Chapter 26 #2
If Chris notices the heat of my attention, he doesn’t let on. But I don’t think it’s my imagination that his eyes linger on me as well with a warmth they haven’t possessed before. At least, not for the last two years.
I ignore my dad’s texts all day, feeling only a tiny twinge of guilt. Chris is right—I need to stop worrying so much about others and live a little for me. If I can’t do that in a make-believe dream world with zero stakes, when the hell can I?
As the afternoon light fades and the island goes dark, my anxiety begins to get the better of me. Chris kept insisting throughout the day to leave our pseudo-date to him until I relented. Now, I regret not pressing him for more details so I could at least mentally prepare.
We return to the Royal Lilac to change, and after greeting Carol and getting snubbed by Owen, I freshen up as best I can.
I spend entirely too long agonizing over my choice of shirt and pants—Chris hadn’t given me any clues about a dress code—before opting for my nicer pair of slacks and a button-down.
I’m glad I did when I emerge to find Chris similarly dressed.
He grins when he sees me, his hands tucked into his pockets. “Ready to go?”
I nod. If Chris is dealing with the same nerves as me, he’s hiding it much better. But then again, this was his idea, and he’d made it perfectly clear this is about satisfying the time loop on the off chance it cares about a college fling.
It’s not like this is a real date.
I try to convince myself of that the entire walk to downtown. Chris is silent beside me, leaving me to my thoughts. Or maybe he’s simply reacting to the waves of anxiety pouring off me like sweat.
God, this is going to be such a disaster.
Chris stops outside a restaurant we haven’t visited in any of our previous cycles.
Situated on a slight rise with a fantastic view of Lake Huron, Huron Blue is the sort of place even my family would balk at.
The kind of place where they don’t bother putting prices on the menu because if you have to ask, you probably can’t afford it.
“Here?” I ask.
Chris raises a brow. “What, you think the working-class kid wouldn’t be caught dead in a swanky restaurant like this?”
“N-no. It’s just…not what I was expecting. We never went anywhere like this before.”
I’d meant before, as in during our past time loops, but Chris smiles tightly and replies, “Well, we also crashed and burned before, so I’m not sure our past relationship should be the metric we use.”
“Fair point.” I gesture awkwardly toward the double glass doors at the front. “Lead the way.”
The inside is as decadent as I’d assumed, lit mostly by candles and full of local art that, unlike Casa Nostra, manages to look chic instead of kitschy.
Chris must have a reservation because he talks to the ma?tre d’, who leads us through the restaurant to a back patio open to the air.
Several portable heaters scattered about the space fight back the autumn chill.
Our table sits near the patio’s edge, with a spectacular view of the lake and the twinkling lights of the mainland in the distance.
“Wow,” I breathe, taking it all in.
The ma?tre d’ smiles, eyes flicking between us. “A stunning view, yes? Very romantic. You boys enjoy your dinner. Your server will be with you shortly.”
He winks—literally winks—and I blush. It occurs to me then what this must look like, the two of us dressed up and dining together at a place like this.
I open my mouth to correct him, to explain we’re only friends…
but stop myself just in time, swallowing down the words.
After all, this is exactly what it looks like, isn’t it?
Plus, time loop or not, it’s not like we’ll ever see him again.
There’s no harm in letting him think what he wants, no matter how unsettled his assumption makes me.
The ma?tre d’ departs, and I notice Chris watching me with narrowed eyes. Can he tell what I’d been thinking? I occupy myself by gulping down some water.
An awkward silence stretches between us.
“Um,” I eventually say with a nervous chuckle. “Now what?”
Chris fiddles with his silverware. As usual, he needs something to do with his hands. The thought—and the image it conjures—sends a shiver of heat through me.
“I guess we get to know each other. That’s what people typically do on first dates, right?”
“This is hardly a first date. And I’d say we already know each other pretty well.”
“I guess.” More fiddling. His silverware clinks as they rub together. “What else do people talk about on dates?”
“How the hell should I know? It’s not like I’ve been on any.”
He looks up sharply, his hands stilling. “Really?”
Suddenly embarrassed, I glance away. “I, uh, wasn’t in a rush after my mom passed. For obvious reasons. And we didn’t go on many proper dates ourselves.”
None, really, unless you counted secret hookups or movie nights in one of our rooms. Going on dates typically requires being out in public with each other, and that’s a line we’d rarely wanted to cross for fear of discovery.
When we did go out, it had almost always been with mutual friends to serve as a buffer.
My answer seems to upset him, though I’m not sure why. “Me neither,” he says. “I mean, I’ve had a fair number of hook-ups since we broke up. That was one of the best perks of being out. But dates or romance?” He shakes his head.
My turn to frown. “Why not?”
He shrugs, not looking at me. “Never felt like it, I guess.”
I nod, deciding not to press him further. Especially since I’m not sure I want to know the answer. The thought of him with anyone else leaves an uncomfortable pit in my stomach.
Another silence descends, and I’m not sure how to break it. I make a few half-hearted attempts at small talk, but none of it goes anywhere. It all feels so artificial. Forced. Nothing like the easy camaraderie we’ve been slowly cultivating during our mutual adventures.
If you’re watching this, universe, then I’m sorry. Hopefully, you’ll at least give us points for effort.
The food is about the only bright spot. As one would expect in a place without prices on the menu, it’s heavenly, the fish so fresh it practically melts in your mouth.
Neither of us order anything to drink other than pop, though I’m tempted to, if only to take some of the edge off.
When our waiter asks if we’d like dessert to share, we shake our heads in unison.
Maybe Chris is as eager to escape this farce as I am.
Because that’s what this feels like at this point—a farce.
A charade. Like we’re acting out parts in some play we don’t particularly enjoy.
My stomach roils with disappointment as our server arrives with the check, putting us out of our misery.
Had I really been looking forward to this all day?
Actually entertained the idea that this could work?
I guess whatever chemistry I’d thought Chris and I had exists solely in my head.
I reach for the check at the same instant as Chris. Our fingers tangle over the thin scrap of paper, and I yank my hand back as if burned. Chris does the same. “I got it,” I say right as Chris says, “Dinner’s on me.”
We blink at each other for a moment before Chris reddens slightly. “This whole thing was my idea. The least I can do is foot the bill.”
He grabs for the check again, but I’m faster, snatching it before he can. I slide out my credit card and stick it in the holster. “It’s fine,” I say. “Dad put some extra money in my account to cover expenses like this during the trip. I don’t mind.” I look up to find Chris glaring at me.
“Yeah, well, maybe I do,” he grits out. “Just because you’re a Wentworth doesn’t mean the rest of us plebs can’t afford to pay our own way.”
I blink, too taken aback to reply. Money’s always been a bit of a sore spot between us—I know how hard his parents had to work to make ends meet. But where the hell did that come from?
Slowly, I retrieve my card and pass the bill across the table to him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
Chris shoves his own card into the pocket. “It’s fine.”
It’s so clearly not fine that I almost laugh, barely catching myself in time. In his current mood, I doubt Chris would’ve appreciated the humor. Instead, I ask, “Is everything okay?”
For an instant, he tenses further. Then, he sags in his seat and huffs out a sigh. He reaches up to rub his eyes. “Yeah. I’m a bit on edge, I guess. The last couple hours haven’t exactly been relaxing.”
This time, I do laugh, and Chris lowers his hand to give me a small grin.
“Right?” I say, shaking my head. “I mean, we’ve spent the better part of two weeks together, and it hasn’t felt this awkward since—”
“Since I told you to piss off and leave me alone?” Chris nods, leaning forward. “I know! I thought a place like this would, I dunno, be romantic or some shit. But…”
He shrugs, and I supply, “But instead, it felt forced.”
“Exactly!” He sighs again, playing with the card tray until our server takes it. “Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Even if the universe was shipping us, I doubt this was the romantic reunion it had in mind.”
“Definitely not.” I grin at him across the table. “I thought you were literally going to punch me over the bill.”
“I might’ve gotten a bit carried away,” he admits sheepishly, hiding his face behind his glass while he takes a sip of water.
I don’t let him off the hook that easily. “You realize it doesn’t even matter, right? Unless by some miracle we break the time loop this cycle, your bank account will never feel that hit.”
He thunks his glass back on the table. “It was symbolic!”
“Uh-huh…”
I eye him, and he groans. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in how ridiculous I was being.”
The server returns with Chris’ card, and he appends his signature to the final bill before standing. As I join him, I note the tip he wrote in, and my eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit, that’s one hell of a tip.”
He shrugs on his coat. “Well, like you said—the only way it matters is if this is our last day here, so I figure, why not sweeten the pot a little with a bribe to karma.”
I chuckle dutifully, but inside, my guts squirm like they usually do at the thought of all this ending.
Not that I don’t still want to break free.
I do. It’s just, somewhere in all these repetitions, I’ve started to enjoy myself.
And looking across at Chris’ familiar face, his firm cheekbones and silky black bangs and round hazel eyes, I can’t fool myself anymore into pretending I don’t know why.
Without giving myself time to second-guess what I’m doing and chicken out, I reach over and snag Chris’ hand. His breath catches, eyes staring at our locked grip.
“Perce? What—”
“Come on,” I say, tugging him toward the exit. “The night is still young. If we’re going to tempt the universe with a date, then we’re going to make damn sure we do it right!”