Brody smiles at me, making my stomach do that swooping, sudden-drop flutter, and heat rushes to my cheeks. I have to admit, it feels pretty real.
He’s taken off the baseball cap, and I can see his face properly now. Dark hair that’s slightly messy. Gray-blue eyes that seem to shift in the candlelight—storm clouds one second, ocean the next. A small scar above his eyebrow. The shadow of stubble along his jaw that I definitely should not be thinking about touching.
The waiter drops off our food, and it’s incredible. The fish is flaky and tender, tasting like the ocean but in a good way, not a fishy way. The vegetables are caramelized and sweet, with crispy edges that crunch between my teeth. The bread is warm and crusty, steam rising when I crack it open. I take a greedy bite and actually die a little bit.
“This. Is…” I chef’s kiss my fingertips.
Brody chuckles, shaking his head slightly.
“What?” I say, covering my mouthful of the life-changing fish with my hand.
“Nothing.” He shrugs, but he’s full-on grinning now, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Just you.”
I still, my heart catching for a moment, but he continues as though he hadn’t said anything.
“Tell me something,” he says, taking a sip of wine. “Something you haven’t told me yet.”
“I’ve basically told you my entire life story at this point. You know more about me than most people I’ve known for years.”
“Then tell me something small. Something nobody knows.”
Okay, Mr. Suave. I think about it, swirling my own wine and watching the candlelight reflect off the surface. “I guess…if you must know?—”
“I really must,” he says, inclining his head.
“When I was in college…I got a C in my required physical credit. Not because I didn’t try…but because I was justsobad at it.”
Brody’s lips quirk. “What was the class?”
I hide behind my hands, my cheeks blazing against my palms. “Badminton.”
Brody coughs a laugh. “Wait. Seriously?”
“Don’t laugh! I was the only person in the class who didn’t get an A. It haunts me!” Even now, the memory of flailing around the gym only to get popped in the eyeball by a plastic birdie is a little too much to think about.
And he’s full-on, eyes-watering, face-red laughing.
“Brody!” I feign upset, scowling at him.
“I’m—I’m sorry, Chloe,” he says, catching his breath. “I shouldn’t laugh.”
I give him my most stern expression. “No, you shouldn’t.”
He reaches across the table, his fingertips brushing my wrist, and my gaze snaps to his. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
My little brain is empty. All thought has left the building. What was I even pretending to be upset about? Badminton? AllI can think about is the way his fingertips trace over my wrist and curl into my hand, trailing electricity that seems to have completely short-circuited me. “It’s okay,” I think I hear myself say.
“Your turn,” I manage, my voice coming out slightly breathless. “Tell me something nobody knows.”
He’s quiet for a moment, his thumb still moving across my knuckles in that slow, mesmerizing way. The world around me turns to white noise as I watch his eyes sweep over our hands, the blue churning.
“I have this dread,” he says finally, his voice low. “That I’m going to end up like my father. That I’ll spend my whole life trying to be someone I’m not. That I’ll wake up one day and realize I’ve been performing for so long that I don’t know who I actually am anymore.”
I swear I stop breathing. That was not what I expected. His thumb stills against my fingers, and I give his hand a gentle squeeze. “Do you feel like you’re performing right now?”
He looks at me, and something changes in his expression—something raw and unguarded. “Not tonight.”
And now my heart is absolutely thundering in my chest. I’m pretty sure you could hear it if not for the music in this place—and I’m pretty sure my hand is sweating in his, but I don’t pull away. Because if I pull away, this moment ends, and I don’t want it to end.
