Chapter 9
Talon
Ilie in bed tossing and turning the whole night, wracked with guilt over my lunch invitation.
I know I need to come clean about who I am because Zeke has a right to know, but last night, when he looked at me with obvious longing in his eyes, I realized it’s the first time someone has ever done that simply because of me and not because of my wallet, my status, or my last name.
It was powerful.
If I’m honest, it sent a jolt of electricity humming through my veins that I still can’t identify.
And it still feels like hell in the aftermath. What’s better? To tell the truth, and once again be surrounded by people who only see me as a dollar sign? Or lie about who I am in an effort to find a genuine connection?
Can a connection even be genuine if it’s built on a lie?
Both options feel hopeless and shameful.
Finally giving up when the clock says four a.m., I throw my covers back and slip out of bed. There’s always work to be done, international calls to make, marketing campaigns to reject or approve, and budgets to review.
However, after grabbing my coffee and opening my laptop at the kitchen island, I’m still distracted.
One quick glance just to make sure it really happened, I tell myself, my hand already reaching for the phone in the pocket of my plaid pajama pants.
Swiping up and putting my face in view of the camera, it opens with Zeke’s contact already on display. I’d forgotten it was the last thing I’d looked at before trying to go to sleep.
Those full lips stun me into silence every time. The picture is dark since we never turned any lights on, lest we give away our position in the basement, and Zeke’s eyes are slightly out of focus because instead of looking into the camera, he’s looking at me in the frame.
I don’t know how long I sit here dissecting everything I can from this image when my text notifications start going off nonstop.
My family are early risers, and with Lukas’s kids being little, the excitement of Santa is too much to keep them in bed past five, and currently, it’s close to seven back home.
I answer the texts with a FaceTime call, and a sigh of sadness ripples through me as my brother answers.
“Tal! Merry Christmas!” He spins the camera around so I can watch my nieces tear into the presents on the floor. “Girls, say Merry Christmas to Uncle Talon.”
“Merry Christmas, Uncle Talon!” the oldest two shout in unison. Their squeals of laughter wrap around me like the hug I’m so desperate for.
I miss them.
I wish I were there.
And then I remember Zeke and I are having lunch today, and that he, too, is alone. It instantly makes me feel better about being out here during the holidays because he shouldn’t be by himself.
Luke and I catch up quickly, but I don’t want to take Luke’s attention away from Annie and the girls for too long. After saying a quick hello to my sister-in-law before hanging up, I look at the clock, groaning when I realize it’s only ten after seven.
This is going to be the longest fucking day ever.
Finally, at ten, I decide it’s not too early and fire off a text to see if Zeke would be down for some Christmas barbecue. It’s one of only two places open for lunch. I’d have thought there would be more options, but I was wrong.
Me
Options aren’t terribly plentiful. How do you feel about BBQ?
To my relief, his answer comes immediately.
Zeke
Sounds great.
Me
11:30? I can pick you up.
Zeke
11:30 is good. I’ll meet you there.
Disappointment flares in my gut, but then I realize Zeke probably doesn’t want anyone to see him getting into my car in case they mention it to Derek.
My desire to rearrange that guy’s face grows a little more every day.
However, when rationality returns, I understand it’s better if Zeke meets me at the restaurant anyway, because how am I supposed to explain the Range Rover I’m driving on a restaurant employee’s paychecks?
Which reminds me. I need to discuss upping the wages of the restaurant employees with my parents.
Just to kill time, I grab a shower and spend far too long choosing what to wear.
It’s not a date, Talon. Pull it together.
Finally, I settle on a white T-shirt with an open black-and-green plaid button-down thrown over top and jeans, afraid anything else in my closet will look too pretentious.
I heave a sigh of relief when it’s finally time to leave. My nerve endings are alight with excitement I haven’t felt in a while.
The actual town of Ricochet Ridge isn’t big, nor sprawling, so it only takes ten minutes before I’m parking and walking toward the front door of the restaurant.
A smile breaks out across my face when I see Zeke already seated in a booth by the window. He’s looking down at his phone, biting his lip, with a glass of water on the table in front of him.
“This seat taken?” I tease, pulling my jacket off and slipping into the bench seat across from him.
Zeke raises his head, and his sharp inhale can easily be heard in the silence of the near-empty restaurant.
Why do I like his reaction to me so fucking much?
“Merry Christmas,” I say with a smile.
“Yeah, you too,” he says, shaking his head as if he were clearing cobwebs from his brain.
I’m not in the seat long before our waitress comes over and asks for my drink order. I mirror Zeke’s water choice, and then she’s gone. Leaving Zeke and me alone again.
“What are you having?” I ask as a way to break the silence.
“Oh, um, I think I’m just going to get the cheese fries appetizer as my meal,” Zeke replies, messing with his napkin.
My eyes quickly scan the menu. It doesn’t take long to realize the fries are the cheapest thing on it, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why Zeke chose them.
I open my mouth to tell him lunch is on me—after all, I was the one who invited him—but I quickly shut it again.
Not only would he adamantly protest, but I’m really not trying to highlight the fact that I can afford to buy this entire restaurant if he wants it.
Instead, I simply say, “Those sound good.”
In the end, I order the largest barbecue platter they offer.
“That comes with three sides,” the waitress says.
I choose two, then look at Zeke.
“What’s your favorite on the list?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s not my lunch.”
“Well, I only want those two, and it seems like a waste not to get a third since it’s included, so will you pick? Pretty please?” I ask.
He chooses fried okra, and I make a mental note.
Once our waitress is gone, I wait for silence to descend, but Zeke leans forward, propping his elbows on the table.
“Tell me about New York City.”
“What do you want to know? There’s a lot to cover: history, the food scene, fashion, city life, weather, etc.”
“Everything,” he says, making me laugh because he didn’t narrow it down at all.
I wish I could tell him about my real life up there.
I wish he could see the view from my penthouse.
I’d love to take him walking through Central Park or see the way he’d light up in Times Square.
And of course, I’d love the honor of taking him to his first show on Broadway.
It wouldn’t even matter what play it was.
It would be wonderful simply because I know he’d be awestruck.
I talk nonstop until our food arrives, and Zeke helps me clear space on the table for the four dishes that come with my meal.
“I may not have eaten breakfast, but this is still way more than I was expecting. Please help me eat it?” I ask, sliding the giant plate of barbecue toward the middle of the table.
Zeke shakes his head.
“No way, take it home for leftovers. That’s all yours,” he says, popping a fry into his mouth.
Thinking on the fly, I tell him, “I don’t have room in my fridge for leftovers.” Reaching across the table, I pick up his fork and hand it to him. “Dig in.”
As soon as he takes the first bite, I fall back into conversation about New York, hoping he’ll eat while I talk. Occasionally, I take a bite just to keep up the ruse, but there are nine pounds of tenderloin fillets in my fridge right now. I really don’t need this meal.
My plan is working, but then my phone pings where it sits on the table.
My stomach roils at the name on the screen. Instinctively, I open the message just so my brain can move on, but that was a mistake.
Dahlia
Merry Christmas, Tal. Hoping your day is merry and bright ;)
*Picture message*
The picture is of a naked Dahlia wrapped in colored lights, wearing a Santa hat.
Immediately, I lock my screen and slam my phone on the table face-down.
“Everything okay?” Zeke asks as my phone pings again.
This time, I put it on silent without opening the damn message.
“Um, yeah. Just an ex trying to…well, I’m not sure what she was trying to do, actually.” I laugh.
Zeke hums noncommittally across the table, his pout a clear indicator that he’s not a fan of talking about my exes.
“Well, I think I’ve yammered on enough. What about you?” I ask, hoping to glean more information about the man sitting across from me.
“What about me?” he asks.
“Any siblings, pets, or hopeful exes?” I joke.
“None of the above,” he says simply.
“I think you mentioned you’re from here, is that right?” I don’t want him to feel like he’s being interrogated, but I’m suddenly desperate for any information he’ll share.
“Mmhmm,” he mumbles around a bite of food.
It doesn’t take long to realize he’s not going to volunteer anything directly personal, so I change the topic.
“Are you excited about the play?” I ask.
At this, he finally shows a spark of life.
“Yeah. Everyone’s worked really hard on it. We have a few more regular rehearsals, two full dress rehearsals, and then it’ll be opening night.”
“What’s your favorite part about being on stage?”
The way his eyes light up at this question is unmistakable, and something pinches in my chest. It’s like he’s been waiting to answer this question his whole life, and no one’s bothered to ask.
“I love being able to step into someone else’s shoes.
I mean, my life’s never really been all that great, so the escape from reality is definitely an appealing part of the process, but I like the challenge in feeling a character’s emotions and making them believable.
” Zeke talks faster the more excited he gets.
I’m pretty sure this is the most words I’ve ever heard him speak at one time.
“I love the lessons we learn from the stories being told, and how they can help people relate to others they may never otherwise interact with. I love the way a physical appearance can transform with the right makeup and the way a character’s personality can affect me psychologically. ”
When he pauses, I don’t fill the silence. I never want him to think my words are more important than his. I’m rewarded when he begins talking again after swallowing his latest bite of barbecue.
“The theater in Ricochet has been my outlet since I was little. I was in every school play we had…not that my parents came to see me in them, but people still clapped. It wasn’t the validation I needed, but it was validation nonetheless, and it felt good.”
My heart splinters in my chest for the little boy who took a bow and never got to see his mother beam with pride or feel her arms around him.
Has the whole world let Zeke down at some point?
“I’d like to come to your opening night, if that’s okay with you,” I tell him.
Zeke pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth.
“You really don’t have to.”
“Of course I don’t have to, but I want to. It’s important to me.”
“Why?”
I think about this for a second because, honestly? I’m not actually sure why. But it only takes a second for the answer to hit me.
“Because it’s important to you.”