Page 103 of Into Pitch

“Then we don’t go.”

Simple as that? No threat or pressure? No sharpened edge beneath our words? Hardly.

“And if I say yes?” I ask quietly.

“Then I will take you somewhere public,” he murmurs and reaches out, brushing my hair back over my shoulder. “I will sit across from you and behave appropriately. And at the end of it, you will decide what comes next.”

This is a trap door. I don’t know how it is, but I do know it is. I’ve just got to figure out whether I’m willing to step off in it or not.

“Where?” I concede.

His mouth curves faintly. “You’ll see.”

I purse my lips, tapping my fingers off my own crossed forearms. “Fine. One date.”

He pushes away from the chair, pleased with himself no doubt.

The place he takes me to is… annoyingly nice.

Not flashy or pretentious. Just a quiet little restaurant tucked off the main street of a random small town. It’s got warm lights glowing through windows and people who sit at small tables, laughing softly alongside the forks clinking against plates.

It’s horribly normal.

Painfully so.

I don’t think Alex and I do normal anymore.

I sit across from him, hands folded in my lap and acutely aware of every exit and person who passes by our table. Also choosing to ignore the fact that I haven’t actively run like my ass is on fire.

Alex looks different in this environment, and I’m not sure why. He’s still unmistakably himself, but without the cabin walls, he feels oddly… normal.

I’m beginning to really hate that fucking word.

He looks less like a force of nature and more like a man just occupying space. Ever the calm one as he orders us wine and smiles at the waitress like it’s actually a thing. It’s not. There is nothing to smile about.

“You’re letting me drink?” I barb.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He murmurs as he opens the menu before him.

“You’re either very confident or stupid. Just haven’t figured it out yet.” I mutter.

He sighs, looking up to me and I think I finally might have broken him.

“Let’s not argue or fight,” he says softly. “Let’s just relax, Sadie.”

Easier said than done, but I will try.

Unfortunately, trying isn’t all that hard when he isn’t picking me apart and turning my brain to soup. The conversation flows easier than I expect. He asks about my art curiously and I tell him about the first time I ever painted something that mattered.

He listens. Not like he’s waiting to speak or like he’s trying to steer the conversation, he just listens.

I catch myself laughing at something he says and I freeze mid-sound, startled by the ease of it. By the fact that my shoulders aren’t tense and that I haven’t once scanned the room for escape routes in the last ten minutes.

At some point, I look at him and think I can leave, sure. The door is right there and he’s not got me chained to the damn chair. There is nothing physically stopping me from doing the very thing I threatened I would over and over again.

I just don’t want to.

And he knows it, and I know that’s the point of tonight outside of this date. To show me very clearly what we both already know and I’ve spent hours trying to deny. Rather weeks, actually.