Chapter 16 #2
I smile and try to resuscitate even one measly butterfly. “I’m hardly intimidating.”
He cocks a boyish smile, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. “Oh no, you are—and this is putting it mildly—extremely terrifying.”
I almost spit out my water in a laugh. “Terrifying? Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
“Nope.” He grins cheekily. “I might have even undersold it.”
I lean coyly across the table, teasing my fingertips across the forearm of his tuxedo jacket. “And what exactly makes me so scary?”
His hazel eyes track the movement of my fingers on his sleeve, all traces of humor gone. “Because you have this effect on people,” he murmurs, eyes flitting to mine. “On me. I like that you seem to know exactly what you want in life and will stop at nothing to get it.”
I pull my arm back, give him a tiny smile, and sip my water. How does that make me feel? Seen? Or misunderstood? This toothy man knows nothing about me, and yet, the way he gazes at me feels like he knows much more than he’s letting on.
A paranoid thought skirts up my spine: what exactly did Dad tell him about me? Probably only good things, since Dad would rather die than ruin his reputation. But I’m suddenly stripped bare, and I want it to stop. Go back to being playful, not serious.
“Tanner, how do you feel about Truth or Dare?”
His light blonde eyebrows cinch. “Like the game from seventh grade?”
“Or eighth.” I tip a shrug with a smirk. “Pick your poison.”
He looks genuinely bewildered. “You want to play truth or dare? Here? In Chef Conti’s kitchen?
” A soft chuckle rumbles out, though his wary eyes watch me like I might bite him or something.
“Ohh. I get it. You’re so funny, Kate. Ah—here comes the chef now.
” Relief is stamped on Tanner’s face as Chef Conti greets us.
“Doctor Evans! Welcome, welcome.”
Oh. I guess that even though he isn’t a surgeon like my dad, he still must have a doctorate to be a physician assistant. I watch Doctor Tanner Evans give the robust chef a genial smile with all those teeth.
Dr. Teeth.
Oh man, I can practically sense the nickname embedding into the folds of my brain. I hope to high heaven I’ll be able to pry it out later.
We place our orders, and Chef Conti walks away just as my phone begins to ring. I apologize profusely until I see Julia’s contact photo and a real butterfly soars in my stomach. Did she already talk to Hannah about helping Amantha?
“Doc—I mean, Tanner, I’m so sorry, but I’ve got to take this for work. I’ll be back in a few?” I barely wait for Dr. Teeth to nod before I dodge servers on my way into the women’s bathroom.
“Oh my gosh! I am so freaking happy you called!” I say.
“Are you, now?” A low voice vibrates through the speakers and into my soul, setting a million butterflies on fire. I hope they all burn to a crisp, the traitors.
I curse loudly, giving zero cares about who might be clutching their pearls in the bathroom stalls. “Why are you calling me, Brandon?”
“Ooh, Katie. Didn’t know you knew such filthy words. And I’m not. Julia’s the one who pressed call. The phone just happened to find its way into my hands.”
I can hear Julia’s muffled shouts in the background. “I’m so sorry, Kate! He gets all loopy when he’s on cold medicine. The stupid turd is a tank and I can’t—get my—phone—back.”
“Did you miss me?” he asks. “You must have been all lonely without me in our office yesterday. Don’t you fret, love. I’ll be over this cold soon, and we can finally get around to those boxing lessons.”
“Take all the time off you need,” I say. “Better yet, quit!”
He chuckles darkly. “We both know you’d miss me way too much.”
“Brandon, you’re ruining my date,” I snarl. “Let me talk to Julia.”
“A date? Ooh. Tell me more. Is Bernice there? Or is Gwendolyn the one getting married now?”
I freeze. What kind of cold medicine is he on? We never talk this blatantly about the past—ever.
I rally and say, “It’s none of your business. Let. Me. Talk. To. Julia.”
“Have you played truth or dare yet?” he asks.
“Kate!” I hear Julia’s muffled shout. “If you can hear me—tell Amantha I’m in! We can work out the details of the marketing strategy later—” A mumbled scuffle, and then, “Keep your nasty hand off my mouth, Brandon Roberts! I will call your mother this instant!”
I giggle at Brandon’s expense, but adrenaline courses through me. Julia’s in. Our plan is going to work. Amantha’s exhibition will be saved, and the museum will be too. The ecstatic moment is short-lived, however, thanks to my persistent ex.
“If the guy you’re with isn’t willing to get locked in a mini-jail inside a mattress store for you,” Brandon chuckles, “he doesn’t deserve you.”
I end the call lightning fast before he can say anything else. Cold sweat slicks my palms, and my chest rises and falls.
Brandon doesn’t know me. Not anymore, anyway.
Who is he to tell me who I deserve? What I deserve?
I love long-stemmed red roses and fancy dinners, alright?
But the sinking pit in my stomach knows there is no scenario dire enough to ever make Dr. Teeth bounce on a mattress for me. The phone in my palm grows heavier by the second.
Maybe Tanner doesn’t deserve me.
Or is it that I don't deserve a man like Tanner?
Either way, my smile is forced when I return to the table. Tanner’s brow slants as he takes me in.
“You okay?”
“Yeah,” I exhale as I plop back into my seat. “Just work stuff.”
I scan the bustling environment. What seemed exciting earlier now just seems…loud. After rubbing my temple, I drop my hand to catch Tanner watching me.
Before I can paste on another smile, Tanner stops a passing waiter. “Do you mind asking Chef Conti to plate our food in to-go boxes? Our plans have changed.” Tanner throws me a little wink.
A smile blooms across my face without permission. “Tanner, that’s so nice, but we can stay. You were so excited—”
“Kate, stop.” His eyes are kind. “My priority tonight is you. Let’s go eat somewhere quieter. I know just the place.”
Thirty minutes later, a stack of take-out boxes dangle in a bag from Tanner’s left hand as we walk down the sidewalk, but he keeps his right hand firmly around mine. His touch is foreign but warm in the frigid air.
“Just up ahead,” he puffs a laugh that clouds instantly. “Sorry, should’ve parked closer.”
“It’s okay,” I chatter.
“Ah.” Tanner steps up to a darkened glass storefront to where a flat-panel lockbox is embedded beside the door. The box numbers light up green after he punches in a series of digits. A mechanical click sounds, and Tanner pulls open the door.
“After you,” he says, following me in and flicking on the lights.
A huge smile breaks over my face.
It’s a gallery space. Oak hardwood floors stretch in the somewhat long and narrow room, but the walls are dotted with breathtaking art. My feet move of their own volition.
“Tanner,” I breathe. “This is gorgeous.”
His smile is boyish but charming. “Thought you’d like it. My friend owns the place. It was either this or Chef Conti’s. Glad I kept it for back-up.” Our laughs echo in the emptiness, but I find myself returning to him and pressing my arms around his waist.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re so very welcome.” There’s a gentleness in his touch, his voice. He bobs his head toward a wood slab countertop. “Come on, we can sit over there.”
I move slower, still captivated by the art and the sentiment that he thought to bring me here. By the time my eyes land on him again, he’s pulling out my stool as steam rises in decadent tendrils from the open boxes. His smile quirks. “Let’s eat, beautiful.”