He doesn’t reach for the wine list, and when the server comes by, he orders water, so I do, too.
When the server leaves, my gaze flicks to the bar again and immediately fixes on a new arrival who has just settled onto a counter stool—a figure with long, denim-clad legs and a superhero breadth to his shoulders beneath his red-and-black flannel shirt. His hair is glossy black, slicked back but still voluminous, as if he tried to tame the unruly waves but couldn’t quite manage it.
Wait, I know the tattoos on that brown forearm.
Oh, fuck.
Heathcliff is here.
Is he actually stalking me? How else would he end up at Moretti’s on the very night of my date with Edgar?
“Cathy?”
I yank my attention back to Edgar. He’s looking at me expectantly, like he just said something and wants me to reply.
“Sorry. I zoned out for a minute. Long day. Could you repeat whatever you just said?” I give him my best Cathy Earnshaw smile, the one I’ve been told gives Natalie Dormer vibes. I wasn’t sure who that was until three different men mentioned the resemblance and I finally looked her up, which resulted in me binge-watchingThe Tudors.
The smile seems to work on Edgar. He lights up and leansforward. “I just asked if you’d read any good devotionals lately.”
“Oh, um…I’m pretty busy. Not much time for reading.”
“Oh. I can recommend a few…” And he begins listing off titles. I nod, pretending to commit them to memory. In reality, everything merges into a saccharine slurry of words likelight,water,honey,daily,beautiful,wisdom, andgrowthinterspersed with the authors’ names.
During Edgar’s speech, someone comes up behind Heathcliff and taps his shoulder. Heathcliff turns to greet him—and sees me.
A thrill races over my body as his dark eyes lock with mine.
Then he turns away, casually resuming his position at the bar, only now he’s slightly angled toward the newcomer, who settles in beside him and orders a drink.
So Heathcliff isn’t here stalking me. He’s meeting someone. The guy’s wearing a suit and he’s got a leather briefcase. Wonder what kind of meeting it is.
Shit, I’m ignoring Edgar again. I smile encouragingly and nod, then quickly adjust my expression to one of sympathy as I tune in and realize he’s telling me that one of the devotional authors he mentioned is actually the founder of the group he worked with in Zambia. Something about bringing relief to starving children.
“That’s amazing,” I murmur, scanning the menu. “Oh, look, they have calzones.”
Right after I say it, I realized how callous that sounded.Poor starving kids—look, calzones! Really, Cathy?
“Sorry,” I gasp. “That was so awful of me.”
Edgar’s warm blue eyes meet mine, sympathetic and kind. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean it like that. You’re a good person, Cathy. You should come with me on a mission trip sometime—as part of the group,” he adds quickly.
“Isn’t it expensive?”
“You have to raise some of the money, sure, but then sponsors pay the rest.”
“Oh, cool. Well…maybe.”
“I’ll text you the link to apply!” He shifts, reaching for his back pocket, then shakes his head. “I almost forgot—no phones at the table. A personal rule of mine. I’ll text it later.”
“Wonderful.” I hold my smile in place and allow myself a tiny glance at Heathcliff’s broad back. I’m weirdly tempted to run over, wrap my arms around his neck, and beg him to carry me out of the restaurant piggyback-style.
What iswrongwith me?
When the server arrives with bread and butter, Edgar makes several inquiries about the source of the meat and fish, then orders a Caesar salad. He’s giving me a look, and I don’t know if it meansDon’t support unsustainably sourced food, CathyorOrder whatever you want, Cathy, so I opt for the middle ground and order a pepperoni calzone.
Heathcliff is deep in conversation with the businessman at the bar. He hasn’t looked over his shoulder once. I mean, I didn’t expect him to come over and say hi, but to not evenglanceat me after that first look…
“I’m going to the bathroom.” I snatch my napkin out of my lap, pitch it onto the table, and slide out of the booth.
