The silence felt steely as they looked over the menu.
“I’ll have the lasagna.” Chloe set her menu on the table.
“Looks good. Me too.” Sam closed his and stacked it with Chloe’s. “Look, you want the truth—” He sat back as the server set a basket of bread on the table and two antipasto salads.
Next, he poured the wine, then took their order, smiling like a crazy man the whole time. Sam itched to get back to the conversation. A couple at the table across the way waved, trying to catch his eye. He gave a wry smile and waved back.
Please, leave us alone.
“The salad is good,” Chloe said, digging into hers, shoving lettuce and tomato into her mouth like she was on a fifteen-minute break.
“Chloe, the truth is, I had a mad crush on you.” He adjusted his knee brace, loose after their fast pace down First Avenue.
She scoffed and shoved in another forkful of lettuce. “You’re such a liar. I was the emo girl. You were the cool, popular guy, a jock with jock friends and cheerleaders shouting your praises every Friday night of the season. Batting their eyes at you in the hallway and class too.”
“Maybe…but Chloe, all my friends thought you were hot. And fun. That summer we hung out at my pool, after my folks split up, we all had crushes on you. But no one dared ask you out.”
“Right. Because I was soscary.”
He chuckled. “Yeah, if you must know, sitting on the edge of the deck in your black bikini—very sexy, by the way.” He finally elicited a smile from her. “Scowling at all of us through narrowed eyes and this ‘I’ll kick your butt’ look on your face.”
“Because all of you were judging me.”
“No one judged you. We wanted you there. Even the girls. When you stopped walking around with your proverbial dukes up, you were cool. Funny, smart, and you were always baking something. Between the black bikini and your sugar cookies? All the guys were in love.”
“I heard you all laughing behind my back.”
“When? Who?”
“That day some of the seniors from the football team came, and they wanted to know what I was doing there, said I was weird. You said, ‘She’s doing the best she can.’”
“Well, weren’t you?”
“That’s how you defended me? ‘She’s doing the best she can?’ You were my best friend. I almost didn’t let you in again. Only to get your texts yesterday.” Chloe sat up straight and saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain. You and I, we’ll never be a thing. I get it. I’m not cool enough for your football world.”
“Now you sound like a twelve-year-old. I invited you to my upcoming honors banquet, didn’t I? You’re more than cool enough.”
“Let’s face it, we’re still from two different worlds. We’re too different.” She gulped her wine, then scooted from the table. “I’m sorry, I’m really not hungry after all and I have to get up in”—she glanced at her phone—“seven hours, so I need to get to bed.” She fished around in her handbag for her wallet and dropped a couple of twenties on the table. “Will this cover my half?”
He reached for her arm. “Chloe, come on, stop. That was fifteen years ago.”
“And yet, it was also yesterday.”
He followed her as she retrieved her coat and exited the restaurant.
“Look, Sam, I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I do forgive you. But it did hurt. I thought maybe I was finally moving on from grief and death. Maybe I should just stay in my lane a little longer.”
“Sir, Mr. Hardy, your dinner?” The maître d’ came after them. “Your dinner?”
“Box it up for us.” Sam handed his credit card to the man. “If you have a basket, put it in there, please. Chloe—”
“See you at work, boss.”
She strode down the street while he waited for his credit card and his basket. He’d walk dinner back to the Beason house, then leave them alone. He’d known tonight was a risk, a long shot.
Still, her confession from fifteen years ago surprised him. Had he meant that much to her? Were they on a date that night? How many sincere women had he hurt over the years with his love ’em and leave ’em lifestyle—like the night with the woman whose sincerity had opened his eyes to his selfish ways?
The server returned with a basket full of fresh bread, disposable wine glasses, napkins, a plastic tablecloth, and their lasagna in boxes. Overkill, but he’d take it. The server also handed Sam the re-corked bottle of wine, which he tucked in the basket before heading out.
