19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
I was going out to dinner! On a weekend! In the evening! It was in times such as this one that I relied on the back of my closet, which contained those bits and pieces I’d collected over the years and never had the bravery to wear out. Or, the dresses I wore once to a special event, and nothing special ever happened again. I chose a navy, body-hugging cocktail dress with mesh sleeves and back. The only way I could wear it was with one of those bizarre bras without a back and a giant plunge in the front. I curled my hair, put on my makeup. I even glued on some eyelashes! By the time I tottered in my platform heels, the best type of heels by the way because I get support and length, Beau was at my door looking gorgeous in a gray suit, no tie, and a plain white collared shirt.
“You look beautiful,” he said. He took the very words out of my mouth.
“Thanks. Same to you, though. But you look amazing even covered in gutter dirt.”
He spun me around to check me out. No one had ever spun me around to check me out. “You do too.”
We walked to L'Hommes aux Pommes, one of the fanciest restaurants in Gorda Vista. It had been used for filming a few movies, even. That’s how large and fancy it was. We didn’t have reservations but found a stoop to drink and eat at the bar.
For once, we were on even turf. I turned as many heads in my age bracket and above as Beau did. I considered tonight the only night I could be the Barbie to his Ken.
“Sir, is that you?” a familiar voice called out to me. I turned to find Chris and Claire. Chris, looking like a dad about ready to board a boat, and Claire in some kind of floor-length frock that screamed “Under His Eye.” Still quite pregnant.
“Chris! Claire! Imagine seeing you here.” I chuckled nervously as I swiveled completely around on the stool. Beau turned around too and put his hand on my lower back.
“Trying to squeeze in as many date nights before—” Claire rubbed her growing belly.
“I thought I made a reservation, but I failed to hit the confirmation button. Now here we are at the bar, next to you.” Chris’s shoulders tensed up, which meant he wanted to crawl away and hide. And me? Wanted to point a neon sign to the hand at the small of my back.
“Chris, this is Beau, my… my…”
“Date,” Beau answered. He shook Chris’s hand. Beau was all neutral calm, being the alpha in this situation.
“Chris is my—”
“Ex.” Chris finally broke the handshake. He had a stern crook to his eyebrows as if he was sizing Beau up. As if the dude still had some kind of say with what I did with my life. “Claire and I were thinking about leaving anyway. A pregnant woman at a bar doesn’t look good to outsiders.”
Claire whispered loudly in Chris’s ear, “I was craving their braised escargot. ”
I gestured to the empty seats at the end of the bar, far from us and allowing only a limited amount of awkward eye contact. “It’s really not a big deal if you sit at the bar. Water under the bridge and all.”
Claire whispered something in Chris’s ear. When she was done, she announced, “Great!” and waddled her way to the seats and claimed the place with her coat, scarf, and oversized purse—perfect for eventually being full of diapers.
Beau nudged me with his knee. He leaned in, moved my hair to the side, and whispered in my ear. “Do you need some time with him?”
I shrugged. Most of my interactions with Chris during and post-divorce involved being in transition. Determining which of our former home’s junk went with me and the condo, packing it in boxes, and helping me unpack. Furtive glances and heavy goodbyes suggested there was so much more to talk about, but we let it slide. That was what happens when a marriage ends with indifference.
“I know the ma?tre d’ and he said he might be able to wedge us in at a table. I’m going to check how that’s going.” Beau stood up and buttoned his blazer. With his hair, he was a shade taller than Chris, which surely shrunk my ex’s balls a bit.
“Honest minute?” Chris asked. He leaned across the stool that Beau had once been sitting in .
I swiveled my legs toward the bar. They only pointed to Beau like a divining rod. “Go for it.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“He’s my personal trainer.” Even though our sessions were benefiting him as much as me. “Maybe was? Not sure.”
Chris raised his mouth into a simpering smile. The yacht-less captain relished that Beau was a few notches down on the ladder of money and success, the true alpha currency in Gorda Vista. “How old is he?”
“Almost thirty.”
He chortled. “In a few years?”
“Maybe.”
“Got to hand it to you, did not see that on the Sir Garfield BINGO card.” He adjusted the cufflinks on his shirt. “Are you two serious?”
“I go by Hooper again.” I narrowed my eyes. “Since when did you care about my love life?”
“I don’t really care. Just making conversation.” He laughed, sardonically. The kind of one he did quite often near the end. His gaze floated over me, foot to head. “Did you own that dress when we were together?”
“Yup. Wore it to your company fundraiser.” I tossed my hair back, enjoying the appearance of youth. Thank you, Clarissa .
“I’m sorry I forgot.” He flashed a smile. The slight snaggle of his incisor had disappeared thanks to some straightening. To believe I had once loved that crooked grin, which was now indistinguishable from an After photo in a brochure.
I was so flipping glad he was in the past, regardless of how serious and how much he was by my side during some shit times. But with how intense and attentive Beau was in the last two months, had Chris ever been that present in our eleven years of marriage? “I’m not.”
On cue, Beau marched back from wherever he disappeared to.
“Nice seeing you, Sir. I have to admit, you clean up well.” Chris joined Claire at the end of the bar.
I swiveled again to face Beau and tugged him by the lapels of his jacket. He smirked. “Are they looking at us? Should I shove my tongue in your mouth?”
“Maybe some light PDA.”
He placed both his hands on either side of my face. I warmed with how secure this made me feel. He kissed along my jawbone, on the side of my mouth, and finally planted a suckling kiss on my lips. “You really look gorgeous. ”
We ate and drank enough to feel lightheaded. The bill arrived. Being L'Homme aux Pommes, it was more than a little steep. “I got this,” I offered.
He put his hand on top of the vinyl folder bearing the receipt. “But I was the one to invite you.”
I grabbed the other end of the bill. “Then we can split it fifty-fifty,” I said.
He jerked it away. “Seriously, I can take care of it.”
“It’s alright. You don’t have to impress me. We both know—”
“That I live with my fucking parents.”
The bite of his voice stopped me dead in my tracks. I was stupidly going to say I was better off financially. I was the purchaser of an unnecessary amount of training sessions, and he didn’t let our affair stop me from prepaying at the beginning of each week.
Though I was being laissez-faire about paying a fancy restaurant bill, my eventual financial crash loomed over me too. Tina was probably, most definitely going to cut my hours. In a few more years, I’d be out of alimony payments. Eventually, I’d need to move out of my condo so I no longer had an ex-husband/landlord. And with how I noticed Chris sending a glare from up the bar, it would be sooner rather than later .
I let go of the bill and let him pay. “But I’m getting it next time.”
We walked back to my home in silence after dinner. I wasn’t sure how soon our next evening out was going to be.