His chestnut hair was immaculately gelled, the way it always was when he was being Professional. It didn’t matter that I had been with him earlier—my heart was making up for lost time after our week apart by flipping over in my chest and sending shivers down my arms as he stood, pulling me in for a sweet, chaste kiss.
“Thanks for inviting me to meet your friends,” I said, leaning into his touch.
He pulled me back and surveyed my ensemble. “Good shirt choice. I was worried we wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation over the stuff you usually wear.”
I touched my fingertips to the bland peach I’d picked. Boring and soulless. But mature. “Har har. You assume lawyer conversation is worth listening to.”
I scooted over in the leather booth to make room for Darren to slide in. The rest of Darren’s posse arrived shortly after as one—was it customary for lawyers to travel in packs? Darren rolled through the introductions, and I was met with a firm handshake from each of them in turn.
After several minutes of what appeared to be chummy work banter, they all got to ordering, and I was pleased with my own resolve in ordering a garden salad.
“So, lovebirds,” Teresa Lombardo—one of the few names I remembered—addressed me and Darren during a brief break in the nonstop conversation, “I think we’re all dying to hear the sweeping love story that is how you both met. We’ve only ever heard bits and pieces.”
I reached for Darren’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Yeah, Darren, howdidwe meet?”
He glanced out at the table at large. “We were friends in high school,” he explained in what I had come to recognize as his lawyer voice. “I was class president and he was a horse nerd. Bit of a chubby duckling the first four years, but then ...”
“He turned into a swan,” Marcia Lopez finished with a sigh. “Hedid, look at him.”
I flushed, waving away the compliment. Less a swan, more of a crested mallard.
“We danced around each other for a few years after that, slowly discovering that there was something else between us,” Darren said with a dazzling smile. “And now here we are. I realized a few months ago that it was time to grow up and settle down.”
The lawyers present all but swooned at his tale, and I swatted his arm. “I’d tell you to quit lying, but this version is flattering, so I’ll allow it.”
He painted such a pretty story; his friends couldn’t have any idea how we really happened. And how he told it was almost—mostly—true. Except the suggestion that Darren had waited until I lost weight and had a growth spurt near the end of college. He’d had my virginity by the time I’d turned sixteen.
But even that hadn’t made it official between us—Darren would come to me when he wanted, and I would hold out hope that maybe this time he’d want to make our arrangement more permanent. It had taken years before I finally won.
One of the other lawyers whose name had escaped me in the flurry of introductions addressed me directly. “So Lucas, what have you been up to lately? How’s work?”
I grinned at them across the table. “Well, I just got back from my cousin’s wedding in Vancouver, which was great, but I missed it here. I took some great photos to add to my portfolio, though—”
“They want to know about your work, Lucas, not your hobby.” Darren’s arm snaked around my shoulders as he smiled at me.
I gave them the tried-and-true The End is Neigh spiel, figuring that brevity was probably the move here. There were politeoohsof interest, but no follow-up questions.
The food arrived shortly after that, and I did my best to keep up with the conversation that Darren had re-launched, but was subsequently lost in a sea of legal jargon as they discussed whatever it was that copyright lawyers usually discussed.
The waiter returned to our table to collect our plates. “Can I interest anyone in dessert today?”
I bit my lip as everyone else ordered chocolate cake, orcrème brûlée, or tiramisu. Cresson Cher was infamous for its rich desserts, but ordering one would be an absolute nail in the coffin of progress I’d made this month. “A plate of fruit please,” I requested when the waiter turned to me. “Raspberries and grapes, if you have them.”
“We just got some fresh ones in today,” he said, scribbling in his notepad. He flashed me a grin. “Are you sure you don’t want to go with something more indulgent, sir? I could tempt you with a sinful chocolate pots de crème? It’s one of our standards.”
God, that sounded delicious. But the final button on my peach shirt was hanging on by a thread, which meant that I already owed myself another two-hour session at the gym if I had any hope of Darren—
“Honestly, as much as I’d love to be tempted, I’m good with the fruit, or my personal trainer’ll kill me.” I lent the waiter a bright smile, because it wasn’t his fault I had little to no self-control. “Thank you, though. I’ll let you tempt me next time.”
The waiter shrugged, smiled, then returned to the kitchen.
“Wow.” Darren was staring at me, his wineglass halfway to his mouth.
“What?”
He shook his head, swallowed the rest of his drink, and rejoined his coworkers’ conversation.
After the meal, everyone began shuffling toward the door, each person shaking my hand again before they left as a group.
