Chapter 13 #3
I turned to find Anson standing behind my dad, his hand on his shoulder.
His hair was pulled back tight, but all I could think about was how I’d been able to run my fingers through it a few nights earlier.
He was also in a casual blazer, a beige T-shirt underneath, sporting the New Day Tech logo, and jeans.
He’d leveled up his shoes, wearing a new-looking pair of loafers instead of the beat-up sneakers I was used to seeing.
He had his glasses on, which I knew meant he had worked through the night and waited too long to take his contacts out.
He’d greeted me twice over the past weeks with his glasses on.
I adored how amazing he looked while at the same time fretting over the fact that the glasses meant he’d probably been up for over twenty-four hours.
The urge to greet him with a hug and a peck on the cheek was one I had to physically resist.
Had it really only been three days since I’d seen him last?
Since I’d kissed him like I’d meant it and then turned around and hightailed it out of the lab?
My heart fought to beat its way out of my chest, and I actually glanced around, worried that others could tell, that the two men in front of me could tell, that I was melting at the sight of the man who had become so much more than my boss, so much more than my idol.
Anson’s eyes were on me as soon as I looked his way.
He’d been smiling at my dad, and the smile turned to something else, something just for me for a beat before his face went neutral, and he gave me a terse nod.
It was like an entire movie had played across his face.
Beginning, middle, and the part I was going to have to learn to live with, the end.
“Anson Day,” my dad interrupted the show playing out before us. “It’s been a minute.” Dad seemed stiffer than usual.
“That it has been.” The two men shook hands.
“So,” dad joked. “What have you been up to?”
Anson shrugged, ironically appearing comfortable around my dad, which was nice to see and, I guessed, rare for Anson. Their conversation played out as if I were underwater, my heart still fighting me, blood pulsing through my ears, fogging my concentration.
“Not much. I own a little company now. Benji tells me you do too.”
“I do.” Dad was not contributing to the conversation that he had initiated, and I was too distracted to ferret out why or to assist.
“Construction, right? New homes or …” Dad really was staring at Anson like he was trying to solve a problem.
The hostess arrived at that moment and interrupted, which felt like a relief, at least to me. She looked Anson over like she was checking him out. Oh, I really didn’t like that. Her tone was sharp as she drew the men’s attention away from each other and toward her.
“Good evening, gentleman. I’m so sorry, but we do have a no-jeans policy …”
Anson spoke over her, a little heft to his voice.
“We have a reservation. Anson Day, party of three.” A second woman swooped in behind the hostess.
“Dr. Day! Welcome back to Beantown Prime.” With hurried efficiency, she tucked three heavy menus on her hip and gestured for us to follow. “I’ve got this, Daisy.” She patted the hostess on the arm and began walking.
“And you must be the graduate?”
I glanced at Anson, then down at his jeans and back up, cocking an eyebrow.
He had a crooked smile on his face, an acknowledgment that he had gotten away with something. He smiled back at me before we both nodded to the woman.
She made eye contact with my dad next, though she managed to maneuver us through the crowded restaurant as she did so. “Mr. Warren, you must be incredibly proud of your son.”
My dad opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the efficient woman as she gestured up a flight of stairs that led to a loft area.
We walked past a number of tables for two that lined the edge of the area, looking over the lower level of the restaurant, and came to a stop at the end of the landing, where a small room held a table for four.
A wine rack partially obstructed the lower view, reaching halfway up the glass wall.
Standing near it, one could look down at the floor below, but seated, we would not be seen.
At eye level, the Charles River Basin filled the window, my campus visible on the other side.
“Chef Drew wanted to welcome you with some champagne. May I open this for you?” I turned away from the view to find Anson watching me and Dad watching him. We all drew our attention back to the hostess.
“Thank you, Katie,” Anson read the woman’s name tag.
“And thank Drew for us.” Katie nodded as the cork popped, and she expertly poured three flutes of champagne.
She handed one to my father before delivering the other two, first to Anson and then to me.
Anson barely took his eyes off mine to accept the glass, or when he ordered an appetizer from Katie before she left the room.
I stood awkwardly with the flute in hand, aware of my father’s stare. Dad cleared his throat and raised his glass, and I gave a subtle nod to Anson. He cleared his throat in turn and finally tore his eyes from mine to smile at my father instead.