Chapter 12
JORDAN
My fingers rearrange the polished silverware on the tablecloth as Zia scans the menu beside me. It’s been more than five minutes. I lean forward for the fourth time to try to glimpse Paige through the sliver of glass at the restaurant’s entrance, but all I can see is the back of Ian’s gray collared shirt.
My fist tightens around a fork, and Zia’s hand settles over mine.
“Seven years is a long time. Ian is not the same person he used to be.” Zia says this as if she thinks the history lesson I shared with her while we walked to our table was nothing more than silly high school drama. But Zia wasn’t the one who watched helplessly as Paige picked up the fragments of her broken heart piece by piece after Ian crushed it.
Zia offers me my menu as if it will take my mind off what is happening outside. “Trust me—he’ll talk her around.”
My stomach churns, and not just because I’m looking at pictures of curry plates that are far too mushy for my palate. I know Paige. And I do not want Ian, of all people, talking her around to anything. Paige is strong and smart and won’t put up with crap, but she also has the most forgiving heart I know and is prone to seeing the best in others.
Even people who don’t deserve it. People like Ian.
Just when I think I can’t wait inside the restaurant any longer, the door opens, and Ian walks through with Paige. He’s smiling as they walk toward us, and his hand rests briefly on the small of Paige’s back, leading her forward. I grip my utensils, hearing them clank against one another in my hand.
Lucky, our waiter, puts an arm out, directing Ian and Paige to the chairs directly across from Zia and me. “The lovely couple can sit right here,” he says in a thick Indian accent.
“They’re not a couple,” I mutter under my breath.
Ian pulls out Paige’s chair, and I don’t miss the way she blushes and gives him one of her killer smiles, dimple and all.
What did Ian say to her? Minutes ago, Paige was giving him her angriest eyes, and now…
“Hey,” Ian says, casually tossing a head nod my way as if the last time we were in this close proximity, he hadn’t punched me in the jaw. “So, what’s good here, Z?”
Ian picks up the menu and flicks through the pages as Zia explains her favorite dishes. But Paige and I are locked in a wordless conversation.
I stare at her, needing to know what Ian said to whitewash months of heartache and make her dimple-smile at him. Did he lie to her? Make up some story?
Paige pins me with a look that tells me to play nice, but that’s like asking a mouse to forget that the snake ate his friend for breakfast.
Our exchange is cut short when Zia’s hand flattens against my back. I stiffen as her fingers make their way to my neck, and she starts massaging me.
“You’re so tense,” Zia says, giving me a colorful smile, one that is oblivious to how her very public massage is making my stomach squirm.
Sitting across from Paige on a date is one thing, but having my shoulders massaged by my date in front of Paige? That has unlocked a discomfort level I didn’t even know existed. I glance over at Paige as she runs her finger down her menu with a little too much concentration. I wonder if she’s really that into tandoori chicken or if she’s avoiding the deep-tissue-massage tutorial happening on my neck.
I grip my knees with my hands, telling myself the massage is not that big a deal, but when Zia’s second hand starts kneading my shoulder, I beeline it for the bathroom.
When I return, Lucky’s collecting the menus.
“I ordered my favorite for you,” Zia says, looking pleased with herself. “You will love it.”
“Thanks.” I sit back down in my chair and pray that her favorite dish is one of the three options on the menu I’ll be able to stomach.
The conversation hits an uncomfortable lull. Taking advantage of the moment—hoping to understand why Paige is giving Ian a second chance—I lean back in my chair and cross my arms casually across my chest. “So, Ian. What exactly have you been up to since high school?”
Ian sends me an easy smile. “Well, after high school, I moved to Hawaii and lived with my uncle there for a year. I realized that I had some changing to do. I made some mistakes and needed to work through my issues.” His eyes shift to Paige, and a meaningful look passes between them, ending in a soft smile from her.
My eyes narrow as I watch their exchange.
Ian continues. “I later joined the Peace Corps and lived in several African countries, but I spent most of my time in Uganda, teaching children English and committing myself to obtaining and distributing educational materials for the schools there.”
Paige’s eyebrows rise, and her expression brightens as if she’s just tasted a particularly good slice of red-velvet cheesecake. Zia looks up at me and quirks an eyebrow in the See, I told you they would hit it off kind of way.
I clear my throat, hoping to break Paige from her dreamy state. How is she falling for this? It sounds like he ripped those words straight from the About Us section of a nonprofit’s website.
“I fell in love with those kids. This little girl, Kissa…” Ian pulls out his wrist and tugs up the cuff of his sleeve, revealing a bright woven bracelet. “She made this bracelet for me right before I left. I’ll never forget how she held my face between her tiny palms and said, ‘Please, Mr. Ian, never forget me.’”
“Aw,” Paige and Zia say in unison.
Ian acts oblivious to their obvious admiration. “I got down on my knees and looked Kissa in the eyes and made a promise that I wouldn’t forget her. And I spent the next year developing a company with my other buddies from the Peace Corps called KissaWater. We sell bottled water, and for every bottle sold, we use the proceeds to help villages like Kissa’s who need better access to water and educational supplies.”
Paige puts a hand over her heart. “That is the sweetest thing.”
“Really, Ian, what you’re doing is just amazing,” Zia adds.
I work in film. And right now, I can see the camera as it lowers to make Ian look bigger in a classic underdog-to-hero shot—one Ian is milking for all it’s worth. He might as well be wearing tights and a cape.
Just as I regret asking Ian anything, Lucky arrives with trays full of our food. I’m starving, but my stomach lurches when he places a dish of russet-red liquid in front of me.
Zia leans over her food, which is the same as mine, and inhales deeply. “Mmm. Tikka masala. It looks so delicious.”
I can’t even look at Zia because all I can think about is how I’m going to have to trick my gag reflex into letting this down my throat. Plugging my nose and spooning it into my mouth like I did when I was eight might be my best option. At least it’s better than the alternative.
Paige’s foot taps me under the table, and I bring my eyes up to meet hers. As strange as it sounds, I miss her. She’s sitting right across from me, but I miss her. I already feel like Ian is driving something cold and impenetrable between us.
She takes a small bite of something fried and wrapped, something I wish I’d ordered, and places it back on her plate before looking up at me with a silent message I can’t quite decipher.
“Oh,” Paige says, sounding surprised. “This is not what I thought the samosas would taste like.”
Paige frowns then gives me a hard look before glancing at my bowl. “I should have ordered the tikka masala.” She laughs and makes eyes at me once again.
I look at my bowl, finally catching on. “Oh, do you want to switch?”
“Really? That would be great.”
We exchange our dishes, and Zia’s soft gaze tells me that she thinks I'm the one doing Paige a favor, when in reality, I’m about to find a bell and ring it because Paige is an angel who deserves her wings.
I bite into the flakey exterior of Paige’s food, and delicious flavor explodes inside my mouth. After just one bite, I can already picture myself coming back here for these. That’s when I get the distinct taste of fish. I take another bite just to be sure. Yup, this dish has fish in it—which I like but Paige does not. She must have heard what Zia ordered me and got the fish samosas, planning to make a switch.
Paige and I look up at the same time, and I meet her vibrant green gaze. “Thank you,” I mouth. She gives me a small smile and dips into her tikka masala, but even when she pats her lips with her napkin and converses with Ian and Zia, I have a hard time looking away.
By the time I’ve polished off half my plate of samosas, Ian is just getting started with his world-traveling stories. “But I think my favorite was Morocco,” he says.
“Morocco?” Paige’s eyes glitter, just like they do whenever someone talks about the places she wants to visit.
“Paige, you would have loved it.” Ian leans toward her, sliding an arm around the back of her chair.
I fight the urge to step around the table and nestle myself between them. Too fast, buddy. Moments ago, Ian was public-enemy number one, but now he’s leaning into her, and she’s not pushing away.
“In Fez, there is a library, the oldest one in the world. It’s got this gorgeous architecture,” Ian draws half circles in the air with his hand as if he’s sculpting the arches of the library. “But all those old books in one room, that was my favorite part.”
“Did you read anything while you were there?” Paige asks, leaning closer to him.
“Of course. You know I couldn’t resist that, Pages.”
Paige giggles, then she ducks her head and places a hand over one reddening cheek. “I forgot you called me that.”
“Pages?” I ask, feeling a bit sick inside.
Ian chuckles. “Yeah, that’s her nickname.”
“Sounds like there’s a story there,” Zia says.
Ian smiles at Paige. “Well, Paige and I created a list of books to read the summer after freshman year. I went to her house about a week into summer just to boast that I’d finished two of the books on our list already, then she pointed to a stack of six books she’d already read. Long story short, I called her Pages because she inhaled them so quickly.”
Ian and Paige share a glance before they start laughing.
I can’t find anything humorous about the story, but even Zia chuckles, so I force a smile before shoving an entire samosa into my mouth.
Zia turns to me, her bright-pink lips curving to the edges of her cheeks. “This is so perfect,” Zia whispers. “I knew they were meant to be.” She reaches over and twines her fingers with mine. “We can take credit at their wedding.” She winks at me.
I cough, and a piece of samosa lodges itself in my windpipe, making me cough even more.
Zia pats my back. “Are you okay?”
I nod, but then my cough suddenly stops, and so does my breathing. Panicked, I stand, the blood rushing to my face as I struggle to inhale. Instinctively, I tug at the collar of my shirt as if that will loosen the tightness constricting my throat.
For the briefest moment, I wonder if this is how it ends, with me choking on a samosa. I look at Paige, positive that if I go out, I want her right next to me.
One of the bulkier waiters comes up behind me, and I think he’s ready to give me the Heimlich when Paige leans over, grabs my water, and pushes it into my hands. I manage to swallow some water and immediately feel relief.
Air rushes to my lungs, and I gulp in several deep breaths. I take another sip, letting it cool my overheated face and clear out any remaining food—humiliation at its finest.
I feel something warm next to me and look down to find Paige’s hands wrapped around my arm and her head leaning against my shoulder. Her eyes are closed, and she says, in a voice only loud enough for me to hear, “Don’t ever do that to me again, Jordan Miller.”
I turn and wrap my free arm around her back, hoping my reassurance will wash the fear from her face. “I’m okay, Paige.” I stand there, unwilling to move. This moment between us feels delicate, like even the slightest shift will break it—and the longer we stand there, the more something forbidden stirs inside me.
“I’m so glad you thought of the water,” Zia tells Paige, breaking our trance.
Paige yanks her head back. She must realize how we must look to our dates, wrapped around each other like this, and she drops her hands and goes back to her seat beside Ian as I sit across from her.
“That was a close one,” Ian says before sipping his drink.
The girls nod, and I tuck back into my food to put it all behind me, but then I look up and see Ian watching me, clear challenge in his gaze. Whatever he just witnessed between me and Paige, he’s not happy about it.
This time, when he lifts his arm, it doesn’t rest on the back of Paige’s chair. No, it drapes across her shoulders. “Pages,” he says, emphasizing the name, and I can’t help but feel his little nickname is intended as a finely crafted arrow aimed directly at me. “Do you remember when Ricky Kazocs choked on that cookie in Spanish class?”
“Oh yeah, the poor guy,” Paige says. “Didn’t you give him the Heimlich?”
“Yeah,” Ian says.
Paige nods. “That was so brave.”
Ian shrugs. “It wasn’t a big deal. I was just glad he was okay, and if I impressed a certain girl in my class in the process, then I’m lucky I was there when it happened.”
He winks at her, and she smiles up at him like he’s Captain America.
Ian eyes me, and I swear a little smirk turns his mouth. “Remember that time in gym class with Mr. Ramirez…” He jumps into another exclusive memory, and I try to resist the gauntlet he has thrown at my feet. I try really hard. But I’m just a man.
“Mr. Ramirez,” I say, butting in. “He’s the teacher that found us alone in the gym closet, right, Paige?” I’m completely omitting the part where the basketball Paige used to prop the door open rolled away and locked us in while Paige and I were getting hockey sticks for gym class, but Ian doesn’t need to know that.
Paige’s mouth falls open, and I don’t even want to look at Zia. I’m being a complete jerk, again, but the strained look on Ian’s face is worth it. Oh, so worth it. This might be better than punching him in the jaw.
“Pages.” Ian pulls her closer to him, his cocky smirk reappearing. “Do you remember when we tried to beat the world record for the longest kiss?”
Paige’s eyes widen, and a blush brightens her cheeks. Ian’s expression is pure victory.
My fist curls around the tablecloth.
Paige pins me with a glare, shaking her head at me to stand down. But I can’t let Ian think he can shatter Paige’s heart then strut back into her life like it never happened, so I pull out the only trump card in my pocket.
“Paige, remember that time we planned our wedding?”