I feel about as surprised as I did when Aiden dropped hisMarry mebomb. I’m pretty sure I look briefly over my shoulder to see if he’s talking to someone else. But Aiden’s looking right at me, hands in his pockets, as big and as forbidding as always. “Uh. Okay.” Points to me, obviously, for being consistently inarticulate tonight.
Aiden offers a short nod and turns away from me, walking over to the table where our friends sit. Once I figure out how to engage the muscles of my jaw enough to close my gaping mouth, I head over to gather the darts from the board, taking my time. Kit’s at my back when I turn around. “Do you want to stay here with him?” She looks as serious as a heart attack, and I love her for this, for the way she looks out for me. “Because Greer and I will stay. We can help—I don’t know.” She wrinkles her nose, obviously still displeased that I’ve agreed to this arrangement. “Smooth the way.”
I offer a weak smile, squeeze her forearm in thanks. “No, no. I think maybe this is his attempt to call a truce. Make it easier onthe weekends.”
She looks over at him, her face somehow both suspicious and contemplative. “He’s a little—um. Remote.”
“That’s kind.”
Kit leans in, lowers her voice. “Charlie says this is the first time he’s ever agreed to come out with them after a shift. She says she thought he only spoke in monosyllables for an entire month when he joined their crew.”
“That sounds right.” But when I look over, he’s talking to both Ahmed and Charlie. Judging by the tightness around his jaw, the way his brows slash over his eyes, he’s talking about me, about how he’s going to suffer for the greater good by actual sharing a meal with the harridan he’s stuck himself with for the next few weeks. “I’ll be fine, Kit,” I say, even though I don’t feel fine. I feel like my face is going to get stuck this way, in this perma-everything’s-great-fake-smile. Kit leans in, hugging me hard, and says in my ear, “You’re doing enough for him, Zoe. You know that, right?”
“Sure.” I pull back and widen my smile, just in time for Aiden to return to my side.
It’s a good ten minutes of goodbyes, nice-to-meet-yous, where’d-you-park-the-cars before everyone’s on their way and Aiden and I are settled in a back booth, both of us switching to water while he looks over the menu and I wait, hands folded, for him to decide. When Betty comes by to take our orders—I don’t miss that she’s not serving this section, so I assume Greer’s insisted she check up on me—Aiden gets a BLT, and since I’ve already had a good many of those fries from earlier, sitting heavy in my stomach with nerves, I opt for a cup of Betty’s tomato soup.
“So you’re always a light eater,” he says, once Betty has winked andshimmied away.
“Are you going to be in charge of what I eat too?”
He clears his throat, shifts in his seat. “No. Sorry. We—ah—we have trouble talking to each other, I guess.”
“Youguess?”
He leans forward, sets his elbows on the table, and clasps his big hands loosely together.
“Last weekend, on the ride out, you said we should try getting to know each other a little before—before this whole thing began.” He looks down at his hands, runs one thumb across the other. “You were right.”
My chin lifts automatically, even though I know I should be gracious here. Before I can think of something to say to convey such graciousness, Aiden speaks again. “Last weekend wasn’t good, in terms of believability. I think people buy that you’re my fiancée, but I don’t think they believe you’re real happy about it.”
“Oh, soit’s my fault?”
“That came out wrong.”
“You’re absolutely right it did. You barelylookedat me. You hardly spoke. We didn’t even manage a single gestureof affection.”
His lips flatten into a line, his eyes looking at the door, around the room, anywhere but at me.
“Maybe I should get my foodto go,” I say.
“Don’t. I’m sorry. Iamtrying.”
When he looks at me, his face grave and his eyes sad, all the fight goes out of me, and I’m back there in his parents’ living room, feeling like I’d do anything to give him, his family, just a little resolution. “I know you are,” I say, my voice quiet. “It’s not an easy situation.”
“Let’s just—try having a meal together. Talk like adults. You can tell me about all the people you’ve hustledplaying darts.”
“I’ve never hustled anyone. I’m completely up front about my skills. It’s not my fault if most guys don’t take my word for it.”
There’s an awkward lull, two people not used to talking with each other pleasantly. “So, uh. You said you went to USC?”
“Yes.” My voice is still too clipped, too unthawed. “And you went to Wisconsin? That’s pretty far from home,” I say, hoping that shifting the focus off me will help warm me up.
He swallows, looks over my shoulder and back down at the table before he answers. “I had a football scholarship there, but got injured pretty early on.”
“That’s too bad.” I sound casual, but inside I feel disproportionately thrilled that he’s speaking to me at all. It’s not comfortable, butit’s something.
“Thought about dropping out, but stayed on, worked with the team on training and rehab stuff.”
