Isabella looked him right in the eye. “Don’t let us spoil your evening, but please eat something to regain your strength, hmm?”
What in heaven’s name could she mean by…? Oh hell, he’d thought he’d heard the door.
“Cozy,” Evan said as they approached the candlelit table.
“Very.” Heath glanced behind him, catching the conspirators watching them. Both ladies’ heads snapped back around, and they made exaggerated hand motions as though they’d been deep in conversation the entire time.
Sneaky bitches. What were they up to?
The server brought an appetizer of fresh scallops in a sinful wine reduction, and Evan ordered a Manhattan, which looked appropriately debonair in his hand as he leaned back in his chair, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned to reveal a peek of skin and fuzz.
Heath focused on his plate, but his mouth wasn’t watering for the food. Not when he’d rather lick the butter from Evan’s fingers every time he popped a piece of bread into his mouth.
Evan’s focus was on the view. The reflection of the candle flame flickered in his eyes, sparkles of jade amidst the golden brown. Heath let himself stare, even when Evan caught him doing it. Benefits of marriage, after all.
Evan’s mouth softened into a small smile, and he gestured between them. “I don’t know how to do this, either.”
“Do what?”
“Be normal.”
Heath put down his fork and laced his fingers together on the tabletop. When he’d hoped they’d touch upon his feelings, he hadn’t expected to start at the marrow. “I’m not following.”
Evan sighed and swirled the liquid in his glass. “I had a… we’ll call it an unusual upbringing. My life is anything but normal, and it fucks with my perception of the world.”
“Whomst among us?”
Tension ticked in the line of Evan’s jaw, but his eyes were somber. Tired.
“You seem pretty well-adjusted.”
Heath laughed. “Oh God. I forget how little we really know each other.”
“There’s been a lot of speculation on both sides, I guess.”
The embarrassment of how quickly he’d judged Evan lingered. He’d thought himself above such hair-trigger assessments. Sure, he indulged in moments of catty gossip with friends, but that was about surface things, unfortunate haircuts or terrible sweaters. Not the fabric of a person’s soul.
How many times had he told his students not to judge a book by its cover? Not to assume what someone else’s life was like, because you couldn’t know what a person was going through. He owed them an apology for failing to heed his own advice.
“I guess you might say my life has been pretty average,” he admitted with a shrug. “Grew up west of Boston. Mother was a librarian. Dad taught history. I was singing show tunes directly from the womb. There were growing pains, of course. Coming out officially as a teenager wasn’t something many people did back then, but I’m a godawful liar, so there was no getting around it. Otherwise, it was your standard life in the suburbs.”
“Sticking with my previous assessment. Well-adjusted.”
Evan’s smile needed to be tagged with a warning label:Direct exposure may liquefy innards.
The server interrupted, clearing the small plates and taking Evan’s empty glass. He ordered another, his eyebrows rising at the small noise Heath failed to contain.
“Last one. I swear.”
Heath glanced about the patio, avoiding that tempting lopsided smile. “I said nothing.”
“You don’t need to. Your face is very loud.”
“As I said, a terrible liar.”
The half-smile went full, and Heath quietly swooned.
“You’d make a terrible witness.”
