“No.”
That’s it. That’s all he says.
“I have a sister. Evelyn.”
He looks straight ahead, and I swear, if he weren’t driving, he would have closed his eyes and heaved in a breath.
Damian pulls the car into a parking garage and deftly maneuvers it into a tight spot.
This neighborhood is… well, it’s very neighborhood-ish. Apartment buildings line the street, along with small, run-down-looking shops and restaurants. There’s nothing upscale or fancy about this side of the city.
I follow him to the edge of the garage where it meets the street and pull up short when he stops. He looks down at my classic black heels and glares. They aren’t particularly high, but the slingback style leaves my heel open.
“Are you going to be good in those ridiculous shoes?” he asks.
I bristle at his comment. That’s the second time he’s mentioned my choice of footwear, and both times to tell me that he disapproved. The snow is still piling up along the sidewalk, but I shrugat the mild inconvenience so that he doesn’t know how biting the cold is on my bare skin. “Yeah. I was going to walk all the way to my apartment in them. I’m sure I can make it to wherever this restaurant is.”
He nods, still looking at my feet. When he raises his head, a flash of heat morphs into a dangerous scowl. He leads the way back into the snow, walking down the street and around the corner. A beat-up Vietnamese place boasts an open sign, or “ope” since the “n” is burnt out.
Damian pulls the door open, and I don’t bother hiding my surprise that this is the place he’s taking me to.
“It’s good. You’ll like it.”
“Oh, no doubt. This is my favorite kind of place. I just didn’t expect you to like it,” I tell him honestly.
His lip twitches like he’s holding back a smirk. “Mark it down as something new you know about me.”
“No siblings. Likes hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese food.” I mimic writing it down like I’m taking notes.
The place is empty except for an older couple at one of the tables. It’s a tiny establishment with only enough room for four small tables and two larger tables.
We place our orders separately, each paying for our own. I’m glad that he didn’t try to pay for my meal after I told him that I didn’t want him to. It isn’t like I don’t love free food, because I do, but it felt important to have a boundary in place in this weird arrangement we’ve found ourselves in.
He gestures for me to choose a table, so I grab a small one in the back, as far away from the door as possible to avoid the icy blast every time it opens. And also, so that if anyone we knew walked by, they wouldn’t see us.
If Damian has any idea that I’m trying to hide us spending time together, he doesn’t say—or simply doesn’t care.
“Have you talked to the Vitales at all?” I ask.
“Just long enough for him to give me the details for next weekend. He’s refusing to talk business until we’re together.” A wave of frustration rolls off him.
The woman who took our orders brings out our meals and sets them down. Damian looks comically out of place in his perfectly tailored business suit, sitting at this plastic-topped table with a cafeteria-style tray in front of him. But he’s entirely unfazed by it, like he does this all the time.
“He says hello to you, by the way.”
“Who?” I’ve completely lost what we were talking about as I took in the image of him in front of me.
He stills with his chopsticks raised and glares at me. “Leon Vitale.”
Oh. Right. The reason we’re here together at all.
“If you talk to him again, tell him I’m looking forward to next weekend.”
“We’ve lied to him enough, don’t you think?” he counters.
He has his head down, fully immersed in his bowl of pho. I take the opportunity to stick my tongue out at him and make a face. It’s a quick reflex that I don’t even contemplate before it’s already done.
“I can see you,” he says, a hint of amusement lacing his voice.
