“You look great too,” I tell him.
He’s wearing a button-down shirt and a leather jacket with jeans. I’m glad I went with a pretty sweater and jeans instead of a dress.
He holds out his arm for me to take as we walk on the sidewalk. We’ve put salt down, so it’s not slippery at all, but it’s a sweet gesture.
“I thought we could go to Elm & Echo, if that’s okay with you,” he says when we reach his car.
“Oh.” I swallow and nod. “You’re not sick of it from working there?”
“Not at all. I love the atmosphereandthe food.”
“Okay, sure. Sounds good.”
Inside, I’m cringing because I don’t want to spend an evening on the alert for Camden.
But Bentley doesn’t see my reluctance. He smiles as he opens my car door. “Great. I had a sample of tonight’s specials, and they were so delicious, it made me excited to be at work on my day off.” He shuts my door and walks around.
The second we pull into the parking lot of Elm & Echo, I know this is a bad idea. Bentley has the kind of confidence that makes him easy to be around, sweet and sure without being too cocky. It’s not him that’s making my stomach twist. It’s the fact that we’re going into Camden’s orbit.
The last time I saw him wasn’t a disaster. Awkward, sure. But I can handle awkward.
Elm & Echo looks gorgeous. Soft lights spill out the windows, and the glisten of the moon bouncing off the water beyond the lights on the deck is enticing. My eyes scan every corner when we walk inside, preparing myself for the moment Camden appears.
“I’m so glad you agreed to go out with me,” Bentley says once we’re seated. He leans in conspiratorially. “I created a drink last week that is delicious, if you like oranges and pomegranates…and vodka.” He laughs.
I smile. “I do like those things.”
He waves at Katie, the bartender working tonight, and she waves back.
Bentley tells me about the dish he tried and a bourbon that just came in, but my head keeps snapping toward the kitchen entrance, the bar, the hallway to the office…
Nicole, our waitress, brings a bread basket and takes our drink order, and we go ahead and tell her what we’d like to eat too. I order the special that Bentley said was the best—the pistachio-crusted halibut with a truffle-pureed cauliflower and asparagus. Bentley orders the bourbon pork chops, and we decide to share a pear-berry salad.
Our drinks come, and Bentley is right—the drink is delicious. I tell myself to sip it slowly, and I’m in the middle of my third tiny sip when Camden comes out of the kitchen.
The air in the whole room changes.
He’s walking with that Camden Whitman swagger that I swear he’s had since the day I met him. And then he sees me.And he freezes. For a moment, I don’t know how long, we stare at each other across the room. Then he looks at Bentley, and his face hardens. His expression shifts to a scowl, and not a subtle one either.
It reminds me of the time I went out with Mitch Williams, who was friends with Jackson and Camden. The look on Camden’s face cut through me like a newly sharpened knife.
Back then it gave me a thrill, but it was short-lived, once I realized he wasn’t jealous at all—he was just irritated with me over something I could never figure out.
That’s how I feel now. Like our brief window of a peace treaty is over.
I close him out. I lean in and listen to Bentley. I ask questions and laugh at his stories. When he teases me about finishing my drink already, I tease him back, saying he must have put a magic potion in there. Slowly, the nerves melt off of me. The next time I catch Camden’s gaze from across the restaurant, still watching and glowering, I get a hit of adrenaline. I get another drink and feel warm all over. It’s easy to laugh, and Bentley’s right—the food is delicious.
Bentley reaches his hand out, and I take it.
“I’m having such a good time,” he says.
“I am too,” I say, and it’s true.
I’m just not sure it’s because of Bentley.
But then I see a gorgeous woman I don’t recognize walk up to Camden. She’s definitely not a local. He smiles politely at her, and her head falls back in laughter like he’s just said something hilarious.
I look away because I don’t want to see anymore, and before long, a dark shadow falls over the table. I glance up to see Camden standing there, his arms folded across his chest.
