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Blair eliminated the distance between us, her arm going around my waist. Without thinking, I put my own arm over her shoulder and pulled her into my side. We fit together perfectly. My body reacted immediately. I was suddenly burning up everywhere we touched, and my heart was pounding so hard I could hardly hear the woman coaxing us to smile.
“There you go, you two look cute together.”
She handed Blair my phone and walked out to the parking lot. Meanwhile, we were both frozen in place, pressed against each other, neither of us moving away. I looked down at her just as she looked up, and our eyes caught. I could see the question there. She was wondering if I felt it too, whatever was happening between us.
I had the strongest urge to kiss her, and maybe I would have, but a group of people walked out of the restaurant, killing the moment. Reluctantly we stepped apart.
“I could eat a horse,” I joked to break the tension. “Hope they serve that here.”
Avoiding each other’s eyes, we headed inside to get lunch.
The chalet turned out to have an eclectic menu, giving us lots of options to choose from.
“I was thinking of having a BLT,” Blair announced after studying the menu with an intensity normally used by someone taking the SATs. “But the soft pretzel fondue also sounds good. I’ve had pretzels and I’ve had fondue, but never a pretzel fondue. Then again, the lobster mac sounds interesting.”
She was cute when she dithered.
“We could do a share-share,” I said reluctantly.
“A share-share?”
“It was something my mother liked to do. We’d go to a restaurant and order a variety of things and share them all between us, like a mezze.”
“A mezze? What’s that?”
“It’s a meal that consists of a variety of small dishes you share at the table,” I explained. “You get it at Middle Eastern restaurants.”
“Oh, like tapas?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“I love that idea. Then I don’t have to pick one thing.”
After we’d ordered an assortment of items including – at my insistence – a salad and a side of roasted vegetables – Blair said, “Tell me about your mother.”
I laughed uncomfortably. “Why do you sound like my therapist right now?”
“You have a therapist?” She seemed surprised.
“God no, I hate talking about my feelings.”
“You said your mother ‘liked’ to do the share-share. Past tense. Is she, um…?”
“She passed away when I was sixteen,” I said, impressed that Blair had not only caught my wording but remembered to ask about it. For someone I’d assumed would be selfish and spoiled, she was surprisingly considerate.
“What happened?”
“She stopped breathing,” I joked.
Humor was always my default in uncomfortable situations, but Blair just watched me, her gaze sympathetic. I found myself wanting to tell her everything.
“She had ovarian cancer. That’s one of the ones that they don’t usually find until it’s too late. She was having some weird symptoms, but she assumed it was perimenopause.”
“We don’t talk about women’s health enough in this country,” she said grimly.
“Yeah. Anyway, it all happened pretty fast after her diagnosis. One day she was there and mostly fine, the next me and Pops were alone. I’m grateful she didn’t have to suffer for too long though. Cancer sucks.”
“You don’t have any siblings?”
