“Why?” Ben asked.
“Because she assumes I care?”
Ben licked his lips, swallowing and gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. “Do you?”
“I don’t.” He reached over the center console and settled his hand on Ben’s thigh, giving the solid muscle a squeeze. “Not in the slightest.”
“Then why would she call and tell you?”
“Because she would care if I was seeing someone else.”
“Why?”
“Because the only reason we divorced was because of her cheating on me. She still wanted to be with me.” He leaned his head against the headrest and watched the lights of the city whir past while Ben drove. “She just wanted to be with everyone else too.”
“Her loss.”
He smiled softly. “I’m glad you think so.”
Ben rested his hand on top of Thomas’s and they finished the drive to the restaurant in silence. It wasn’t awkward, and Thomas found he enjoyed the ease of it. The restaurant was cute and cozy, located up the hill from the city in a small and quiet tourist town. Thomas didn’t often make it up there, but Ben seemed to know the streets well enough.
“Ready?”
Thomas nodded and followed Ben out of the car and into the restaurant. Ben had made reservations, which sent a pang of feeling straight through Thomas’s chest. He hated to compare Ben to Jennifer, but he couldn’t think of a time in their years-long marriage that she had ever taken the initiative to schedule a date for him. At the time, it hadn’t even bothered him, but being on the receiving end was exciting, he realized.
They navigated through a maze of café-size tables to a small booth in front of a window. They sat opposite each other and Thomas settled in with a quiet sigh.
“This is nice,” he said.
Ben flipped open the menu and looked up at him. “Is it?”
“I’ve never beentakenon a date.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
Ben leaned back, shoulders wide and head tilted back. “I like that I get all of your best firsts.”
“Best?” he teased. “That’s yet to be seen.”
“Ouch.” Ben dropped the menu and clutched his chest, pretending to be injured. “You wound me. And here I was, about to ask you to choose a wine.”
“Not a sommelier, then?”
“Not so much.”
“I should have known with your gin and tonic order on our last outing.” He turned his attention to the wine list at the back of the menu, searching for a bottle that would be good enough to go with whatever they decided to order.
“What’s wrong with gin?”
“Are you serious? What’s wrong with gin?” He rolled his eyes. “It tastes like paint thinner.”
Ben shoved his menu forward. “I can’t believe you’re over there saying I have no taste.”
“To each his own.”
“Gentlemen,” the waiter interrupted their back and forth. “Can I get you started with some drinks this evening?”
