I try to play it at least a little bit cool, but before I can speak, she slips her hand over mine on the table. Her fingers are warm to the touch. It’s ridiculous how fast my body leans into the contact, like every nerve under my skin recognizes her before my mind catches up.
“Thank you for bringing me,” she says quietly, all teasing stripped away. “It means a lot.”
I give her hand a squeeze, echoing what’s going on in my chest, just as Ana reappears, menus in hand, already talking before she reaches us.
“Tonight is a very good night,” she says, eyes bright. “We have caldo verde, the green soup, with chouriço from my cousin in California. Fresh clams, straight from the coast—Amêijoas à Bulhão Pato, you must try.” She taps her finger against the menu like it’s law. “Bacalhau à Brás or with cream, and of course grilled sardines, though sometimes we use Oregon salmon if it is fresher that day. And feijoada, my family recipe.”
She beams at Liv, ignoring the overwhelmed look on her face. “And for dessert, we have the pastéis de nata, delicious and creamy pastry. Always the best.”
Liv blinks at the list like Ana just recited a thesis. Slowly, her gaze shifts to me. “Jay makes the best feijoada.”
“He cooks for you? Jayzinho, I’m so proud.” Her hand clutches her chest as she beams at me. “Then you must try mine to compare. I need to know!”
“I can guarantee you and my mother make it better than me.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, that one is my favorite,” Liv replies. I like it far too much that I make her favorite anything.
I clear my throat and glance at Ana. “Can we maybe do a few small plates? A bit of everything for her to try?”
Ana lights up. “Of course! I bring caldo verde, some bacalhau, feijoada, and maybe a little salmon, yes? You share.” She taps her pen against the pad, delighted. “This is best way—family way.”
“Perfect,” I say, and I meant the food order, but the more I look at my date across from me, the more the word morphs into how I feel about her.
Chapter thirty-three
Liv
WhenAnafinallyclearsthe last dish, I slump back in my chair with a dramatic groan. “Okay, honest opinion?”
“Always,” Jay says, cleaning his mouth with his napkin.
“Your feijoada was better. Not by much but enough for me to know what I like most.”
He laughs, and those adorable crinkles appear right by his eyes. My chest warms. There’s a quietness to him that steadies everything it touches, and I find myself wanting to peel back the rest, to see what he keeps hidden beneath that calm.
“So… as this is a date, I get to ask date questions.” I toy with my napkin, glancing at him across the candlelight. “You’ve told me about Ana and this place, but tell me more about you and your family.”
He leans back slightly, thumb running along the stem of his glass. “I’m the youngest of four. Three sisters. They’ve all got kids now, too.”
He frowns, looking away from me. “You wanna tell me why you’ve suddenly gone all Rob Pattinson on me and brooding over there? Don’t you get on with them?”
Jay shrugs, his eyes fixed on the candle flickering between us. “No, I do, I adore them. I just haven’t seen them in a while. Not since…” His jaw tightens, like he’s debating how much to say, then he sighs and pushes through. “Not since I lost out on the Jaguars job earlier this year.”
The name sounds familiar. A football team, I think, but I don’t know the details. “Jaguars?”
“Pro football team in Portland.” His jaw flexes. “It was supposed to bethejob, everything I’d been building toward. I got close, close enough to spend a summer with them, and then it all disappeared in one email.” He takes a sip of wine, his throat bobbing. “After that, I couldn’t face them. Couldn’t face myself, really. Felt like I’d let everyone down.”
The words sit heavy between us, and I want to reach across the table, smooth the crease between his brows, tell him it’s okay, but sometimes reassuring someone isn’t what they need. “And you think the job you have now is what you want?”
He looks up, caught off guard at how directly I ask it. “Maybe at first,” he admits. “I took it because it was safe. Familiar. I told myself I’d just regroup for a bit, get my head straight. But then the ‘bit’ turned into months, and suddenly it felt easier to stay stuck than to try again.”
I nod slowly, because I know that feeling too well—the way comfort can start to feel like a cage if you sit in it too long. But I also know there’s a spark in him when he talks about photography, one that’s gotten brighter the more we talk about it. “What changed?”
He exhales, his gaze finding mine across the candlelight. “Someone reminded me there’s still something worth building. Even if it looks different than what I pictured.”
The words settle somewhere deep, quiet and unspoken, but heavy with meaning. The truth of it mirrors in my own chest. “Well I’m glad you met that person.”
His smile is genuine and lights up his whole face. “I am, too.”
