“Wow! I can’t imagine what it’s like for you over there, whereeveryoneknows you,” I said.
Owen seemed to hold back a beaming smile, but some of it gleamed in his eyes. The deep blue was somehow bluer. “In small doses like this it’s not bad, but it can get rough and ugly.”
“Women throwing their underwear at you like a rock star?” I taunted—myself probably, more than him.
He bunched his lips and kind of side-nodded in ayou can say so. “It’s mostly men and boys. Asking for selfies, not throwing knickers at me.” He laughed.
Would it be terrible to admit that the way he used the Britishknickerscreated a little puddle in mine?
The plates arrived a minute later, and we dug in.
“Are you dating anyone?” Owen asked between bites.
I arched a brow. “Why are you asking?”
“Just ... catching up.”
I shrugged, spearing a piece of zucchini. “No. I went on dates since Bradley and I broke up, but nothing that made me want to text my best friend in all caps.”
Owen’s amused glance drew a chuckle out of me.
After breaking up with Bradley, I tried dating apps. My strategy was to swipe left on any guy whose name began with a velar sound and to reveal in advance that I stuttered to those who matched. Some men continued chatting, some disappeared, some met me and had a gazillion questions about stuttering—my favorite was, “Is it hereditary?” because at least it proved the guy wasn’t just looking for a hookup. One guy told me after four dates that he couldn’t introduce me to his friends; and another loser I left without a ride home after he laughed and said I probably stuttered when I was “C... C... Coming.”
Owen’s fork hovered in the air before he set it down. His jaw tightened. “Can I tell you something?”
“You can try.” I smirked, chewing slowly.
“I didn’t like the way he made a fuss at the christening lunch. The table settings, the napkins, asking if the food was organic or sustainable or whatever the food police say.”
“Not everyone can be as easygoing as Bambi,” I shot back.
Owen scoffed, shaking his head with a wide grin—a wordlessyou got me.
“Models are part of the game, too?” I teased, tilting my head. “I’m surprised you even noticed him. We didn’t sit at the same table. Not that I’m defending him—he was an ass. But I really don’t think you’re in a position to give relationship advice.”
“Fair point, and the answer is probably yes,” Owen admitted with a half-smile, picking up a piece of pepper with his fingers. “But I was just looking out for you.”
“Because I’m Simon’s little sister?” I was pushing it, I knew I was, against every promise to myself. It wasn’t just my heart on the line, but his friendship with my brother.
“That, too.” He tilted his head, studying me.
A spark flared in my chest before I could stop it. I wanted it to bemorethan that. I wanted him to care, to be jealous, to want me like he didthatnight. Like it had meant something. Like it could still be something.No, Ruby, not ‘just’ sex.
A beat of silence stretched between us, laden with words unspoken. His gaze lingered, too searching, too knowing.
Before he could say anything—before I could risk hearing something I didn’t want to hear, or worse, something I did—I cleared my throat and forced a smile.Control the conversation, a learned strategy from my speech therapy.
“You know how I first met him? At the shop. He complimented our organic products and praised our teas collection. I used to tease him that he only got with me to get my employee discount.”
Owen’s lips curled in amusement, but something unreadable blazed in his eyes.
“He actually came into the shop the other day, a few weeks ago. Wanted to let me know he was getting married. Thought I’d better hear it from him.”
Owen leaned back, arching a brow. “Pretentious prick much?”
I laughed. “Right? I mean, I appreciate the gesture, but I was so over him when we broke up that I was relieved some woman took him and his organic napkin obsession off my hands.”
“That bad?”
