“I miscarried at sixteen weeks. It, um … it sort of sent me into this state of depression. I didn’t leave the house unless I had to. I stopped socializing and just kind of kept to myself for six months. Andrew tried to comfort me at first, but he got sick of me moping around. He just didn’t get it. I was the one carrying her, but to him, I had no excuse to be feeling that way since it was so early. He wanted to try again, but I wasn’t ready. So, we grew distant. I had no interest in sex, and he found it somewhere else. With his secretary, at work.”
I wish Dayton were more expressive. His face hasn’t changed throughout the story.
“Did she have a name?” he asks.
“Julia. She was married, too, and she had a healthy baby girl.”
“Not her, your baby.”
My heart pounds. Tears prick my eyes and threaten to spill down my cheeks. No one has ever asked me that before.
“Rosemary,” I whisper.
Andrew didn’t even know I’d picked out a name. I’d only known she was a girl for a week when I lost her.
Dayton reaches across the table and grabs my hand. “That’s beautiful.”
I refuse to cry right now, so I keep going with the story of the divorce, meeting Savannah and Axel, our backpacking trip that we took through Europe and when we got robbed at a hostel. I tell him about Axel winning a game show and blowing half the money in Vegas the next weekend.
He rolls his eyes, clearly disapproving of the misuse of finances. “He could’ve started a business or invested it.”
“He was terrible with money.”
Our food arrives, and we start eating. The beef is tender and bursting with flavor.
“And then my mom died in a tragic plane crash. I inherited this beach house that needed saving and was forced to start a renovation process with this guy who is, frankly, the most confusing man I’ve ever met.”
“I can’t imagine how annoying that must be. Is he at least good-looking?”
“Some people might think he is.”
“Well, at least you don’t have to share a bed with him or anything crazy like that.”
“Ha! He actually started sleeping in my bedwithoutan invitation.”
He clutches his chest. “You’re kidding. That’s so invasive.”
“It is. It’s rude.”
“Does he at least stick to his side of the bed?”
I slowly shake my head.
“Wow. You want me to beat him up?”
“You could just try talking some sense into him instead.”
“What should I say? He sounds like a real piece of work.”
“Just tell him to chill out and try being a nice guy for a change.”
He leans back, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.
The waiter comes to take away our plates. “Can I interest you in any dessert?”
“Yes. The crème brûlée, please. To go,” I say.
Dayton’s intense gaze heats my skin. “Two things I’ve never been accused of are being chill and being a nice guy, so if that’s what you want, I’ll do my best to accommodate your request. But I’m going to need specific examples.”
