I could tell her the truth. Could acknowledge every mistake I’ve catalogued in my head over the past four days. Instead, I take the coward’s way out.
“What else would there be?”
She lets out a frustrated breath. “Forget it.”
She turns to go back to her desk, but I stand and move to block her path. I can’t let her walk away thinking I don’t understand.
“You’re right,” I admit. “I was out of line.”
She scoffs and says, “Out of line doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. Truly sorry. Not just for the kiss, but for all of it.”
She studies my face, searching for sincerity. I hold her gaze and let her look.
“Gifts aren’t going to fix this,” she finally states. “You can’t just throw money at a problem and expect it to disappear.”
“Then tell me what will fix it.”
“I don’t know.” She sighs and uncrosses her arms to hold up the box. “But not this. Not flowers and jewelry and whatever else you’ve got planned.”
I consider her words. She’s right. I’ve been approaching this like a business negotiation—identify the problem, apply resources, and achieve the desired outcome. But she’s not a deal to be closed. She’s a person I’ve hurt.
“Have dinner with me,” I propose.
She blinks. “What?”
“Dinner. Tonight. Not as a bribe or an apology gift. Just… dinner. A chance to talk like two adults instead of dancing around each other all day.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’ll keep my hands to myself. Scout’s honor.”
“Were you ever actually a scout?”
“No. But the sentiment stands.”
She chews her bottom lip, considering. I wait, giving her space to decide.
“Fine,” she relents at last. “Dinner. But somewhere public. And we’re going Dutch.”
“Absolutely not. I’m paying.”
“Then I’m not going.”
I sigh. “Fine. We’ll split the check. But I’m choosing the restaurant.”
“Deal.”
At seven o’clock, I take her to a quiet Italian place I know in the West Loop. It’s intimate but not romantic, upscale but not pretentious. The kind of place where we can actually hear each other talk.
The hostess seats us at a corner table. Kirsten orders a glass of Pinot Grigio while I get a whiskey neat.
“So,” she begins once our drinks arrive, “you wanted to talk.”
“I wanted to apologize properly. Face to face, without the barrier of expensive gifts.”
“You’ve already apologized.”
