Chapter 8 #2
We settle down, and he gestures to a waitress. He clicks his tongue when she hands us both a wine menu. “I’ll be picking the wine.”
I stare at him, his words making me feel uncomfortable for some reason. But it’s not that big a deal, so I try not to let my feelings show. He orders some wine with a fancy name and glances at me as if to gauge whether I’m impressed. I pretend to be studying the cutlery.
Once the waitress leaves, Axel says, “The Rosa 1930 is only available at a few places now. It was brewed in France. There are fifteen crates left in the world. One bottle is incredibly expensive.”
Once again, he pauses as if waiting for me to be awed.
I struggle to smile. “Sounds impressive.”
His own smile fades, and I see irritation flicker behind his eyes. I don’t know what he expects me to say. Should I gush over how expensive the wine is? Him mentioning the price makes me feel awkward. I didn’t even order it. I would’ve been happy with something cheap as well.
Once the wine arrives, another waitress reappears with the menus.
She’s tall, with sharp cheekbones and baby blue eyes.
The smile she gives Axel when she reaches the table has nothing polite about it before it swings to me, briefly, gone as quickly as it came.
When she hands Axel a menu, her fingers curl around his for just a beat too long. He glances up at her. She holds it.
I’ve barely opened my own menu when Axel reaches over and plucks it clean out of my hands.
“I’ll order for you,” he says, not looking at me.
I open my mouth. “I’d really feel more comfortable choosing my own—”
He’s already looking back up at the waitress, who is watching this with an expression of total pleasantness. “She’ll have the salad. I’ll have the beef tartare.”
She writes it down, and when she looks back up at him, she tilts her head slightly, her voice slightly breathless. “Anything else, sir?”
Axel smiles at her. “Not yet.”
As she leaves, I catch her eyeing me, a sneer on her lips, and I grind my teeth. Axel doesn’t notice and leans forward. “You should have just let me pick you up.” His smile makes me want to kick him under the table.
“I don’t live far.” I keep my tone pleasant.
“I’ll drive you home after.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I want to.” He leans forward slightly. “And we should get drinks after this. There’s a bar nearby with excellent cocktails.”
I open my mouth to answer and realize I would rather be watching Ethan make an absolute disaster of a pasta plate right now than sit here. Even if this date had been going well, my idea of a good time would be spending time with that little boy. And Grayson, perhaps. But mostly Ethan.
I try to push the thought back as the waitress reappears. I watch her refill Axel’s water over his shoulder. Her hand skims the back of his chair as she reaches past him. Not obviously. Just enough.
“You all right?” Axel is watching me.
“Fine,” I say. “I have to use the ladies’ room.”
Standing, I head to the restrooms in the back, and once I’m inside, I let out a long breath. Oh God, that man is insufferable. Compared to him, Grayson is a gentleman, which is a sentence I never expected to think.
I stand in front of the mirror and look at myself. The blue dress. The hair Brooke spent twenty minutes fixing. All of it.
“It’s one dinner,” I tell my reflection. “You eat, he drives you home, you thank him, you go inside alone. You have survived considerably worse than this. You have to work with the man. You can’t just escape through the bathroom window.”
No matter how tempting it is.
I take a breath, square my shoulders, and push through the door.
And stop dead.
Grayson is standing in the corridor directly across from me, leaning against the wall, arms folded across his chest, looking completely at ease.
His eyes find mine the moment I step out.
“Hi,” he says.
I stare at him. “What in the world are you doing here?”
Grayson grins. “How’s the date going?”
“Wonderfully,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him. “I’m having a blast.”
“Really?” he drawls. “Sounds like someone is overselling.”
“I’m not.” I don’t know why I get so defensive when he’s around. “I’m enjoying myself.”
He takes one step toward me, and my hand goes up immediately, palm flat against his chest. “I don’t think so.”
“What?” He’s the picture of innocence.
“Don’t. Do not take one more step closer to me.”
He looks down at my hand, then back up. His eyes flicker with an emotion that has my heart skipping a beat, and I pull my hand back like I’ve touched a hot stove.
“You don’t look happy,” he says. “And he didn’t even let you order.”
I go still. “How do you know that?”
And then it hits me. I look past him, down the corridor, toward the dining room. “What are you doing here? Really.”
“Ethan wanted pasta.”
“Grayson.”
“We got a private booth.” He pauses before his grin widens. “It was such a surprise when I realized we could see your table from it.”
“I’m sure it was,” I mutter. “You’re stalking me.”
“Stalking is such an ugly word,” he says with a smile that borders on impish.
“You followed me to a restaurant.”
“We happened to choose the same restaurant.” He shrugs, easy as anything. “Silverpeak isn’t that big.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m hurt, Miranda. Genuinely.” He presses his hand over his heart, and I don’t want to be charmed by his little act. I really don’t. But it’s hard to control that reluctant twitch of my lips.
I open my mouth to tell him exactly what he can do with his hurt feelings when a strand of hair falls loose across my cheek.
Before I can reach up, his hand is already there, fingers light, tucking it carefully behind my ear.
He doesn’t move away afterward. He just looks at me, and I forget, momentarily, what I was about to say.
“What do you even see in him?” he asks quietly.
My mouth opens. Nothing comes out.
“He’s...” I pull myself together. “He was cute.”
Grayson’s eyes sharpen immediately. “Was?”
“Is.” I say it too fast. “He is. I meant is.”
He laughs, low and genuine, and it does something irritating to my chest.
“Just leave,” he says. “Walk out.”
“I can’t do that. That’s incredibly rude.”
“Ruder than ordering for you?”
“The date is fine, Grayson. Mind your own business.”
He tilts his head toward the bathroom door I just came through. “You’ve spent a lot of time in here for someone having a fine date.”
I breathe in slowly through my nose. “I said mind your own business.”
I turn and walk away, but his hand catches my wrist, gentle but certain, and spins me back around. I collide with his chest, and before I can get my balance back, his mouth brushes mine, quick and soft, over before it began.
He leans back, but I grab his jaw in my hand, squishing his features. “I will kill you.”