12. Sterling
Chapter twelve
Sterling
L ast month or even last week, if someone asked me about the places I might be in, I would have said London for sure for business. Then maybe Paris after that. Part of me always wanted to look up my uncle even though he never had a relationship with any of us—not even his own kids—after he left my aunt. Or maybe it was them who didn’t want to reciprocate. I don’t know if he ever tried contacting them as adults. One day, I’d like to tell him that things worked out. That we’re all doing okay. I’d like to say I hope he is happy even if he did break my aunt’s heart just a little bit, which I guess none of us really know for sure if he did or not because she resolutely refused to give in and tell anyone that she ever missed him. She might not have. She might have enjoyed her freedom. It was so hard to tell with her. When I think about my mom, I imagine she wasn’t like that at all. That she wore her emotions for everyone to see. I imagine it wasn’t hard to make her wildly happy and that she found joy in all the small things most people took for granted.
Of all the places I would have picked, hypothetically, to be having dinner with my wife—who, by the way, is smoking hot—this place wasn’t one of them.
I picked her up after her guitar lessons were over for the day. I’d found a nice five-star restaurant that had private rooms because privacy was key for us. I’m still very aware that my cousins are out there like three nebulous balls of ass waiting to make an ass destruction.
“This is lovely.” Weland’s eyes trace the private room that I booked. “But does it have to be just us? It feels a little bit…I don’t know. I guess I like it, but it feels a little bit like we have money.”
“We do have money,” I point out.
“You have money.” She smiles faintly. “I’m sorry. You want this to be a nice evening. I’ll shut up and let it be nice, even if it feels strange to do something so…ritzy.”
“I wanted to spoil you,” I tell her.
“I also know it’s because you want this to be as low-key as possible. It’s a nice place. I like the wood on the walls and the fireplace over there. It reminds me of some cottage in the middle of the woods, out of the way. Something no one would ever find. Our private retreat.”
It’s the way she says that word. Our. It gets me longing. It’s the kind of longing I’ve always felt deep in my gut. A longing that says I don’t have a mom or a dad, though I did once, at least a mom, and my whole life, I’ve wanted to just know her. To have her back. I’m shocked that just a few words from this woman are enough to take me there and make me feel that way.
“Sterling?” Also, the way she says my name. Soft. Intimate. As if it’s just us here, even though there are servers hovering around, people on the other side of the door doing their jobs, bustling around, making food, serving food, and also people eating food out there.
I didn’t go all out and book the whole place. I just booked this private function room. It’s just us and some other tables and chairs in here, with the setting sun outside the windows, woodsy walls, old antique art in heavy frames, red drapes, and a roaring fire in the corner like it’s not the middle of summer out there. Somehow, the room isn’t hot at all. It’s perfectly temperature-controlled, which gives me an idea.
I realize Weland’s place is only a rental, but she needs air conditioning. I want to get one installed for her, but I know if I tell her, she’ll protest. She’ll probably talk about landlords and how she doesn’t really need it and on and on. I want it to be a surprise for her, and I plan on making a few phone calls to Smitty later to get the permission I need from whomever it takes to get one installed. “No” is not something I’m willing to settle for.
“Sorry. I’m here,” I say, breaking out of my thoughts.
Weland searches my face, and then her smile grows. “You are. That’s the crazy thing. You could be anywhere, but you’re here with me. In Detroit. You could be all over the world, making good music, doing meetings, or…or…staying in your vacation houses or in Nashville at the center of everything, but you’re not.”
“No. None of that is important right now.” Weland’s important, and I want her to know that. I want her to know that now that we’re trying this, I’m all in. I didn’t know that was a thing, but it is, and I’m diving into it. I’ve always been so cautious. This doesn’t feel cautious. But maybe it’s okay because it’s like I’ve been looking at the lake for four years before I ever dipped my toes in, and I know swimming is what I want to do.
“I—I’m honored. Really.”
“Me too.” I want to take her hands. I want to slide over with my chair, pull her into my lap, and kiss her until we’re breathless. I want her in my arms. I want her to lose all inhibitions in this private room and—
“What do you think is good?” She frowns at the menu, which is lying flat on the table in front of her. I don’t think she has even really looked at it since we got here.
I know I haven’t looked at mine. I’m too busy looking at her. She’s in a long maxi dress that has a black skirt and flowers up top, and I’m pretty sure it is right out of the seventies. It has three-quarter-length sleeves, and it fits Weland like it was made for her. She’s piled her hair up half messy, half styled, and the softest pink lipstick sets off a set of perfect lips that I’d very much like to be tasting right now.
Fuck dinner. I’d much rather have Weland.
I almost choke out you, but I pick up my own menu and give it a quick scan. “We could ask.”
“Right, sorry. You’ve never even been here. How would you know what’s good?”
I know what’s good. The best thing is sitting right in front of me. “Fish, maybe? Tuna steaks?”
“Oh. I’ve never had a tuna steak.”
“Really? They’re usually pretty good. They’re known as the chicken of the sea, you know.”
She hides her laugh behind her hand. I love that her fingers have callouses built up from playing the guitar. It gives them character and life. It’s just another thing that makes Weland entirely unique. Not that other people don’t play the guitar. It’s just that when she does it…
“Or steak. Can’t go wrong with steak,” I add.
“I don’t know how I like it cooked. I’m not really a steak eater. It’s never been in the budget.”
I gape at her. “But I…”
“Almost all of it went to Bryan’s surgeries and his physio after.”
I’m an idiot. That’s the real reason she’s renting a dumpy condo that doesn’t have proper locks or security. It’s not just that she’s flying under the radar or that it’s a good cover. It’s that I haven’t given one thought to the fact that she would have used all the money for her brother, and there isn’t any more until the end of our agreement.
That’s another thing I’m fixing right now. “I’ll make sure you have a buffer. I’m sorry I didn’t think about it before.”
She looks horrified. “No!” Her eyes well up and I know I’ve said something wrong by trying to be nice. “No, please. Don’t do that. I’m fine. I make enough money to live by giving guitar lessons. It’s not a big deal.”
“It is a big deal. Your comfort and your safety is a big deal to me.”
She doesn’t throw back at me that I didn’t care enough before. She just bites her bottom lip. “I’m happy where I am, and the area is fine. The condo might be old, but I’m comfortable, and it’s home enough for me. I’m not that far from my parents either, so that’s nice, and I’m in a central location for the lessons I give. If I moved, my students would have to travel further, and I can’t ask them to do that. I’ll get new students of course, but it’s not fair to the existing ones I have who have been with me, some of them for years.”
She’d think of others first. Yes, of course she would because that’s Weland. Beautiful in all ways. I was captivated by her song at first, but now I’m captivated by her.
“You’re looking at me funny,” she states after a moment.
I quickly shift my eyes back down to the menu, but I can’t help but ask, “How so?”
“I don’t know. You have that look like you’re gazing at the stars. I’m no star, Sterling. I’m just me. Flawed and imperfect like everyone else. I hope you know that. When people first get together, it can be…it can be hard to see those flaws, and then the disappointment comes later. I want you to see me as I am, with all my flaws and imperfections included. That way, I feel like you would never be disappointed.”
“Disappointed?” I leap up from my chair and shove it back. It only takes a second for me to get to Weland. I take her hands and pull her up. Then, I hug her close. “I could never be disappointed.” She smells like the restaurant, like cheese bread and garlic, and her own sweet floral scent. I’m enchanted. “Some things might wear off with time, that’s true, but I’ll never be disappointed.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. I don’t like when people do that. I try to never do that myself.”
I kiss her forehead. I want more, but we’re still in a public place, even in this private room. “I mean it.” I’d like to do something cheesy, like dance her over to the fire and sway without music. I’d like to wrap her in my arms and hold her for the rest of the night. For the rest of my life.
For the rest of my life.
What the heck is going on? She’s right. We basically just met. The sensations rushing through us are hormonal, physical, and new. They’ll wear off or wear down. One day, they won’t shine as bright. She’s worried I’m not thinking clearly. I know my brain isn’t muddled, but she’s right. Slow is the best way to go. Slow and seeing clearly, thinking clearly, making clear decisions, and being real.
I kiss her on the forehead one more time. “Not going to happen.” That’s a promise I can keep. She could never, ever be a disappointment.
When she’s seated again, blushing so prettily and slightly unsettled, it really makes me want to take her up in my arms and do everything I was thinking about. Dancing. Kissing. Hugging. Holding. Leaving right now and taking her back to her place.
But no, I want to have a nice dinner. I want this night to be about her, for her.
“Chicken,” she says so softly that I almost miss it, even in this quiet room with only the mood music and the vague sounds of other people behind the closed door to compete. “It looks good. Not the chicken of the sea. The chicken of the land.”
“We can get both and try some of each other’s. Chicken of the sea and the land.”
Her smile shouldn’t be so dazzling, but it is, and it goes straight to my chest. There’s been a decided absence of warmth in my life. It started when I was young. I learned to shut out the goodness along with the bad. I learned how to shut myself off, so I didn’t get hurt. I should be using those same skills now. Walling myself up to prevent those daggers from slipping in—the ones that life is so fond of using to destroy me from the inside out. But I can’t. It’s impossible with this woman. I haven’t even considered it, not since the first time I saw her in person in that club.
“Chicken of the sea and the land it is then.”