“Simple things like how much I miss her.” He looked down at Gemma. Her eyes met his. “How beautiful she is to me. Sometimes, I’ll send lines of poetry.”
“Your own poetry?”
“No. The poetry of people much more talented than me.”
“For example?”
“Cedric, you're officially prying now,” Gemma said. She was plainly trying to save him from being caught in a lie. He was grateful to her for running defense for him, but he wouldn't have mentioned poetry unless he was equipped to back up his claim.
“It’s fine,” Jude told her. “I remember several of the lines I sent you.”
“For example?” Cedric prompted.
“‘You need but lift a pearl-pale hand,’” Jude quoted to Gemma. “‘And bind up your long hair and sigh; And all men's hearts must burn and beat; And candle-like foam on the dim sand, And stars climbing the dew-dropping sky, Live but to light your passing feet.’”
“Who wrote that?” Cedric asked.
“William Butler Yeats,” Jude answered.
“Another,” Cedric encouraged.
“‘The spring sun shows me your shadow, the spring wind bears me your breath, you are mine for a passing moment, but I am yours to the death.’ That's by Rosamund Watson.” And people said English wasn’t practical. He'd majored in literature as an undergrad.
“I'm melting all over again.” Gemma kissed him on his cheek, then smoothed back a few strands of his hair.
She was only touching him in the ways they'd agreed on in their meeting with his FBI superiors. Her physical affection toward him wasn't real but itfeltreal and affected him as if it were. The dynamic between them inside this restaurant was . . . great. Somehow, deeply right. Except, it wasn't right. It was an act. The thing he'd been warned about repeatedly in undercover training—reality blurring with fiction—was happening.
Their server arrived with a tray of drinks.
Gemma removed her hand from him in order to accept her glass from the woman and the rational part of him was relieved. The irrational part of him was sorry.
They kept up exactly the type of conversation he would’ve expected for a girlfriend and boyfriend out to dinner with her cousin and her cousin's friend.
Cedric asked about Jude's life and job, but only in the most general way. At no time did he pry into Jude's knowledge of the perfume business or appear to be in a hurry to sell his secrets. It seemed Cedric's goal for this outing was simply to get to know Jude.
If Cedric was giving out pass/fail grades, Jude suspected he'd get a pass. Jude had established a good rapport with the Frenchman.
Vincent, on the other hand, didn’t appear to like him or anyone.
Hopefully Jude had done enough with them both to make Cedric feel comfortable communicating directly with him going forward. If so, Gemma wouldn't need to remain in the mix, which would be simpler for Jude and safer for her.
Once they'd paid, the four of them walked into the now-dark, now-cold air and congregated next to a standing heater while the valet jogged off to retrieve Cedric's car. Jude asked for Cedric's number.
“Sure. Let's exchange.” Cedric unlocked his phone, opened a blank contact screen, and passed it over.
Jude did the same. They entered their details and passed their phones back.
“I’m going to extend my schedule and stay a couple more days,” Cedric announced. “How long are you in town?” he asked Jude.
Gemma had mentioned that Cedric typically returned home on Sunday. But he’d just used the phrase“a couple more days.”“Until Tuesday,” Jude said to be safe.
“I can't remember, Gemma. Did you say you two are free Sunday night?” Cedric asked. Fortunately, Cedric wanted to see them again. Unfortunately, he wasn't ready to move forward with Jude alone.
“Ronan's receiving a photography award at his college that night. I was planning to have dinner with the family after but since Jude's now in town, I'll skip the dinner part this time. All that to say, we'll be free to meet you at eight.” She'd handled that like a pro.
“Good. Eight then. Let's go to that little Italian place in Bayview.”
“Pasta Bella is tiny.”
