“And your brothers?” She pressed, setting her menu down and looking at me like she had all the time in the world.
“What about them?” I said, playing dumb, but she wasn’t buying it. “They weren’t exactly art kids, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Sure, but how were they in school? Straight-A types?”
I laughed, really laughed.
“Nope. Both jocks. Football players.” Her damn spell almost made me keep talking. About how sports were basically our family religion, how Sundays were all about football in my house, how I’d be the odd one out, coming in latefrom rehearsals, still in costume, only to hear my dad’s favorite sarcastic line:“Watch their footwork, Chris. It might help your tap dancing.”But I caught myself.
Instead, I cleared my throat and looked down at the menu. “We should order.”
“Yeah, of course…” She noticed she’d hit a boundary and decided not to push past it. But she wasn’t looking at her menu. She was looking at me, rightthroughme, like she knew exactly what I was going to say and didn’t.
When she went back to the menu, I noticed something was off. Her eyes flicked between the pages and the room, never stopping anywhere for long. Every so often, she’d slip her heel off, then back on. Over and over. I leaned in, lowering my voice.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Maybe it was the restaurant. Too much, too soon. Maybe I said or didn’t say something that touched a nerve. Or maybe her shoes were killing her. Whatever it was, she was far from comfortable, so I suggested, “We can leave if you want.”
“No, no.” She said too quickly, and I didn’t believe her for a second.
“Seriously,” I pressed. “If you’re not comfortable…”
“I’m fine…” She started, but the quiet murmur from a nearby table interrupted her.
I didn’t need to look. I knew the drill. A couple of people had recognized me, and the ripple effect had begun. From the corner of my eye, I could see a young woman leaning toward her parents, whispering:
“He looks older in person.”
My jaw tightened, but I let it go. I’d heard worse, and most days, I barely even noticed. But I guess it was all new to Jules. I could see her discomfort in her breathing. Her eyes darted toward the whispers, her foot slipping out of her shoeagain. I didn’t consider that she wasn’t used to constant attention, even in spaces that were meant to be private.
Our eyes met, and I saw she was trying to figure out if this kind of thing made me uncomfortable—listening to people dissect me from a distance. I kept my face as calm and neutral as I could, hoping it might ease her nerves. I wasn’t doing a good job, or she was even more insightful than I thought, because she seemed to know that, at some level, it still bothered me, yes.
We were silent for a minute before she leaned in.
“You know what…”
I set my menu down, giving her my full attention.
“Yeah?”
Her eyes flickered toward the back of the room.
“I saw a door back there. I think it leads to the roof.”
The roof?
I brought her here for privacy and because I knew exactly what to expect from this place. I was not about to wander into unknown territory. Her excitement was already fading with my silence.
She waved it off with a quick, “Ignore me.”
Her hazel eyes held a glimmer of disappointment that completely wrecked me.
I would have emptied my bank account, handed over the keys to all my cars and houses, hell, even the clothes off my body right there if it meant wiping that look off her face. Actually, I wouldn’t have minded that last one at all.
“No,” I said, locking eyes with her. “Let’s go to the roof.” She didn’t say anything, but her face lit up, and damn if it didn’t make me grin. I waved over a server. “But you’re eating the salmon!” I told her.
The waiter arrived, and I kept my tone as breezy as possible. “We’ll have two Maple Soy-Glazed Salmons served on the roof. And my usual bottle of wine.”
