Chapter 19
Am I Interrupting Something?
Andrew
Vince has set me up.
I know it the moment I walk into Villa, a beautifully decorated Italian restaurant with a modern flair, and see Vince waiting at a table for four. My steps falter as I approach, my mind racing through every possible scenario.
"Vince," I mutter accusingly, noticing how he's engrossed in his phone.
He looks up, startled. "Hey!" he exclaims, standing quickly and slapping my shoulder in a way that feels too platonic, it makes me want to curl up and die. "Congrats on finishing your first big TV project, Andy. Have a seat, I just ordered us an appetizer."
I slide into the chair directly across from him, my mind still reeling.
There's a foolish part of me that has toyed with the fantasy that Vince has brought me here for something entirely different.
Maybe he's broken up with Sam, maybe he's about to confess that we're soulmates.
Maybe we'll eat a ridiculous amount of overpriced pasta and. .. spend the night together.
But the reality of the situation is quickly sinking in, and I know I'm wrong. Disappointment churns in my gut, but I bury it.
"Who is us?" I ask, every muscle in my body tensing with dread.
"Right..." Vince hesitates, clearly picking his words carefully. "Well, I wanted to surprise you."
"Vince, don't you dare tell me you invited Ted."
I watch comprehension dawn across his features, the slow recognition of my body language he's usually so quick to read. Panic flashes in his eyes.
"Ted and Sam are joining us. Double date. I thought you'd love it, especially after how you reacted to the Hawaii idea. You said you liked surprises."
My stomach lurches.
I put a hand over my chest, feeling my racing heart as I grab the fabric of my shirt in frustration.
This is going to be a confrontation of epic proportions.
"Shit," Vince says quietly, his voice dropping as realization dawns. "I did something wrong, didn't I?"
His face crumple with worry, and my frustration softens. He looked so excited to surprise me, and had the circumstances with Ted been different, it might've been sweet. He couldn't have known.
My head sinks into my hands, muffling my words as I confess, "I tried to break up with him recently.
With Ted." A sigh escapes me. "It's not your fault—I never told you how bad things really were between us.
" I lift my head slightly, meeting Vince's concerned gaze.
"I've been pretending everything's fine, but we just aren't working.
" A bitter laugh escapes me. "He convinced me to give it until after the holidays.
I think I might be a little bit of a doormat. "
Vince's expression turns to one of genuine remorse. "Andy... I can't tell you how sorry I am. I didn't know. Ted didn't make it sound like anything was off between you two when I called him. He loved this idea."
"Of course he did," I mutter, scowling. "How the hell did you even get his number?"
"Is there a 'sold' sign in this city that doesn't have that man's face plastered on it?
" Vince groaned, swirling the last of his drink.
"And his cell number? You can't escape it.
It's practically a local landmark in West Hollywood at this point.
" He set his glass down with a thud, leaning forward conspiratorially.
"But Andy, please explain this to me: why, for the love of all that is holy, is a man who sells houses for a living posing shirtless on a boat for his professional LinkedIn headshot?
His entire Instagram is just a shrine to his own abs, interspersed with pictures of master bathrooms. It's a thirst trap with property listings.
Why, Andy? I need to understand the logic here. "
I can't help it—a laugh bubbles up, sharp and bitter, cutting through the dread coiling in my gut.
Vince keeps going, his hands flying, his glass sloshing as he talks.
That look in his eyes... I've seen it before.
The way his voice gets tight when he mentions Ted's Instagram, the tension in his jaw.
It's not just teasing. There's something else there, something even he might not see.
"And don't even get me started on the phone call," Vince continues, exasperation dripping from every word.
"He couldn't even multitask. Had to pull over at some McDonald's in the middle of our conversation and completely forgot what we were talking about because he put me on hold to order 'some grub.
' I mean, no offense, Andy, but also major offense.
.. you're way out of his league. What the hell are you doing with this guy? "
He leans forward, elbows on the table, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that sends shivers down my spine. The candlelight flickers between us, casting shadows that dance across his face as he watches me, waiting for an answer I don't have.
"Seriously," he presses, his dark eyes searching mine. "I don't get it. You're smart, you're funny, you've got that whole quiet intensity thing going on that drives people crazy. You're reading Steinbeck for fun, for God's sake. Meanwhile, this guy seems to think the world revolves around him."
I open my mouth to protest, to defend Ted somehow, but the words won't come. Because he's right. I know he's right.
"You deserve better, Andy," Vince says, his voice softening. "Someone who gets you, not someone who needs to guilt you into another chance just to mess things up again."
The intensity of his gaze sends heat flooding my cheeks, and I have to look away, focusing instead on the flickering candle between us. My stomach does flips as I realize he's not just criticizing Ted. He's defending me.
He sees me.
He looks at me then, his frustration softening into something apologetic.
"Andy, I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have made this a whole thing without talking to you first."
My hand moves on its own, drawn to the warmth beside the candle. When my fingers brush his, a jolt shoots up my arm. His skin is warm against mine, the slight calluses on his palm sending shivers through me. Vince's eyes drop to where our hands now touch, his breath catching audibly.
For a heartbeat that stretches into eternity, his gaze stays there before slowly lifting to meet mine.
His pupils are blown wide in the candlelight, the usual playful mischief replaced by something more vulnerable.
My own heart pounds against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that I'm sure he must feel through our joined hands.
But I don't pull away. Instead, I let my thumb trace a slow circle across his knuckles, watching as a tremor runs through his arm, as his fingers curl just slightly to hold mine tighter.
"Vince, this isn't on you," I murmur, my voice barely carrying over the restaurant's noise.
"I'm embarrassed about the whole thing. My relationship was crumbling while yours thrived.
I should have told you I'd tried to end things, that I was an idiot for letting him talk me into another chance.
You didn't overstep. You're just... you.
Always thinking of others, caring so deeply it hurts. "
He gives me a warning look, but I press on.
"You're a softie. You're not fooling anyone with your designer sunglasses and your car. I bet you cry at that Chevy commercial with the puppy."
His eyebrows shoot up, a perfect arch of theatrical disbelief that makes him look younger, more open.
The candlelight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid amber for a moment.
I watch the muscles in his jaw work, fighting against the smile that's already tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Everyone cries at that commercial," he retorts, finally letting the grin break through, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Even tough guys who pretend they don't. Especially them."
The laugh that escapes me feels too loud in the elegant dining room, but I don't care.
"It's just a dog, Vince. The music's cheesy, and the kid they cast is awful at crying.
It's over the top and corny." I lean forward, lowering my voice to match his, our faces illuminated by the single flame between us.
"It's not heartwarming. It's manipulative marketing. "
He turns his hand over, the movement slow, as if testing waters he's not sure he should be crossing.
My breath catches as his fingers find mine, lacing through them with a familiarity that feels both foreign and inevitable.
The contact sends electricity up my arm, making the fine hairs stand on end.
He gently squeezes my hand, his thumb grazing over the back of it in a slow, circular motion that feels dangerously intimate.
Each pass of his thumb sends another jolt through me.
"Hey, Andy?" His voice has dropped even lower, barely audible over the restaurant's ambient chatter, yet somehow it cuts through everything else, demanding my full attention.
"Yeah?"
"You're heartless and morbid."
The accusation is delivered with a soft smile that takes the sting out of his words, but the intensity in his eyes suggests there's more beneath the surface.
I laugh, but my pulse races. The restaurant around us fades to a blur of muted colors and distant sounds, the clinking of silverware and murmur of conversations becoming white noise. Suddenly, Vince is the only person I can see, the only one who matters in the entire restaurant.
Then Ted's voice cuts through the air like a knife.
"Am I interrupting something?"