Chapter 7 #2
“Darling, you haven’t eaten any of the cake?” Neil asks her.
This time, I don’t bristle at the darling. This time, my eyes remain on Reese as Neil and Kelly argue lightly over the dessert.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
Reese swallows, then gives the briefest shake of her head. She’s not angry. Relief runs through me, stronger than I’d have anticipated. I realize that could have been terrible.
That time she got up on stage, she ran off it before the song was finished. I know she’s terrified of singing again, though I don’t know what made her stop.
But something tugs at me as she cuts into her mousse cake with her fork. She needs to sing. It’s the clearest revelation I’ve had in a long time.
“You should have some,” Reese says, sliding our shared dessert plate toward me as if she heard what I thought and wants to push it away.
“No. I ordered it for you.” It’s chocolate mousse cake with a raspberry coulis. She loves that combination.
“So you’ve really taken to property development, Eli?” Kelly says, interrupting the moment. “Is that what you always wanted to do?”
I wrench my eyes from Reese.
All the warmth coursing through me slips as I consider my answer. It doesn’t sound like she’s being snarky. But I’m having trouble reading Kelly. I guess I always did.
“I don’t know about ‘what I always wanted to do.’ But it’s fun. I first got interested in it back when I got my electrician license.”
“Ah yes,” Neil says. “Kelly mentioned you used to be a blue-collar chap!” He looks truly fascinated.
I wonder what else Kelly mentioned about our life together.
If she told him I have an MBA I got to make my mom happy.
If she told him how conversely unhappy she was when I didn’t use it, turning down her dream of me running the hotel after her, and how Kelly kept telling me I shouldn’t stoop to doing hard labor just because I thought it would be fun.
“I did,” I say. “I loved it, actually. Working with my hands when my whole life I’d been behind a computer screen.”
“So why aren’t you still doing it now, mate?” Neil asks, folding his hands under his chin.
The truth sits on the tip of my tongue, but for some reason, I can’t say it.
No, not for some reason. Because Kelly is sitting right there, and she knows it. She knows work of any kind has always just been a way for me to pay the bills and occupy my time. But having a successful career was never my biggest dream.
“My family needed me here,” I say, finally.
For some reason, God knows why, I grasp Reese’s hand under the table. It doesn’t make sense. They can’t see me do it. But it’s instinctive.
And she doesn’t pull away.
“And our people are the most important thing,” I say.
“Well isn’t that the truth,” Neil says, as if I’m some great philosopher. “Indeed. Kelly, write that down. It’ll be great for the finale.”
Kelly laughs, but Neil’s smile doesn’t fade. He’s serious.
A flicker of irritation passes over Kelly’s features. “This wouldn’t happen if you sucked it up and brought your glasses, Neil.”
Neil makes a pshaw sound. “I don’t need glasses.”
Kelly pinches her lips, but she pulls out her phone and takes a note.
I’m not sure what makes me happier then, Kelly’s annoyance, or the feeling of Reese’s soft fingers clutched in mine like they belong there.
We drive back to her place in silence, maybe both of us mulling over the surprise that the evening wasn’t the disaster it could have been.
It’s not until I pull into the spot in front of her apartment that I open my mouth.
“Reese…” I begin.
She looks over at me expectantly.
What do I say, exactly? I hesitate, then settle on the truth. “You were perfect.”
Reese shifts in her seat.
Was that warmth I felt one-sided? I remember the feeling each time she defended me to Kelly. Or each time our legs brushed against each other under the table. I try to shove the images from my mind, but the feelings linger. “Was it as bad as you expected?”
Then Reese smiles. “I had a good time. Shockingly.”
I laugh, and it’s like a tight knot of tension has unwound itself in my chest. “If you’d told me last year I’d be at dinner with you and Kelly and her fucking husband, and actually enjoying myself, I’d have lost it.
I would have thought the only way that could happen was if I went off the fucking deep end. ”
“Oh, you’ve gone off the deep end, all right.”
“Excuse me!” I make a mock insulted face, resting my forearm over the steering wheel. Then I smirk. “Listen, I’m not the one who suggested we fake date to make my ex think I’m happy.”
For a moment I think I might have gone too far, but then Reese throws her head back and laughs too, exposing the long soft length of her throat.
“We’ve both gone off the deep end,” she says, still laughing.
The sound of her laughter is like music in my fucking ears.
Music.
The thought triggers something in my mind—an idea—but I file it away for later. For now, I’m fixated on the little strand of hair that’s slipped out of that sexy mess on her head. And that little dimple in her cheek as her laughter winds down but her smile stays.
How had I forgotten how beautiful her smile was?
Because it’s been gone a long fucking time, and that’s on you.
I hadn’t forgotten about how sexy she was. That was for damn sure. I thought that every time I saw her. And now? In this dress? I can’t help glancing back, my eyes lingering on the length of her thigh, the angle of her hip. The slope of her torso and plump curve of her breasts.
When I reach her eyes I realize she’s stopped smiling.
And that there’s a stiffness at my crotch.
Reese abruptly presses the release on her seat belt. “I better go, Eli. Thanks for the ride.”
“Right,” I say, embarrassed.
She bends over to pick up her purse.
Yet no matter how much of a fool I’ve made of myself just now, I don’t want to stop.
I want to tell her to wait, to lean over and slide my hand into her hair.
To plant my lips on hers and see if she tastes as good as I remember.
To tell her thank you, thank you, thank you by whispering the words in her ear.
The urge is so fucking strong I have to place both my hands on the steering wheel as she opens her door.
“Good night, Eli,” she says.
“Good night,” I say, unable to meet her eyes.