Civilized Is Relative
Maddox
Across from me, Delaney took a lingering sip of her cabernet like she was buying time, weighing how much to tell me.
As she did, I found myself absurdly distracted by the shape of her mouth against the rim of her glass.
The rest of her was equally distracting – the long auburn hair loose over her shoulders, a hint of pale freckles across her nose, and the blush on her cheeks whenever she got flustered.
But it was her eyes – green, expressive, and earnest – that were making it hard for me to look away.
With a little laugh, she said, "Try you, huh? Are you sure you're up for this?"
And there it was again – the way she kept making light of things that were clearly no laughing matter.
True, I didn't know her story. But it was pretty obvious that her troubles extended well beyond a busted suitcase.
She couldn't even afford a coffee.
But looking at her now, nobody would know it. With her elegant black dress, sleek black heels, and understated emerald jewelry, she looked perfectly suited for a place like this.
She looked like she belonged.
She didn't.
Unlike everyone else within sight, she still seemed capable of being honest.
I leaned closer to say, "If I wasn't up for it, I wouldn't have asked."
She laughed. "But you don't even know me."
She was only half right. I knew more than she realized. Her sister lived in the building where we'd met. Her parents lived in Southwest Michigan. And her credit score was impressively high.
None of it explained why she was broke.
Just then, the waiter returned, asking if we were ready to order.
I looked up. "We are." I tossed Delaney a quick glance. "We'll have one of everything."
She made a sound of protest. "We will not!"
The waiter looked from Delaney to me for clarification. I said it again. "One of everything. But not all at once."
He gave a quick nod. "Very good, sir." Then he slipped away, leaving Delaney staring after him.
When he disappeared down the stairs, she turned to me and said, "You can't be serious."
"Why not?"
"Because…well…that's way too extravagant." She paused. "And wasteful. I mean, you do realize we won't eat half of it."
"So?" I shrugged. "You can take the rest to go."
She winced. "Oh, no. You did this so I wouldn't go hungry later, didn't you?" She sounded genuinely mortified. "I can afford food, honest."
This was debatable. But I hadn't done it for charity. The truth was, I was obscenely curious what she would enjoy if she wasn't too busy worrying about the cost.
I smiled. "Hey, the menu's not that big."
"Yeah, but—"
"And you want the truth?"
She gave a tentative nod.
I lowered my voice. "I didn't want you to pick something because you thought it was the cheapest."
And I wasn't lying about the size of the menu. This wouldn't be a spectacle.
By design, the menu was only two pages, with offerings that changed every night. The exclusivity was part of the appeal.
But Delaney looked unconvinced. "Do they even offer to-go boxes in a place like this?"
"Sure – unless you call it a doggy bag, in which case they'll probably escort us out."
This wasn't true. I could call it a grub bucket, and they'd still box everything up just fine. But the joke was worth it to see Delaney smile.
With a little snicker, she said, "So…I can't call it a snack pack? A chow pouch?" Her eyes brightened. "I know! A feed bag."
I couldn't help but chuckle. "I'd pay good money to hear you call it that."
"You would not." She rolled her eyes. "You'd be totally embarrassed. And with good reason, too." Her chin lifted. "I can behave myself, you know."
I did know. Because even though she wasn't completely at ease, she obviously knew how to navigate high-end places. No doubt, this was due to her mom, who'd inherited just enough money to get herself in trouble.
The research on this had been crystal clear. Instead of growing her fortune, she'd drained it dry. Based on the numbers, she was still digging. And let's just say her credit score wasn't half as good as her daughter's.
Now, as I watched Delaney across the table, her last statement lingered between us.
I can behave.
Somehow, this only made me wonder what she'd be like when not behaving.
In private.
Fuck.
I shifted in my seat. "Hey, if you want to misbehave, don't let me stop you."
"Oh, please. That would make me a pretty awful dinner guest, don't you think? Embarrassing you while we're out?"
If she thought that was embarrassing, she should've seen the absolute shitstorm unleashed by Sloane after I called off the wedding.
But I didn't want to think about Sloane. She was ancient history, even if the rest of the world hadn't gotten the memo.
To Delaney, I replied, "Who knows? Maybe I'd embarrass you."
This made her laugh. "Yeah, right." And then, she surprised me by tossing out a phrase I'd used on her, back in the apartment building. "You look pretty civilized to me."
I was.
And I wasn't.
Unlike my candy-ass brother, I had never been afraid to get my hands dirty if someone crossed a line.
I shrugged. "Maybe civilized is relative."
Before either of us could say more, the first round of food arrived – three miniature cups of soup for each of us, artfully arranged on two long white plates.
Each soup was different – classic lobster bisque, French onion topped with bubbling gruyère, and chilled cucumber-avocado topped with tiny curls of crab.
From the same serving tray, the waiter delivered to each of us half-portions of seared scallops, plated with precision.
After the waiter left, Delaney stared down at the food. "Wow," she breathed. "It looks too pretty to touch."
Maybe. But I wasn't looking at the food. "That reminds me."
She looked up. "What?"
"There's something I should have said already."
"Oh? And what's that?"
I met her gaze. "You look beautiful."
For some reason, this made her laugh. "What you really mean is that I cleaned up nice."
I got what she meant. But the truth was, I'd thought she was beautiful long before she'd changed clothes. At the memory of her standing there holding that ridiculous flower pot, I almost smiled.
Instead, I reached for my wine glass and took a careful sip before saying, "Nope."
"What do you mean, 'nope'?"
"I thought that before the dress."
She gave me a dubious look. "Well, that's nice of you to say and all, but I saw how that one lady looked at me. Trust me. She was not impressed."
"So what? The world is full of fools."
She laughed. But then, her laughter faded, and something haunted came into her eyes. "I should probably be honest though."
"About what?"
She glanced down. "This dress – it isn't mine. I borrowed it. The shoes, too. I did have a dress in my suitcase, except it looked too cheap to wear." She perked up. "But the earrings are mine. And they're genuine, too."
For a moment, I was speechless. Delaney Sinclair was unlike anyone I had ever met. Curious now, I glanced at her necklace, an emerald pendant on a thin gold chain. "And the necklace?"
She reached up, brushing it with her fingers. "Oh, this? It's mine, but…" She never did finish.
"But what?"
She leaned forward to whisper, "It's not exactly real. But you probably knew that already. I mean, who could afford an emerald this big?" She rolled her eyes. "It would probably be two carats at least."
And then, she settled back to say, "I just didn't want to take credit for anything that wasn't really mine – or genuine." She gave a shaky laugh. "You know…false advertising and all that."
And with that, she glanced down at her selection of soup and quickly changed the subject. "So…they gave us a spoon for each kind, huh? That's pretty smart, don't you think? I mean…I'd hate to get avocado in the lobster, wouldn't you?"
I couldn't help but smile. "Or vice versa. So try one. Tell me what you think."
She grinned. "You first."
"Nope. Ladies first. And I've already tried it."
"Which one?"
"All of them."
"Oh." She cleared her throat. "Right. So you probably come here a lot, huh?"
I did. And the reason for this was simple. I owned the place, which was how I'd managed to get the best table with nearly no notice – and why our most discreet server wasn't addressing me by name.
Keeping it simple, I said, "Sure. I like the place, don't you?"
"Definitely." And then, as if eager to prove it, she reached for a spoon and tasted the lobster bisque. She leaned back and closed her eyes for a long moment before softly groaning, "Oh, my God. That's so good."
I found myself irrationally pleased by how much she enjoyed it.
Not too long afterward, I was less pleased by how quickly the evening was slipping through my fingers.
The courses kept coming while our conversation drifted effortlessly from one topic to another.
Delaney ranked the soups, voting all of them the best while declaring the lobster bisque the super-best, as if such a ranking existed.
Later, she became attached to the wild mushroom risotto, raved about the bacon-wrapped shrimp, and flat-out refused to believe the tiny chocolate dessert arriving at the end of the meal was intended for human consumption.
With a laugh, she said, "It's way too pretty to eat." And then, she proved herself wrong by devouring it anyway in tiny ladylike bites – unlike the prior courses, which she'd sampled with obvious delight before the waiter had whisked them away to box up for later.
Somewhere along the way, I realized I didn't want the evening to end.
Delaney was a walking contradiction – thoughtful, but outrageously honest, beautiful, but modest to a fault, and sweet, with a hint of mischief she couldn't quite hide.
Far too soon, the candle between us had burned noticeably lower, making a mockery of how quickly the minutes were slipping away.
Just like that, dessert was gone, and I still hadn't heard her story.
Sure, I could've pushed the issue, but the thought of ruining her obvious pleasure for the sake of extracting information seemed like a dick move on the best of days.
And from the few nuggets I had gleaned, today had most certainly not been her best.
But that didn't mean I was giving up on the story.
The way I saw it, there was always coffee.