I know it wasn’t a date—not a real date—but I couldn’t help myself. I brought a change of clothes to work so I’d be in a cute floral skirt and wedge heels for tonight’s dinner. Chicago Pizza and Oven Grinder deserved that. And it was worth it. What a night!
The small waiting area was packed when we arrived. The host studied our faces, just like I’d heard, and declared, “One hour.” I wondered if that was determined on real time or a cuteness scale. Maybe that’s why Josh never wanted to go. Unnecessarily mean, I know.
The wait didn’t bother us. I wanted to absorb the room and the experience, and suspected an hour might not be long enough—but something caught my attention. Two couples nudged each other, looked toward us, and started whispering. Alex noticed too. He turned slightly to his right, gently maneuvering me in front of him.
“You’re putting them in your blind spot,” I giggled. I do that a lot lately—very unnerving.
“They’re talking about me, but they’re not quite sure.”
My eyes trailed over to them.
“Don’t look.” There was a flicker of panic in his voice.
“I won’t.” And I didn’t.
“I must seem so strange to you, like I’m afraid of my own shadow. But I don’t like meeting other people’s expectations. I never measure up.”
“They have expectations?” My vision flicked to the couples. They were still tittering about us.
“Don’t be naive. Everyone has expectations.”
Alex was clearly upset—and it surprised me. Usually he’s so composed, almost cavalier. But tonight he was jumpy, all his nerves exposed to the moment.
I looked him straight in the eyes. “Focus on me. My only expectation is to enjoy a wonderful evening.”
“I need an Oreo,” he quipped.
“Glad you’re back.” I almost called him on the deflection. He’s done it to me enough times, but I sensed he needed some space.
Once we sat down, I told Alex about Hannah’s proposal and how I’ve wanted to come here for over a year.
“Why didn’t you say something? Or why not just come?”
“I don’t know. I remember her saying that the booths were so private you felt alone in a crowded room.”
Alex quirked his eyebrow.
“I’ll kill you if you start singing.” He held his hands up, and I continued. “It sounded so special that I just wanted to land here, not orchestrate it. And here I am.”
“Here you are.” He settled into the booth. “Are you disappointed?”
“Not at all.” I settled in too. “Now tell me your deepest secrets. We’re alone.” I said it flippantly, then couldn’t believe it. After that scene earlier? Besides, that street runs two ways. I paled, but for once Alex didn’t notice—he was two shades paler himself.
I rushed on. “I’m kidding. I would like to ask one thing, though.” I paused, wondering if even this was too personal right then. “How’d you come to know the Muirs so well?”
“They took me in—adopted me in a way.” He stopped, and I thought that was the end.
I waited.
“I didn’t go home Thanksgiving my freshman year. Christmas either. Pops was my English lit professor, and he invited me to stay with them for both holidays. I’d already spent countless hours in his office discussing books and writing. I thought I was so smart. Really I was an angry, lonely kid.”
“Why didn’t you go home?”
“Dad told me not to bother, and I couldn’t afford it on my own.” Alex looked at the table. “He refused to pay any part of school if I didn’t stay in state, and I got that—state schools are cheaper. But it wasn’t about the money—it was about control. He thought I was a dreamer. A waste. Still does.”
“He can’t. Look what you’ve done.”
“It’s not what he wanted. Dad’s happy, though. My brother toed the line. He lives a few blocks from my parents, takes his family over for Sunday dinner, and works in Dad’s tax firm.”
