It’s his Robbie smile. The natural, truly happy one that always spears my heart. The one that says he loves me, even when I’m being unreasonable.
Now that I’ve seen that smile on his face while he has my dick in his mouth, it punches extra hard.
The drive to Watchfire is mostly silent, and I am beyond ready to escape by the time he pulls up in front of the restaurant.
“Oh, hey,” he says as I slide down. “Just so you know, I have plans tonight.”
The ground rushes up to meet me extra hard.
“Plans?”
“Yeah,” he says, faintly apologetic. “At seven. So if you were hoping to grab dinner or whatever…”
“Oh.” My voice sounds hollow to my own ears. “No. I mean, yeah. I mean… that’s great. For you. I might make some plans too.”
Robbie grins and shoots me a wink. “I’m hoping you do.”
By the timethe dinner rush rolls around, I am in possibly the worst mood of my life. Worse than the time junior year when Holden told Patrick Minehan I still cried duringThe Lion King.
Everything Rocco does is wrong. That’s a given. His pesto is salty. His chowder’s not salty enough. His shaping of the bread dough for our rustic boules is tooboule-ish and notrusticenough.
“Boss,” Rocco says carefully after he clocks out. “You sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’mpeachy,” I snap. The man has no idea how close he’s come to being fired a thousand times over for gross negligence today.
He’s a terrible chef. The worst.
How I’ve employed him for four years without realizing it is beyond me.
He exchanges a shrug with one of the line cooks and skedaddles. I can’t say I blame him.
But of course, once he’s gone, the torture only intensifies. Is he going straight to Robbie’s house? Probably not, since Robbie said seven. Is he heading there now? Is he knocking on the door? Is Robbie leading him inside to the sofa, where we’ve spent a hundred evenings, or the bedroom, where last night he?—
I can’t. I literally cannot think of this.
Jana finally coaxes me to tend the bar for a little while—a job I can do one-handed… sort of—which is probably safer for everyone. That’s where I’m standing when Perky Halloran walks up, big glasses glinting and mustache twitching up in a smile.
“Ames!” he says. “How’s the arm?”
“Fine,” I mutter. “What can I get you?”
“Not a thing! Not a thing. I’m just here picking up a takeout order, and Jana said it’ll be out in a minute. Poor David has to work late tonight, so I’m bringing him a treat.”
I make a grumpy harrumphing noise that reminds me of my own father—a sobering notion. “So he’s poor David now? Last time we talked, he’d donated your romance novel, and he was public enemy number one.”
Perky blinks at me, then laughs delightedly. “Oh,that. Of course, I forgave him ages ago. To err is human, as they say.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Well, notjustlike that. I was mad for a solid week.” Perky’s nose wrinkles like a rabbit’s. “You may not know this about me, kiddo, but I can be a trifle… dramatic.” He says the last word in a hushed whisper. “I can even overreact from time to time.”
“You don’t say.”
“Mmm. David says it’s because I have a romantic soul and feel things deeply.”
I huff. “I bet.”
“David’s a wonderful man. The rock to my storm, as it were. And I try not to take that for granted. But when you’ve been together as long as we have, one does sometimes want to feel… seen. Coveted.Chosen.”
