking.

Unknown number.

I opened the message.

Unknown: Hey, it's Elizabeth. From the festival. I know this is weird, but I can't stop thinking about you. Are you free for lunch today?

My breath caught. Relief and hope surged through me so fast I felt dizzy.

I stared at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I couldn't sound too eager. Couldn't sound ****. I had to be casual. Normal. Like this was just a regular date.

I typed, deleted, typed again.

Me: Hey! Yeah, I'm free. There's a nice little place near the park, Sullivan's? Good sandwiches. Does that work?

I hit send before I could second-guess myself.

The three dots appeared almost immediately. She was typing.

Elizabeth: I love that place! What time?

Me: Noon?

Elizabeth: Perfect. I'll see you there. Fair warning though, I'm still not entirely sure why I'm doing this. This whole thing is weird.

Elizabeth: But why not, right?

I let out a shaky laugh, typing back.

Me: Weird isn't always bad. See you soon.

I set the phone down and just stood there for a moment, staring at nothing, trying to process what was about to happen.

I was going on a date. With my wife. Who thought she was someone named Elizabeth.

And I had to seduce her.

I drained the rest of my coffee and headed for the bathroom.

The shower helped a little. The hot water eased some of the tension in my shoulders, washed away the fog of sleeplessness. But my mind kept racing. What if I said the wrong thing? What if she didn't feel that pull anymore? What if the host's personality was too strong and Emma was just… gone?

I got out, dried off, stared at myself in the mirror. I looked like hell. Dark circles under my eyes, stubble I hadn't bothered to shave. I grabbed my razor.

Clothes were another problem. I stood in front of my closet for a solid five minutes, pulling shirts out and putting them back. Too formal. Too casual. Too… something. Finally I settled on jeans and a dark blue button-down, sleeves rolled up. Simple. Not trying too hard.

I laughed at myself as I buttoned it. This was absurd. Completely absurd. I'd been married to Emma for years. We'd been through everything together. And now I was standing here, nervous as a teenager, trying to figure out how to get her to sleep with me so she'd remember who the hell she was.

I checked the time. Still had over an hour. But I couldn't stay in this house any longer. I grabbed my keys and headed out to the car.

My hands were shaking as I started the engine.

"Come on, Cal," I muttered to myself. "You can do this."

I got to Sullivan's twenty minutes early. The parking lot was mostly empty, just a few cars scattered around. I pulled into a spot near the entrance, then sat there, engine idling, rain starting to speckle the windshield.

Should I wait inside? Outside? In the car?

If I went in and she showed up early, would she think it was weird that I was already there? That I was too eager? But then again, if she was early, why would it be strange for me to be early too?

I turned off the engine.

The rain picked up, drumming against the roof of the car. I watched it streak down the windows, my leg bouncing nervously. This was ridiculous. I was overthinking everything.

I got out of the car and stood under the restaurant's small awning, hands in my pockets, watching the parking lot.

Ten minutes later, a silver Honda pulled in. My heart jumped.

She got out, holding a jacket over her head as she jogged toward the entrance. She was wearing dark jeans and ankle boots, a simple cream-colored sweater that looked soft and effortless. Her hair was down this time, loose around her shoulders, already damp from the rain. She looked stunning in that understated way, like she'd wanted to look good without making it obvious she was trying.

"Hey!" she called out, a little breathless as she ducked under the awning beside me.

"Hey," I said, my voice coming out rougher than I meant it to. "You made it."

"Yeah." She smiled, tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear. "Couldn't back out now, right?"

"Right."

We stood there for a second, the awkwardness settling between us like a third person. Then she laughed, shaking her head. "This is so weird."

"Yeah," I agreed. "Let's go inside."

We pushed through the door into the warm, dimly lit interior of Sullivan's. The smell of fresh bread and coffee hit me immediately. The place was cozy, brick walls lined with old photographs, mismatched wooden tables. A few other people were scattered around, but it wasn't crowded.

We grabbed a table near the window. She sat across from me, still smiling that uncertain smile.

"So," she said, picking up the menu even though I got the sense she already knew what she wanted. "This is happening."

"This is happening," I echoed.

A waitress came by, and we ordered. I got a club sandwich. She got a panini and iced tea. When the waitress left, Elizabeth folded her hands on the table and looked at me, really looked at me.

"I have to say," she started, her lips quirking into a smirk. "This is a first for me."

"What is?"

"This." She gestured between us. "Feeling like I know someone but not being able to figure out from where. Going on a date just like that. It's not really my style."

"It's not mine either," I said quickly. "But… I don't know. Something about you felt familiar. Still does."

She held my gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Same."

The waitress brought our drinks. I took a sip of water, grateful for something to do with my hands.

"So," Elizabeth said, stirring her iced tea. "That festival yesterday was pretty fun. Were you there alone?"

"No, I was with some friends," I said carefully. "We got separated in the crowd, though. Lost track of each other."

She tilted her head. "Was one of them that Emma you thought I was?"

My pulse quickened. I studied her face, searching for any flicker of recognition, any sign that the name meant something to her.

Nothing.

"Yeah," I said slowly. "Yeah, she was one of the friends I lost. You… you remind me of her a bit."

Elizabeth's smirk returned, though there was something guarded in her eyes now. "How close are you to this Emma?"

Shit.

I felt the trap of the question immediately. If I said we were close, really close, maybe it would trigger something in her. Or maybe it would freak her out. She'd wonder why the hell I was here with her if I was so hung up on someone else. Someone that looked like her.

"She's a good friend," I said, keeping my voice even. "A really good friend."

Elizabeth nodded slowly, her fingers tracing the condensation on her glass. "Just a friend?"

"Yeah," I lied. "Just a friend."

"Are you single?" she asked, then immediately looked embarrassed. "God, that sounded… I don't know why I'm even asking. I don't know what this is. What I'm doing."

I hesitated, my mouth going dry. How the hell was I supposed to answer that? I couldn't tell her I was married to her. That she was my dead wife trapped in someone else's body, so far gone she didn't even remember her own name.

"You've got my full attention," I said carefully. Then, thinking it might shake something loose, I added, "My wife died recently."

Her face fell immediately. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry."

She stared at me for a long moment, her brow furrowing. There was something in her eyes—confusion, maybe? Or recognition? I couldn't tell. Was she remembering? Feeling something buried deep?

Or was she just sitting there wondering what the hell she was doing having lunch with some strange widower she'd met at a festival?

"That's…" She trailed off, shaking her head. "I'm really sorry, Calvin."

"Thanks," I said, my throat tight. I needed to change the subject. Fast. "What about you? Are you single?"

She blushed, looking down at her glass. "I am. Technically. I mean, I haven't signed the divorce papers yet, but my husband and I have been living apart for over a year now. We're free to see other people."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be." She smiled a little, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "We're on good terms. We just… fell out of love, I guess. Over the years. We realized we were only staying together because that's what you're supposed to do, you know? Society says you make it work. But we weren't happy."

I nodded. "That makes sense."

"We're better apart," she said quietly. "It's just taking a while to make it official."

Our food arrived, and we both seemed grateful for the distraction. She picked up her panini, took a bite, and I did the same with my sandwich.

We kept looking at each other. Between bites, between sips. Our eyes would meet, hold for a second, then dart away. But there was something there. Interest. Attraction. I could feel it, and I knew she could too.

Not everything was lost.

"Tell me more about yourself," I said, leaning back slightly. "What do you do? What do you like?"

She laughed, a little self-conscious. "That's a big question."

"Start anywhere."

"Okay, um…" She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I work in product design, mostly freelance now. I used to be at an agency but it was… soul-sucking, you know? Everyone obsessed with metrics and branding and I just wanted to make things that felt real. So I quit a couple years ago and started doing my own thing."

"That's brave."

"Or stupid," she said with a grin. "Depending on the month. But I like it. I like having control over my time. I read a lot. Too much, probably. I go through phases where I'll just devour everything by one author and then move on to the next. Right now I'm on a Murakami kick."

"Murakami's great."

"Right?" Her eyes lit up. "Everyone says his stuff is weird, and it is, but it's also… I don't know, tender? There's something about the loneliness in his books that feels honest." She paused, laughing at herself. "Sorry, I'm rambling."

"No, keep going."

"Okay, well… I don't know. I like old movies. The kind that don't really exist anymore, where people just talk to each other and nothing explodes. I collect vinyl even though I know that's become a cliché at this point. I'm terrible at cooking but I keep trying. I spend way too much time in bookstores." She looked down at her plate, smiling. "I'm a bit of a mess, honestly. But I like my mess."

I felt something tighten in my chest. She sounded like Emma. Not exactly, but close. That same kind of self-aware honesty, that love of quiet things. The kind of woman who found meaning in small moments.

"You don't sound like a mess," I said.

"You don't know me yet," she said, and there was a flicker of something playful in her eyes.

"Maybe I want to."

She blushed, taking another bite of her panini to cover it.

"What about you?" she asked after a moment. "What's your story?"

I took a breath. "I'm an architect. Or I was. I've been… taking some time off. After everything."

"That makes sense."

"Yeah." I rubbed the back of my neck. "I don't know. I love the work, the problem-solving part of it. Making spaces that feel right. But lately I've just… I haven't been able to focus."

"I can imagine."

"My wife," I started, then stopped. I didn't know how much to say. "We were together for a long time. She died in a car accident. It was sudden. One day she was there, and then she just… wasn't."

Elizabeth's expression softened. "That's horrible."

"Yeah." I looked out the window, watching the rain. "Sometimes it feels like she's still here, though. Around. Like she's not really gone."

She was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing the edge of her plate. "Do you believe in that? Like, ghosts or whatever?"

"I don't know what I believe anymore," I said honestly. "But I feel her sometimes. It's hard to explain."

She nodded slowly. "I think that makes sense. When you love someone that much, they leave an imprint. They're part of you."

"Yeah," I said, looking at her. "Exactly."

She held my gaze, and for a moment I thought I saw something flicker there. Recognition? Fear? I couldn't tell.

The conversation started to flow more easily after that. Like we'd both decided to stop questioning what was happening and just let it happen.

We talked about everything. Books we'd read, places we wanted to travel, stupid childhood memories. I kept dropping little things, trying to jog her memory. Mentioned the blue monkey again in a different context. Brought up a restaurant Emma and I loved. Nothing clicked. But I found myself not minding as much. I was enjoying this. Enjoying her.

She laughed at something I said, a real laugh, her head tilting back, and I felt that pull again. That warmth.

"You're funnier than I expected," she said, grinning.

"What did you expect?"

"I don't know. Sad widower energy."

"I have that too," I said. "I'm just hiding it well."

"You're doing a good job."

We kept talking. The restaurant filled up around us, then emptied again. The rain stopped. Our plates were cleared. We ordered coffee just to stay longer.

Finally, after what must have been two hours, she glanced at her phone and sighed. "I should probably head home."

My stomach dropped. "Do you have to?"

She looked at me, a shy smile playing at her lips. "I mean… no. Not really. What did you have in mind?"

I hesitated. Then I just said it. "I'd like to make love to you."

Her eyes went wide. She snorted, surprised, then covered her mouth. "Wow. Okay. That's…"

"Too much?" I asked, my heart pounding.

"No, it's just…" She laughed again, then looked at me seriously. Her arms crossed, but she was smirking. "It's been a while since I… Yeah. Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah." She bit her lip. "Your place or mine?"

"Mine," I said quickly.

We paid and walked out to the parking lot. The air was cool and damp from the rain. She followed me to my car, and we drove in near silence, stealing glances at each other.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she said, shaking her head and laughing.

I reached over and took her hand. She looked down at our fingers, surprised, then relaxed into it. Her thumb brushed against mine.

"Me neither," I admitted.

When we pulled into my driveway, my hands were shaking. I unlocked the front door, and we stepped inside.

Before I could say anything, she was on me.

Her hands grabbed my shirt, pulling me down, her mouth finding mine. The kiss was ****, urgent, like she'd been holding back all through lunch and couldn't anymore. I kissed her back, my hands going to her waist, pulling her closer.

She pushed me back against the door, her body pressed against mine, her fingers already working at the buttons of my shirt.

"Bedroom," I managed to say between kisses.

"Where?"

I took her hand and led her down the hall.

We stumbled into the bedroom, our mouths still locked together, her hands pushing my shirt off my shoulders. I kicked the door shut behind us and pulled her sweater over her head, breaking the kiss just long enough to get it off before finding her lips again.

She tasted like iced tea and something sweeter. Her hands were everywhere, sliding down my chest, fumbling with my belt. I walked her backward toward the bed, my fingers finding the clasp of her bra, unhooking it. She shrugged out of it, and I pulled back just enough to look at her.

"God," I breathed.

She was beautiful. Her skin was flushed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She reached for me again, pulling me down onto the bed with her.

I could relax now. I knew what was coming. As soon as I came, Emma would be back. The recharge would bring her to the surface. I just had to let this happen, let myself enjoy it.

Elizabeth's hands were on my belt again, this time successfully pulling it free. I helped her, kicking off my jeans while she shimmied out of hers. We were down to underwear now, and she pulled me back down on top of her, her legs wrapping around my waist.

I kissed her neck, her collarbone, working my way down. She arched beneath me, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Calvin," she whispered, her fingers threading through my hair.

I slid lower, kissing the curve of her breast, taking her nipple into my mouth. She moaned, her hips pressing up against me. I could feel how wet she was even through the thin fabric of her underwear.

"Please," she gasped.

I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them down slowly, kissing my way down her stomach, her hip, her thigh. She kicked them off the rest of the way, spreading her legs for me.

I looked up at her, and she was watching me, her eyes dark with desire. I lowered my mouth to her, tasting her, and she cried out, her hands gripping the sheets.

I took my time, my tongue exploring her, finding what made her gasp, what made her moan. Her hips moved against my mouth, her breathing getting faster, more ****.

"Oh god, oh god," she panted.

I felt her getting close, her thighs trembling, and I didn't let up. She came with a sharp cry, her whole body tensing, then relaxing into the mattress.

I kissed my way back up her body, and she pulled me into a deep, messy kiss, tasting herself on my lips.

"Your turn," she murmured against my mouth, her hand sliding down to palm me through my boxers.

I groaned, my hips jerking forward involuntarily. She pushed me onto my back, straddling me, her fingers hooking into my waistband. She pulled my boxers down, freeing me, and wrapped her hand around my cock.

"Fuck," I breathed.

She stroked me slowly, her thumb circling the head, spreading the precum. Then she lowered herself down, taking me into her mouth.

I gripped the sheets, trying to keep control. Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue doing things that made my toes curl. She took me deep, then pulled back, her hand working in rhythm with her mouth.

"Elizabeth," I gasped. "I'm not gonna last if you—"

She pulled off with a wet sound, grinning up at me. "Good."

She climbed back up my body, positioning herself over me. Our eyes locked as she slowly lowered herself onto me.

We both moaned as I filled her. She was so tight, so wet, and the sensation was overwhelming. She started to move, slowly at first, rolling her hips, finding her rhythm.

I gripped her hips, guiding her, and she leaned down to kiss me, her breasts pressing against my chest. The angle shifted, and she gasped into my mouth.

"Right there," she whispered. "Oh fuck, right there."

I thrust up to meet her, and she sat back up, her hands braced on my chest, riding me harder. I watched her, the way her face twisted with pleasure, the way her body moved above me.

It was perfect. She was perfect.

I felt my orgasm building, that familiar tension coiling low in my stomach. I reached between us, finding her clit, and she cried out, her movements becoming erratic.

"I'm close," she panted. "I'm so close."

"Me too," I groaned.

She came first, her inner walls clenching around me, and that was it. I followed her over the edge, my hips jerking up as I spilled inside her, waves of pleasure crashing through me.

We collapsed together, her body draped over mine, both of us breathing hard.

I closed my eyes, waiting for it. Waiting for Emma to surface.

Elizabeth laughed softly, her head resting on my chest. "Wow."

I opened my eyes, looking down at her. She was smiling, her face flushed and satisfied.

I smiled back, hopeful. "Emma?"

She snorted, lifting her head to look at me. "Is Emma really just a friend? Because it kinda seems like you might've preferred to spend this time with her instead."

My blood ran cold. I froze.

It didn't work.

Suddenly, Elizabeth's eyes widened. Her mouth opened. "Oooh!"

She snapped her fingers. "I think I just remembered where I know you from! Have you ever been to a summer camp? Camp Pinewood? When you were like, sixteen?"

I stared at her, my mind racing. "Yeah. Yeah, I was."

"I knew it!" She laughed, sitting up. "Oh my god, Calvin! I had the biggest crush on you that summer. We had that whole thing, remember? We were sneaking off behind the cabins, making out by the lake. We were just starting to… you know, get serious, and then camp ended and we never exchanged numbers or anything."

My stomach dropped.

No.

"You were my first real kiss," she continued, grinning. "God, I thought about you for years after that. What are the odds we'd run into each other again? You've changed so much! I didn't recognize you!"

I felt like I was going to be sick.

Emma wasn't inside Elizabeth.

Elizabeth was Elizabeth. A girl from my past I'd barely remembered.

And Emma was still out there. Lost. Fading.

And I had no idea where.

"Hey." Elizabeth's voice pulled me back. She was looking at me, concern creasing her forehead. "Are you okay? It's fine, really. You don't have to tell me who Emma is. I get it."

I couldn't hold it in anymore. The tears came before I could stop them. "Emma is my wife."

Her face changed. "Oh."

"She's my wife," I repeated, my voice breaking.

Elizabeth moved closer, wrapping her arms around me. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay."

"I'm sorry," I choked out.

"Don't be." She held me tighter, stroking my hair. "Is that why you… Do I remind you of her? Is that what this was?"

"Yes. No. It's complicated."

"It's alright," she said softly, though I could hear the confusion in her voice. "You don't have to explain anything."

She looked lost in thought, like she was trying to piece together something that didn't quite make sense. But she wasn't angry. Just… processing.

I had no idea what to do. No idea where Emma was. No idea how to find her. I just froze, my mind blank, my body numb.

Elizabeth didn't leave. She stayed, holding me, her fingers running gently through my hair. We stayed like that in silence for a long time. The room grew darker as the afternoon faded into evening.

Finally, she spoke, her voice gentle. "I think… I should probably go home now."

I mumbled something about driving her back.

"No," she said, pulling back to look at me. "I'll take an Uber. You don't have to worry about anything."

She got up, finding her clothes scattered around the room. I watched numbly as she got dressed, pulling on her jeans, her sweater. She looked back at me, sitting on the edge of the bed, still naked, still crying.

She walked over, cupping my face in her hands. "Take care of yourself, Calvin."

Then she left.

I heard the front door close.

And I was alone.

---

Hey there! This was chapter 22 out of 28. Expect chapters regularly.

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