15. Viggo
VIGGO
We dropped Freya off at her apartment soon after the appointment. Dexter and I were starving; she wasn’t. In fact, she wasn’t feeling well at all.
“I’m okay, but my stomach is…off. I’d rather watch House Hunters and nibble crackers on my sofa.”
“We can stay with you if you’d like,” Dexter had offered. “Maybe order pizza or—”
“Oh, no. Please.” Freya put a hand over her mouth and aimed a pleading look at me.
“We’re going,” I assured her, switching to Swedish and adding, “Are you sure you’re okay?” I infused my tone with all the meaning I could muster without having to use more words than necessary in any language.
She nodded. “Ja.”
Twenty minutes later, Dexter and I were perusing a laminated menu at an Italian restaurant with red-and-white checked tablecloths and candles dripping from old Chianti bottles. It was a family-style establishment, yet somehow, the quiet table for two in the corner seemed sort of…romantic.
“We should have gone to a drive-thru for takeout,” I groused, squinting at the selection of entrees.
“I don’t eat takeout. Although if I’m in California, I’ll make an exception for In-N-Out Burger.
The caprese looks good and the calamari.
Do you like Caesar salad? We could each order something and split.
Best of both worlds. But I’m not sharing pasta.
I haven’t eaten pasta in way too long. I’m going all out. ” He glanced up when I scoffed. “What?”
“You talk a lot.”
“It’s been a day.” True. “I think it’s between the veggie lasagna and the seafood linguini.”
“Veggie lasagna is not going all out. It’s like cheating on a diet by eating sorbet instead of ice cream.” I moved the menu closer to my face. “I’m ordering the Oso Bucco. Get all the appetizers you want. I’m hungry, too.”
Dexter studied me over his menu. “You need readers, huh?”
I glared. “No, I do not need readers. It’s dark in here. They put us in the dungeon section.”
“No, they put us in the romantic section. They think we’re on a date.”
“According to you, everyone thinks we’re on a date,” I countered.
He ignored me, tapping the menu decisively and closing it. “I’m having the Bolognese, veggies on the side. And wine. I need wine tonight. You?”
“One glass, maybe. I’m driving. Order a bottle, though. It’s a better price, and you can drink the rest.”
A waiter appeared with a basket of bread, olive oil, and balsamic vinaigrette. He took our orders and returned with a bottle of Cabernet. Dexter sniffed the cork, swirled a small pour in his glass, and took a tiny sip before deeming it worthy to consume.
Dexter thanked the waiter, then lifted his wineglass in a toast. “To Freya and healthy heartbeats.”
“Sk?l.”
He smiled. “Thanks for coming today.”
“It was no problem.”
“Well, I appreciate it. I know it meant a lot to Freya. She seems good. She was a little pale, but morning sickness at night probably does that to you. You know her better, obviously. What do you think?”
“I think you have a motor mouth.”
Dexter lifted his glass with his middle finger front and center. “I know. I can’t help it.”
“I’m teasing you. She’s fine, she looks good, and she says she feels good, too. Everything is okay…just like I told you it would be.” I dipped bread into olive oil and balsamic and nearly moaned aloud. “This is delicious.”
“No having sex with the bread,” he chided.
I gave a self-deprecating shrug, charmed by his good-naturedness. Dexter was easy company. I liked knowing we could discuss breakfast cereals, player stats, and bread. It would be nice to stick to lighter topics tonight.
But the first thing out of my mouth was, “Why do you want to be a father? Why go through all this?”
Dexter regarded me thoughtfully. “I’ve always wanted a family of my own.”
“There are other, less expensive ways to do it, you know.”
“I tried the traditional way. That didn’t go well.” He made a face and sipped his wine.
“You were married.” It was a statement. There was no point in pretending I hadn’t heard rumors about him through the Wood Hollow grapevine.
“Briefly. Big mistake, should never have happened.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Meh. Don’t be. We all have rough chapters.
” Dexter put his glass down and tore a piece of bread in half.
“I’m not getting any younger, though, and at this point in life, I’m not interested in waiting for the right girl or guy to come around.
Time is ticking, and I can offer a good home and a good life to a child. I want a chance to do that.”
“You’ll be good at it.”
“Thanks. What about you? Do you want a family someday?”
“No,” I replied. “I’m too…set in my ways. I think you have to be open to change as a parent. And I don’t think I could do it on my own, like you. I would want a partner, and I don’t have one.”
“Ever met anyone you liked in Wood Hollow?”
I rolled my eyes. “Dating questions again. Is this high school locker room talk?”
“No, it’s friend talk, and we’re friends, right?”
“Well, the answer is no. I don’t date. I’m not…” I searched for a word and settled on, “…social.”
“I am—social, that is. I haven’t been with anyone since Reg and that was over seven or eight months ago. And since you know about Reg, let’s get this out of the way…we’re friends only.”
“You already told me that.”
“Well, it’s worth repeating. He’s a great guy, but he’s at a different place in life. I’d rather have the friendship than sex with strings.”
“What kind of strings?” I winced. “No. Don’t tell me.”
He chomped on a piece of bread, his eyes bright with amusement.
“Why not? It’s nothing bad. If anything, it’s totally understandable.
Reg’s kids come first, and that’s how it should be.
I was never going to rank anywhere near them.
I’d have to be satisfied with coming in second or sometimes third place behind his job.
That’s not for me. I’ve done that my whole life.
I didn’t want to resent him—he’s doing his best, and I respect that. So…we’re friends.”
“That’s good.”
“But you know what I do resent?” he asked, leaning halfway across the table.
“What?”
“A severe lack of sex in my life and the knowledge that I might not get any for years. Except I did last week and oh, my God…that was very fucking incredible,” Dexter gushed.
I widened my eyes and for some reason, that made him howl with laughter. I slid his wineglass out of reach and pushed the breadbasket toward him. “Eat.”
Dexter lit up when our appetizers arrived.
We split salads and shared calamari and shifted to neutral topics.
Thank God. A Lady Gaga song on the speakers reminded him of the time he’d seen her in concert in San Francisco.
He’d been visiting a friend and had an entertaining story about a drag brunch in the Castro District and the time he’d gone for a run and stumbled into the Folsom Street Fair.
He put his fork down and raised his hand. “I was not prepared for that level of leather and kink. Not even close. I was a mile or so into my run and I only stopped out of curiosity, but holy shit, it was—a lot. I literally saw men fucking in broad daylight.”
“No.”
“Yes. I saw a guy tied to a post, begging someone, anyone, to whip his ass…and tough, burly dudes in chaps and leather vests everywhere. It was…enlightening.”
“So you forgot about your run and decided to join the fun instead, marking the beginning of your leather phase,” I said matter-of-factly.
“No, no, no. Not my kind of kink. I’m more interested in—”
“Don’t. I don’t want to know your kinks.”
“Liar.” He refilled his wineglass, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Everyone wants to know about kinks. It’s human nature.”
“You’ll regret telling me in the morning when you wake up with a hangover.”
“I’m not drunk, I’m tipsy. There’s a big difference. And I’m in the mood to celebrate. This is really happening. My life is going to change, and I’m ready for it.”
I smiled. “I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. Can I ask you a personal question?” He snickered at my heavy sigh and lifted his glass. “You can tell me to fuck off, but this is bugging me and—”
“What do you want to know?”
“I get the feeling there’s something sensitive going on with you and Freya. Maybe it’s something from the past that happened while you were together?”
I frowned. “Together?”
Dexter leaned close, dragging his sleeve in his Bolognese sauce. “She’s young for you, but she’s gorgeous and—”
“Whoa! Stop right there. You’re wrong. Very, very wrong.” My brows knit hard enough to give me a headache.
“I am?”
“Yes. Christ, Freya’s like a sister to me. That’s…?cklig!”
Dexter wrinkled his nose. “What does that mean?”
“Gross,” I translated, skewering him with a WTF look. “I told you all along we were old friends. If she was a girlfriend, don’t you think I would have said so? I don’t lie. I don’t tell half-truths. I don’t—”
“Okay, okay! Geez. Lower your voice.” He scanned nearby tables before picking up his glass and swirling the contents. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“I’m not offended. I’m just…surprised. Why would you think that?”
“She leans on you. She adores you. And honestly, I don’t know many men and women who are as close as you two. I get the feeling she’ll want you there when she gives birth and—”
“No way. I won’t do that.” I swiped a hand through my hair in exasperation. “Listen, Freya and I have never been lovers. Ever. She’s very lovely inside and out, but she’s not—I couldn’t think of her that way.”
He set his glass on the table and blew his cheeks out like a chipmunk. “Now I feel like an idiot. I’m sorry for making this weird.”
“It’s not weird.” I glowered. “Okay…it’s weird, but I forgive you.”
Dexter’s sheepish expression was oddly adorable. “Thanks. I’m sort of glad to be wrong about that.”
“That makes two of us. My sister would—” I could almost hear Annika’s laughter like a bell in the night. I brushed the vision aside and refocused on my handsome dinner companion. “Never mind.”
“No, tell me. What about your sister?”
“She would”—I moved pasta from one end of my plate to the other—“be amused.”
Dexter smiled. “What’s her name?”
“Annika.”
“Does she know Freya?” he asked.
I clenched my jaw against unwanted emotion and nodded. “Very well. Best of friends.”
“Don’t tell her. And definitely don’t say anything to Freya. I’m embarrassed, but…also relieved.”
“Why?”
Dexter sipped his wine, his eyes locked on mine. “Because I like you. And I think you like me.”
I opened my mouth and closed it, twice. Thoughts of Annika and Freya disappeared in a flash. Dexter had my undivided attention.
“I do.”
Our waiter swooped in to remove our plates and tempt us with tiramisu and coffee. The interruption should have thrown us off-balance, but the moment we were alone, Dexter sat forward.
“So let’s quit pretending we’re not going to end up naked again,” he blurted.
“Ahh. What are you proposing?”
“That we continue where we left off at your house…post-pancakes.” He pointed at his glass. “If you’d rather not, it’s okay. We can blame this on the wine.”
I didn’t think he was too far gone. In fact, I was pretty sure Dexter knew exactly what he wanted.
Me.
“It’s a long ride home,” I commented idly.
“True.” He slid his ankle along my calf under the table. “I bet there are plenty of hotels in the area.”
I bugged my eyes out. “Hotel? You want to spend two or three hundred dollars for a hotel room…for sex?”
Honestly, I would have spent twice that amount in a heartbeat, but feigning outrage at the very notion was a necessary reset. The pendulum swing of conversation from Anni to sex was jarring…even after all these years.
Dexter’s eyes lit with humor as he threw his head back and laughed. Even in our dimly lit corner of the restaurant, I could tell his cheeks were flushed from good wine, good food, and celebration. I wanted to share his joy, not taint it with past regrets.
If we’d been at his house or mine, I would have lunged for him, swiping dishes and silverware off the table in a manic quest to get close as quickly as possible. But we had a bill to pay, and the drive ahead would put the ghosts to sleep.
I hoped.