“You seem surprised.”

“No. Just really wishing I hadn't yelled at you now,” Tate replied. He laughed again, loudly. She frowned. Something wasn't right. Her universe felt like it was tilting to the left.

“It's fine. I wasn't paying attention, I shouldn't have just barged in here. I just thought ..., thought I saw something,” he told her.

“I should probably get back to work,” she said, staring in to his eyes. His blue, blue eyes. He squeezed her elbow and then let it go. She took a couple steps away.

“You probably should. See you around,” he said. She nodded and walked off.

See you around.

Tate stopped breathing. Almost stopped moving. She made it to the end of a short hall and then stepped to the side, pressing her back against a wall. She felt like she was going to hyperventilate. It was ridiculous. It couldn't be, that guy said his name was Kraven. Not Kane.

She leaned to the side and peaked her head around the corner. He was still standing there, his hands in his pants pockets, looking down at the mess. She studied his profile. Dark hair. Strong features. Light eyes. Broad shouldered, and tall, probably like six-foot-two, or so. Very sexy. So good looking ..., she felt like if she stared at him for too long, she'd go blind.

Oh my god.

She hurried off, pushing her way through the other waitstaff till she found one of the event coordinators. The poor girl looked like she was on the verge of a nervous break down, but Tate didn't care. She had to know something.

“Who is hosting this event?” she demanded.

“We went over this earlier, Kraven and Dunn,” the girl responded.

“Yes, I know that – what are their names, Kraven and Dunn? Their full names?” Tate asked, struggling not to shake the girl.

“Never address the hosts by their first name, call them -,”

“Just tell me their goddamn names!” Tate snapped. The woman began flipping through pages on a clipboard.

“Wenseworth Dunn and ..., hmmm, let me see,” she kept flipping. It took forever. “Ah! Kraven. Jameson Kraven.”

Jameson Kraven. Not Kane. Still, what are the chances!?

Tate didn't have time to ponder it – another coordinator rushed in and clapped them all to attention. They were handed trays and sent out in to the fray. Tate balanced a platter of crab cakes on her palm and made her way in to the crowd of suits and cocktail dresses.

She didn't want to see him, but her eyes kept searching for him. She hadn't thought about Jameson much during all the time that had passed since that crazy night; except for when she was alone in bed. Or the shower. Sometimes on the couch.

But other than that, he had been absent from her mind. He had scarred her to a certain extent. For a little while, right after, her silly heart had hoped and prayed he would get in touch with her. “I will if I want to,” he had said about seeing her. Very soon, it became apparent that he didn't want to – he never contacted her. Then her life had gotten so crazy, Tate hadn't had time to dwell on him, she was too concerned with figuring out where her next meal would come from, or how she was going to pay her rent, to care about Jameson Kane. He hadn't ever really been anything to her. Just a moment in time, that had happened to change her life forever.

She served crab cakes and shrimp balls, delivered drinks and took empty glasses. She smiled and flirted, encouraged everyone to drink more, and assured them that everything tasted amazing. She knew she didn't look as polished as most of the other waiters, but sometimes that worked to her advantage, especially with uptight suit types. They saw her nighttime makeup and mussy hair, and tended to think naughty thoughts. Naughty thoughts equalled bigger tips – and in this case, where the tips were pooled together, it meant more for everyone. So she worked it.

After the toast – which she made sure to miss – the place started to thin out. No one was eating anymore, and they were encouraged to not serve anymore alcohol. She had busied herself with clearing off tables, starting in the back corner, when she heard a noise behind her.

“It is you, right?” he asked. Tate sighed and stood upright.

“I was wondering that myself,” she replied, slow to turn around. Jameson was smiling at her.

“God, you look so different, I didn't even recognize you at first. How long has it been? Six years?” he asked.

“More like seven. What's with the Kraven?” she asked, holding up a champagne glass with the etching facing him. He chuckled.

“Mother's maiden name – Jameson Kraven Kane. Has a nice ring,” he explained.

“Makes sense.”

“Are you a waitress?” he asked. Tate laughed.

“Like I said, I just wear aprons for fun,” she responded. He made her uncomfortable. Tatum didn't get uncomfortable anymore, so it was a foreign feeling.

“Cute. So do you just work catering gigs?”

“Among other things.”

“Like what?'

“I'm a bartender on the weekends. Temp a lot. Walk dogs. Taught yoga at a retirement home the other day. Do bicycle tours, walking tours, riverboat tours -,” she started to list off when he held up a hand.

“Tours. I get it. I thought you were going to Harvard. You were gonna change the world, or something,” he remembered. She laughed again.

“Once upon a time. But then I had this epiphany – I fucking hated school. I hated my life. I hated my parents. They pretty much hated me, so it worked out great. I left school and got a job,” she recapped her life.