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“Then do it, darling. Try.”
Slowly, she picks up her knife and fork again, her eyes fixed on mine. The sound of silverware against porcelain is the only sound in our private space. I can’t stop watching her, not even to eat my own meal, which is gradually growing cold.
“This duck is incredible,” she eventually says, a cheek full of food still in her mouth, lips curling into a brief smile before intentionally bringing it back down. Even though she doesn’t want me to, I see it.
“The chef trained in Paris.”
“Of course he did. You really can’t let anything be half-assed, can you? All or nothing.”
“Would you have preferred a drive-thru?”
“Yeah… sometimes. I like simple things; I thought you of all people would’ve known that by now. I miss the simple things.”
“Like what?”
She thinks while twirling wine in her glass.
“Drive-thru coffee, that’s a big one for sure. Grocery shopping, I can’t remember the last time I had a meal. Falling asleep without wondering if I’m going to wake up. Things like that.”
“You don’t have to wonder that with me. I’d never—”
“You can’t say that you won’t. One day, if I become inconvenient to you, or if I threaten something you want more than me?”
My knee-jerk reaction is to say no and reassure her, but the question deserves honesty. That’s complicated.
“You’re so special to me. I’ve never felt this way with any other woman I’ve ever met in my life. So, yeah, I want to think I wouldn’t, but I guess I’ve surprised myself before.”
She nods, as if it were the answer she was expecting.
“At least you’re honest about being a fucking fiend.”
“Are you honest about being one too?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, fork paused halfway to her mouth.
“I mean, you could have called the police a dozen times. You could’ve gotten yourself in witness protection and disappeared, but you didn’t. You took matters into your own hands.”
“What makes you think I’m not just gathering evidence?”
“Maybe.” I shrug.
“Maybe I’m planning to poison you and end it all.”
“Oh, is that what this is?” I ask with a chuckle. “Our first and last meal together?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The conversation is a thrilling foreplay. We finish eating in charged silence, both of us keeping our eyes on the other. Some looks make me think she wants me to bend her over this table, while others make me think she hates my existence.
Wynnie stands, smoothing her dress and collecting her purse. I can feel the evening slipping through my fingers.
“I’m going home now.”
“Wait.” I stand too. “Come to my place. I want you to myself. Let me apologize for all of my sins.”
She scoffs, rolling her eyes.
“Have a nice night, asshole.”
