I cross my arms over my chest and put my chin in the air.
Rowan smirks, some of those pearly teeth showing, and that blue in his eyes shining like the sunlight bouncing off the ocean.
“Damn you,” I hiss and stomp my foot.
“You’re so…”
“What?” I snap, eyes narrowed and nostrils flared.
“You’re right,” he says. “Those are my favorite movies.”
I roll my eyes. “And here I thought you were always a total fucking weirdo for naming your restaurant Beetlejuice.”
He gapes at me. “It is not weird.”
“It’s fucking weird, Rowan,” I mumble and lean back against the building, feeling my ears and the tip of my nose go numb.
“What’s going on in your head tonight, Natalia?” he asks softly, his voice low and tender. His hand slowly reaches up, inching closer with each breath until he tugs at a curl, letting it bounce back up.
I love when he does that. I never tolerate anyone touching my hair—it’s a sacred thing for me, and quite fucking annoying. But the way Rowan does it, just a gentle tug to admire the bounce, is like the utmost appreciation for my hair type.
“Just needed air,” I rasp, and his hand drops.
“I’m sorry I got us into this,” Rowan says, leaning back beside me. “I should have minded my own business.”
“I’ve been telling you that for years.” I scoff.
Rowan huffs a laugh, his eyes down at his fingers where he fidgets. “I am sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.”
He exhales what sounds like a quiet breath of relief. “You need another minute?”
I shake my head. “No, let’s not keep them waiting,” I say and push off the wall. “I just want to get to bed.”
“Let’s go.” I step in front of him and he settles afeatherlight hand at the small of my back as he pulls open the door for me.
At our table, my dads are smiling and laughing together. Utterly in love—the way they have been my entire life. Dad’s eyes flick to me and he smiles. “There she is. You okay, sweetie?”
“Yeah, Dad, all good.” I paste on a smile.
Daddy stands first and grabs his coat. “Rowan, thank you again.Really. I hope the next time we come back, we can do this again.”
Rowan’s grin is nothing if not a bright supernova that reaches his eyes. “Whenever. You are both always welcome.”
“All right then,” Dad says, buttoning his coat and tying his scarf. My parents toss around morethank you’s—enough to make the word sound a lot less like English and more like gibberish.
“Sweetie, we’re okay seeing you tomorrow if you want to stay with Rowan,” Dad says.
“No, no, it’s okay.” I’m quick to answer. “I-I’m tired and I’ve had a long day. I see him every day anyway.” I chuckle to lighten the mood, hopefully my own.
I turn to face Rowan, peering up at him. I take a selfish moment to appreciate the natural beauty he is—the golden hair, dirty blond thick brows, the full rosy lips, the cheekbones, the hair growing around his usually cleanly-shaven jaw. Rowan’s hand is still on the small of my back, and I inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering at the warm contact as I say, “Goo—Goodnight. Um…” I stretch my neck and brush my lips over his jaw. “I’ll, um, see you tomorrow.”
A half smile. “Tomorrow, sweetheart.”
My heart does a strange little flutter.
Sweetheart.
