I tear off a piece of bread.
"You, more than Dex, caused the drama today," I say.
He shakes his head.
"No," he says calmly. "I just stopped pretending."
"Did you mean it?" I ask quietly.
He doesn’t hesitate.
"Every word."
No speech.
No hesitation.
Just certainty.
His fingers close around my hand across the table, and I suddenly my face feels hot and my stomach flips upside down.
"You realize," I say, "most people don’t confess their feelings in front of an entire elementary school."
A corner of his mouth lifts.
"Most people," he says, "don’t have their sexy wife standing in the back of the gym watching them the whole time."
I shake my head.
"You’re unbelievable," I say.
"You didn’t look like you were complaining," he says.
I look down at my plate, smiling before I can stop myself.
The waiter arrives with pasta like he just saved me.
We eat.
Talk about Maddie.
About how Dex will absolutely tell this story forever.
About the fact that Coach probably planned the skate metaphor weeks ago, and that it was actually a pretty good one.
Our wine glasses get quietly refilled. The restaurant hums around us with low voices, soft music, the warm clink of plates.
By the time dinner ends, the nervous energy has faded.
And something else has taken its place.
Something quieter.
Something steady, like we’re both finally relaxing into the date we probably should have had a long time ago.
"You know," I say, twirling pasta around my fork, "I used to picture this."
"Dinner with me?" Gabriel asks.
