Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Renthrow
The silence that whirls around us as I speed down the freeway feels expectant. Or maybe that’s just me overthinking. Cordelia seems content enough though I notice her tapping her fingers on her leg.
There’s a lot of her legs showing in that dress.
Way too much to concentrate.
I need a distraction.
Tomorrow is meal-prep day, so I force myself to think about what I’m going to do for that. Gordie said she liked my fried egg rolls, but that her friends ate most of them, so I should probably fill an extra container for her to give away…
“Do you mind if I listen to some music?” Cordelia asks.
I look over at her in the darkness of the truck. Her eyes are brown and clear, but there’s something shimmery over her eyelids.
Her lips are shimmery too. Whether it’s lipstick or lipgloss on her lips, I don’t know. But I do know I want to lick them like whipped cream off an apple pie.
No.
I think I might be out of oyster sauce. Maybe I can find a substitute? Fish sauce should work.
“We can talk instead,” Cordelia adds.
Talking? Like the talking she did in her doorway?
Heat simmers through my veins.
No, talking with this woman is too dangerous.
“Have at it.” I gesture to the radio.
She unleashes an excited smile that makes her Bambi eyes crinkle to half their size, and my throat does this odd tightening thing. Rock music filters through the speakers. I turn it up even more, so it’s blasting. At least, this way, I won’t be able to hear my own wayward thoughts.
Last week, Gordie’s lunch box came back with all the steamed broccoli untouched. This week, I’ll substitute broccoli for carrot sticks and try to introduce another vegetable she may like.
Cordelia’s voice steals into my thoughts as she sings quietly to the music. It’s sweet the way she can’t hit the right key.
I’m seeing all kinds of sides to her tonight.
The cute side.
The flirty side.
The dress…
I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in a dress before, and I wasn’t expecting how stunning she’d be.
A soft touch on my shoulder makes me jump.
“Viking, do you mind if I wind the windows down? The air conditioner feels stuffy.”
I freeze. Viking.
Did she just call me by my first name?
Why?
Is she trying to kill me?
Cordelia flaps those long lashes at me, waiting.
I nod.
She hits the button next to her elbow. The window disappears, and wind rushes into the car, sending her hair flapping all over her face. She doesn’t seem to mind. Of course, she wouldn’t. The woman’s main transportation is a motorcycle that’s taller than she is.
How much longer until we get to the restaurant?
I check my navigation and then push the gas pedal a little more to increase my speed.
A phone chirps.
Cordelia lowers the music to a whisper and answers, “Brennon, hey.”
My fingers tighten on the steering wheel. Cordelia is usually polite and distant with everyone. However, there’s a note of closeness in her voice when she says that guy’s name.
And I don’t like it.
“Yeah, no problem. We’re”—Cordelia checks my navigation—“about fifteen minutes away. Yeah. Okay. I’ll do that.”
“What’d he want?” I ask gruffly.
“He got tied up at the office, so he’ll be late. He said he put the reservation under his name and that we can order as soon as we get there. We don’t have to wait for him.”
Absolutely not. Brennon doesn’t tell me when I can and cannot order food.
“Since he’s not ready, we can take a detour,” I suggest.
Her eyebrows cinch. She’s got something shiny on her eyelids, and it makes her brown eyes look even more alluring. “We’re so close to the restaurant.”
“He’s not even there,” I point out.
“He already arranged everything. All we have to do is sit down and wait for him.”
She seems set on it, and I can’t come up with a proper reason for going somewhere else, so I drive us to the restaurant.
Once we get there, I open Cordelia’s car door for her and marvel at my own mental breakdown.
Was it a good idea to push myself into the dinner tonight?
This woman is scrambling my brain cells, and I don’t feel like myself.
I feel like someone much younger, much pettier, and with fewer responsibilities.
“Are you angry?” The question comes along with a soft touch on my arm. Cordelia looks up at me, her hair messy from the drive. “Do you regret coming with me?”
I shake my head.
“You can go home if you want,” she offers. The way she tucks her bottom lip into her mouth tells me she’d prefer if I didn’t.
You’re being a buffoon, Renthrow. She has no idea what set you off, and now, she’s going to think she has to tiptoe around your feelings.
I force myself not to sulk anymore. It’s embarrassing enough that I have to take her out to eat under some other guy’s reservation. I can’t act like a child about it too.
Reaching out, I smooth the flyaway strands of her black hair. The stress lines in Cordelia’s forehead smooth out, and her face softens. I take my time brushing her hair back into place.
With a deep breath, I steady my emotions and lead her into the fancy restaurant.
It’s the complete opposite of The Tipsy Tuna. This place has pretentious marble floors, high ceilings, and way too many chandeliers. I wonder how much this all costs to build?
Cordelia approaches the guy standing behind a podium. “Albert?”
“Miss Davenport. Welcome!” Albert grins from ear to ear. “It’s been a while. How’s your mother?”
“She’s well.”
The two chat, and I notice how at ease Cordelia is in this environment.
What’d you expect? She’s a Davenport.
I push my discomfort deep down. Davenport or not, she’s a lady in my company, and I’ve already prepared myself to take care of the bill—no matter how horrific the number is.
Albert leads us to our table. On the way, I notice the food being delivered. The portions are smaller than what I serve to Gordie. Where’s the rest of the meat? Where’s the potatoes and rice?
My stomach weeps. Drizzling sauce in a fancy line and throwing leaves on top of raw beef is probably all I have to look forward to tonight.
“Sir.” A waiter pulls out my chair for me while another across the table does the same for Cordelia.
“Thank you,” Cordelia says, and to my astonishment, she slips the man a hundred-dollar bill.
I barely hide my surprise.
Cordelia explains when the waiters have left, “I usually tip first. It’s a way to guarantee good service.”
She says it like it makes sense, so I just nod to avoid looking like an uncultured idiot.
A completely new waiter arrives and asks us what we’d like to drink. I haven’t even gotten to look at the menu—out of pure self-preservation—but Cordelia confidently picks the booklet up.
She slides her finger down the menu and says something in perfect French. “Do you have that one?”
“Very good choice, ma’am. And for you, sir?”
“I, well…” I pick up the menu. “I’m not much of a wine guy.” Throat constricting, I close the booklet. “I’m driving, so I’ll just have water.”
The waiter’s lips twitch. “Very well, sir.”
Is he laughing at me? Is Cordelia? I probably look as out of place as I feel. Talk to me about hockey or math or child-rearing, and I’ll stand ten-toes-down on business. But this world of fancy wine and chandeliers…is foreign to me.
“Renthrow, you look so uncomfortable,” she whispers teasingly.
“I’m just soaking it all in.” I duck behind a menu and instantly regret my hiding place of choice. The prices are even more horrific than I anticipated.
I think of Gordie’s college fund and my modest investments. Maybe I should skip making payments to my retirement fund this month…
The sound of chair legs scraping prompts me to lift my head. To my surprise, I notice Cordelia abandoning her chair and pulling out the one right next to me.
Having her so close makes my pulse jump. “Why’d you move?”
“Can I tell you a secret?” She sticks her elbow on the table and rests her head on her palm, looking up beneath a fringe of dark lashes.
“What?”
“Brennon’s the first guy I ever loved.”
I frown instantly. Why is she sharing this all of a sudden?
“I liked him so much that I made this little journal with all his accomplishments, listing all the things I liked about him. And I gave it to him and asked if he’d give me a chance.”
“Did he?”
“Not exactly.” She forces a smile, and I can tell she’s trying to make light of something that still affects her.
“He said I shouldn’t have wasted my time making a scrapbook.
He said he only ever saw me as a little sister.
We’d known each other for years, and I’d mistakenly thought I had a chance.
But he very clearly told me that I was wrong. ”
I pull my fingers into fists, angry on her behalf. “Should I punch him on sight?”
“I’d rather hurt his pocketbook.” She lifts the menu and arches an eyebrow. “Help me get revenge?”
I give Cordelia a thoughtful look, putting the puzzle pieces together.
Her smile fades a bit, and she gets up. “If you don’t want to—”
I grip her arm to stop her from leaving.
How could I have ever considered Cordelia Davenport cold? She shared that personal story about being rejected, so I wouldn’t feel pressured to pay for tonight’s expensive meal. She’s trying to help me while protecting my pride.
“What is it?” Her eyes search mine.
“Eat what you want.” I slide my thumb over the back of her hand. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay tonight.”
Her eyebrows arch high.
“But…” I tug her to sit again and rest my arm along the back of her chair. “If you want revenge, I can think of better ways to do it.”