CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I’m a moron. It’s the single explanation for why I’m even considering leaving the apartment on my Friday off.
“You’ve already agreed to go, so you’ll have to come out sometime.” Aspen slumps against the bathroom counter beside me.
“Why did I agree to it?”
She jumps up to sit on the counter and leans against the mirror while giving me the once over. “Tell me again what happened in his car.”
My face heats at the allegation in her question. “We walked four blocks so he could drive me home two.” I still can’t get over the fact he drives the little car around even with parking. “Then we talked.”
“Uh huh. You ‘talked.’” She air quotes talked. “Remember I was here when you tried to sneak in the door that night.”
I’ve already explained this twice, but I try once more to make Aspen believe me. “I’m not kidding. I told him about my mom and the job thing." I don’t mention I cried for most of that conversation and Trey sat quietly beside me and rubbed my back. It was sweet, which is concerning. I can’t afford to start considering Trey sweet. "Then he walked me to the door.”
“And the goodnight kiss?” Both her eyebrows raise at the question.
I sigh. “A quick one. One the forehead.”
Aspen leans forward. “Tongue?”
“No, there was no tongue on my forehead.” I laugh at her serious expression.
“Well tongue or not, your outfit looks cute. The red sweater looks good with your hair and complexion.” She jumps off the counter and walks toward the kitchen.
I follow her. “The jeans are okay?” I’m a little self-conscious about my wardrobe choice, but a simple sweater and dark wash jeans felt like a good answer for a date with Trey. A date that I’m not sure is a date considering neither of us used the word. Technically he texted and asked to take me to a quick dinner tonight. That’s a date right?
“Yes, I’m serious. You look good.”
I stop by the kitchen counter to tuck in a stool and straighten a stack of mail on the counter. With nothing else to clean up in the area, I grab the almost full bag of trash and walk to the door. “I’ll take this out and see if he's here yet.”
Aspen leans across the kitchen counter with a knowing grin. “Have fun on your date. Remember what Marissa would say and make him work for it.” She waves from her position, but I only smile and shake my head in return.
By the second floor I almost turn around and forget the whole thing, but I still have this bag of trash to throw away. Aspen’s apartment’s a fourth floor walkup since we can’t use the elevator in the penthouse for normal everyday things. All the steps give me too much time to think.
For example, why the hell I agreed to this in the first place. With show time here, I remember all the reasons it’s a horrible idea. I shouldn’t give Trey another minute of my time, but I cave when he flashes me a little vulnerability. For a man who plays at perfect so much, it was apparent admitting he made a mistake with Mari was hard. Then there were all those words about us and the beach. He got to me.
In between my crying jags over my mom’s death and the lost job, Trey talked about his own family. While he described Finn’s family as supportive and loving, he was less than kind toward his own. Lester, his father, wasn’t around much and his mom jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend for years. Twenty years divorced, but they still don’t have a nice thing to say about one another. The whole affair didn’t sound stable for a young child. While his words were meant to help me through my own grief, they made me miss my mom more. She would have loved Trey.
I round the bend into the lobby right as Trey enters the front foyer with his eyes set on the apartment buzzers. “Trey,” I call out his name to save him the trouble. He spins on the tile floor and smiles when he sees me. “I have to drop this off.”
He closes the distance between us and takes the bag from my hand. “Let me.”
Before I protest he shoots out the side door and is back before I get more than two steps. I’m not sure if he just opened the door and threw it in the alley or if he actually made it in the dumpster, but I don’t question him.
“Are you parked out front?” I ask as we walk to the main door and out to the street.
Trey turns to our left and heads toward the bay. “No, I thought we’d walk.”
It’s barely past six, but the sky is already dark this late in November. The lights from shops as we pass by create shadows on Trey’s face casting him in different silhouettes. The street lights illuminate the small puddles from this afternoon's quick rain shower and I work to step over any water in our path. I don’t agree with it, but my body inches closer to his as we continue to walk. His jeans are looser than the khakis I’ve seen him in before. His thicker royal blue fleece hides the shirt underneath, but I suspect he changed after work. Trey doesn’t feel like the jeans-to-work kind of guy, even if it is a gaming company.
We walk a block in silence. Trey’s steps slow and we cross one last intersection before he pulls us to a stop on the other side of the Fairfield hotel. If I hadn’t been so impressed with the spacious hotel the first time I was here with my old boss Roger, I might not recognize it from this side angle.
A multi-faced golden statue sits next to a red velvet rope and a hostess stands in front of a rock wall. Above it all the word Tonga brightens the area in neon lights. I stand by the large “Please wait to be seated” sign as Trey checks in our reservation with the hostess. I have no idea where we are, but it’s an interesting setup for sure.
The blonde hostess walks to the large wooden double doors in front of me and pulls them open leading us through. “Welcome to the Tonga Room and Hurricane Bar.”
My eyes fall from her tall willowy frame to the area behind her once the doors are open completely. Polynesian, the first word to jump to the front of my mind for how the restaurant is decorated. As we walk to the table, I look around the square room full of bamboo-made tables placed underneath small thatched roofs made from large dried leaves.
