Chapter 47
RHETT
The next evening, I stood outside Clem’s apartment building, my hands shoved deep in my coat pockets.
I had debated on what to do for our first official date most of last night.
Now, I was suffering from honest-to-God nerves.
When was the last time I had felt this way about a date?
Hell, when was the last time I called anything a date?
Never, if I was being honest with myself.
I rang the bell and waited. Clem opened the door and I forgot how to breathe for a solid ten seconds.
She wore a cream-colored sweater that made her skin glow, dark jeans that hugged her in all the right places, and knee-high boots that somehow made her legs look endless.
She’d put on just enough makeup to make her eyes pop.
“Hi,” she said.
There was something almost shy in her smile that made my chest tight. I was glad she was feeling the same nerves.
“Hi, yourself.” I cleared my throat. “You look… damn, Clem. You look incredible.”
A blush crept up her cheeks. “Thank you. You said casual. I was all prepared to wear a dress and heels.”
“Next time,” I said.
I had spent an embarrassing amount of time picking out what to wear, finally settling on dark jeans, boots, and a navy sweater under my wool coat.
Nothing too fancy. I wanted us to be able to relax tonight.
Just us. No pretenses. Lord knew we didn’t need the nice dinner.
I wasn’t interested in another chef trying to impress us.
“Ready for our first official date?” I asked, offering her my arm.
She slipped her hand through the crook of my elbow. I felt that same electric current I’d been feeling every time she touched me lately. “I’ve been looking forward to it all day.”
The limo ride to Rockefeller Center was filled with comfortable conversation, but I could feel the anticipation thrumming between us. This felt different. We weren’t touching each other beyond holding hands. It felt like an actual date.
“Ice skating?” Clem asked, her eyes lighting up as she took in the towering Christmas tree and the skaters gliding around the ice. “This is so wonderfully cliché.”
I laughed, some of the nervous tension leaving my shoulders. “Hey, if you’re going to do a first date in New York during the holidays, you might as well embrace the tourist trap aspect of it all.”
“I love it,” she said, squeezing my arm. “It’s perfect.”
“Do you know how to skate?” I asked.
She grimaced. “Welllll…”
I laughed.
“Do you?” she asked.
“You know those little walker things?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s how I stay upright.”
We both burst into laughter.
Twenty minutes later, I was beginning to seriously question my choice of venue. I was absolute shit on ice skates.
“Easy there, Bambi,” Clem called out as I windmilled my arms, trying desperately to maintain my balance.
Before I fell, I clung to the side of the rink. “This seemed like a much better idea in theory,” I muttered, my legs doing things that legs weren’t supposed to do. How the hell were people making this look so effortless?
“Do you want me to get you a walker?” Clem teased.
I frowned at her. “I thought you couldn’t skate.”
“No, I said I couldn’t skate well.”
“And what does that mean?”
She did some fancy little swirl in front of me. “It means I used to think I was going to be a figure skater.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course, you’re an expert skater.”
“Not an expert, but I can hold my own.”
Clem glided past me like she was auditioning for the Winter Olympics. She moved with grace and confidence on the ice. It took my breath away. She executed perfect turns and even attempted a small jump that she landed flawlessly.
“Show off,” I called out, finally managing to push myself away from the wall for all of three seconds before my ankles betrayed me and I went down hard on my ass.
Clem skated over to me, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. “Oh my God, are you okay?” She extended a gloved hand to help me up, but she was still giggling.
“My pride is severely wounded, but I think I’ll survive,” I said, accepting her help. Her grip was steady, and somehow she managed to pull me up without losing her own balance.
“Where did you learn to skate like that?” I asked, trying not to focus on how her cheeks were flushed from the cold and exercise, or how her eyes were sparkling with mirth.
“I took lessons for eight years.” She stayed close to me as we slowly made our way around the rink, her hand in mine providing both physical and emotional support. “My mom used to take me to the outdoor rink every weekend in the winter. I was on the figure-skating team in high school.”
“Of course you were,” I said, shaking my head. “Is there anything you can’t do?”
We managed to make it around the rink three more times without me falling, though it was clear that Clem was basically holding me up the entire time.
By the time we returned our skates, I was ready to get my feet back on solid ground, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had that much fun making a complete fool of myself.
“I think that counts as the most embarrassing first date performance in history,” I said as we walked away from Rockefeller Center, my arm around her shoulders.
“Are you kidding? That was adorable.” She grinned up at me. “Plus, it gave me an excuse to hold your hand for an hour.”
“In that case, it was a complete success.”
The restaurant I had chosen for our dinner was a small, unassuming place tucked away in Little Italy.
From the outside, it looked like nothing special, just another narrow storefront with a faded awning and windows that had seen better days.
But inside, it was warm and cozy, with checkered tablecloths, dim lighting, and the kind of atmosphere that made you want to settle in for hours.
“This place is perfect,” Clem said as we were seated at a corner table. “How did you find it?”
“My mom used to bring me here when I was a kid,” I said. She knew my mother, so I could talk about her, even though I never talked to anyone about my family for obvious reasons. “She said they had the best seafood outside of the Gulf Coast, and she was right.”
The food was every bit as good as I remembered.
We shared a platter of oysters, followed by the most incredible seafood pasta I ever had.
We finished with tiramisu that was practically a religious experience.
The wine helped loosen our tongues, and conversation flowed as easily as it always did between us.
“So, what are you plans for the holidays?” she asked. “Does your family do a big get-together? I can only imagine how loud and rowdy that must be. I met five and it was as loud as a football stadium.”
“There will probably be some meals,” I said. “It’s not typically planned to happen all at once, although it usually ends up like that. What about you?”
“My family is pretty traditional,” she said.
“We have a few holiday parties leading up to Christmas, but Christmas Eve is always just the four of us. We wear matching pajamas—yes, it’s as cheesy as it sounds but we love it—and we open one present each.
Then Christmas dinner is usually pretty simple.
Ham, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole.
Nothing fancy, but it’s perfect. It’s less about eating one big meal and just kind of munching all day and hanging out. ”
The warmth in her voice when she talked about her family made something ache in my chest. I could picture it so clearly, Clem in ridiculous Christmas pajamas, laughing with Henry over some inside joke while her parents looked on with that satisfied contentment that came from watching your children be happy.
“That sounds really nice,” I said, meaning it. “Very Norman Rockwell.”
“What about you?” she asked. “Big Italian Christmas with the whole extended family?”
I took a sip of wine, considering how to answer that. The truth was complicated, layered with years of careful boundaries and unspoken rules about who was included in what gatherings.
“Actually, it’s usually just me and my mom,” I said finally. “We have Christmas dinner at her house. She cooks, I help in the kitchen, and we pretend we’re not both thinking about who’s missing from the table.”
Clem’s expression softened. “Your father.”
I nodded. “Yeah. My mom visits him on Christmas morning, brings him some of his favorite cookies. But I don’t…” I trailed off, not sure how to explain the complicated mix of anger, guilt, and grief that surrounded my relationship with my father.
“You don’t visit,” she said gently. It wasn’t a question.
“I should,” I said. “My mom keeps telling me I should. But every time I think about going to see him in that place, wearing the orange jumpsuit, talking across a table. I just can’t do it.”
“That doesn’t make you a bad son,” Clem said quietly.
“Doesn’t it? He’s still my father. He made mistakes, but he’s paying for them. Maybe I should be more forgiving.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe you’re protecting yourself the only way you know how. There’s nothing wrong with that either.”
I looked up at her, struck by how easily she seemed to understand the conflict I’d been wrestling with for years. No judgment, no pressure to be someone I wasn’t ready to be yet.
“And this is why my mom likes you,” I said. “She told me I was an idiot for letting you go.”
“Smart woman,” Clem said with a small smile. “I like her too. She’s got this warmth about her, like she could make anyone feel at home in her kitchen.”
“That’s exactly what she does. La Tavola isn’t just a restaurant to her—it’s her way of taking care of people. A lot like you. And your dad.”
“I look forward to seeing her again.”
“What are your plans for the new year?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “I’ve got some interviews lined up and a few potential opportunities. Why?”
“Because I know what I want it to look like,” I said. “It’s going to look like you and me, boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Are you asking me to be exclusive? Do I get to wear your jacket to prom?”
She was teasing, but I liked that she wasn’t making a big deal out of it.
“Yeah,” I said. “There’s nobody else I want to be with.”
A slow smile spread across her face. “Good. Because I’m not seeing anyone else either. I haven’t had a boyfriend in forever. I’m not sure I know how to be a girlfriend.”
“Really?”
“Really. You kind of ruined me for other guys, Rhett. Even when I was mad at you and trying to convince myself you were just another self-absorbed asshole, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Thank God. Because I have something else I need to tell you.”
She waited, patient as always.
“I’m falling in love with you,” I said, the words coming out in a rush. “No, scratch that. I’m not falling anymore. I’ve fallen. Completely, utterly, embarrassingly head-over-heels in love with you.”
She stared at me like she wasn’t sure she believed me. “Really?”
“Yeah, and I need you to know how sorry I am,” I continued, unable to stop now that I had started.
“For how I treated you on the tour and all the mixed signals I put out there. I’m sorry for the way I pushed you away when you got close.
For making you feel like you weren’t important to me, because you were.
You are. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I was too scared and too stupid to admit it to myself at the time. ”
“Rhett—”
“Let me finish,” I said, reaching across the table to take her hand.
“You’ve taught me so much about what it means to be honest with yourself.
You make me want to be better, Clem. You make me want to be the kind of man who deserves someone like you.
I know I’ve got a long way to go, but if you’ll have me, I want to spend every day we have together making up for being such an ass. ”
A tear slipped down her cheek, but she was smiling. “You weren’t that much of an ass.”
“I was a colossal ass.”
“Okay, you kind of were,” she agreed, laughing through her tears. “But you had your moments. And you’re making up for it now.”
“This is just the beginning,” I promised.
She squeezed my hand. “This is a good start. And to be fair, I pushed you away. That was stupid. I hated doing it. I’m sorry for all the things I said. I think your family is great. I don’t care what the media says. People just like to gossip.”
“I love you too,” she said quietly. “Just so we’re clear.”
“Thank God,” I breathed. “Because that would have made the rest of this conversation really awkward.”
She laughed. “So, boyfriend and girlfriend. This is really happening.”
“It’s really happening. If you want it to.”
She nodded and smiled. “I do.”
“I told you my father was in prison,” I said carefully.
“You did.”
“I’m going to see him tomorrow,” I said. “I just want you to know in case I get photographed. Or shanked.”
She laughed. “Stop.”
“No, but sometimes they do get a picture. It doesn’t happen often, but when I show up, there’s always someone with a cell phone that wants to make sure the world doesn’t forget my father is in prison.
It usually stirs up some articles for a few days.
I know you need to distance the family name from that, so I totally understand if you want to keep this a secret for a while and—”
“Would you like some company?”
The offer surprised me. “You’d want to come with me? It’s not exactly… I mean, it can be pretty difficult. It’s a prison. I’m not sure that’s the place for you.”
“All the more reason you shouldn’t go alone,” she said firmly. “Besides, I’d like to meet the man who put you in this world.”
My throat got tight. “I don’t know.”
“I mean it. If you want me there, I’d like to be there. For you.”
I brought her hand to my lips, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I’d love for you to come with me.”
“Then it’s settled.” She smiled. “Our second official date will be visiting your father.”
“Most people would consider that moving pretty fast,” I pointed out.
“Most people aren’t us,” she said. “Besides, I have a feeling we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”