“But despite all this, all these qualities—or maybe because of them—you still don’t do what you really want to do—whatever that may be. I suspect you’re hiding who you are and hating every minute of it.”
Yes, I’d been paying attention. Being around a father whose moods changed without warning meant I’d learned to watch people carefully.
Although with Andrea, I suspected it wouldn’t have made any difference. She was impossible to ignore, and my mind had been working overtime trying to figure her out since we’d met—whether I wanted it to or not.
She was staring at me, incredibly still. I’d spoken too long—I hadn’t given her a chance to respond. I’d just wanted to prove her wrong.
“Sir, ma’am, perhaps I could recommend something…” The waiter again.
Andrea stood quickly and looked behind her. “Excuse me.”
She was gone.
“Just a few more minutes.” I nodded at the waiter again. “Sorry about this, won’t be long.”
Was she coming back?
No. Of course she was. It was fine.
Was it?
Fuck.
After what seemed like an hour, she pulled out her chair and sat. It was probably only five minutes, but relief washed through me. I disguised it by shifting in my seat, angling my body like I was just getting comfortable.
“We should probably order.” Her face was blank. She’d reapplied her lipstick—the color was brighter.
“Andrea—”
“You’re good, Liam. Very good.” She smoothed over her napkin. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
At least she didn’t seem angry.
“Do you know what you want?” I asked.
“What I want—” She looked at me, eyes wide. “Oh. I thought. Right, of course, the menu.” She took a gulp of her wine. “Yes. I’m ready to order. You?”
“The ribs. They’re great. Everything here is, actually.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“I have. It was one of my mother’s favorite restaurants. She said the gallery made dinner feel like part of the show.”
Andrea blinked. “There’s a gallery?”
“Through there.” I nodded toward the side doors. “A small, private one. I know you like art, so I thought you might enjoy it. Didn’t you see? We can have a look later, if you like.”
Andrea studied me for a moment. “Your mother sounds… cool.”
“She was. Is.” I gave a short, awkward laugh.
“Are you close?”
“We were. I mean. I was at boarding school. Then uni. Then the RAF. Now…”
Excuses. Could shetell?
“I travel a lot.”
