Elias
The restaurant is small and tucked in between a library and a coffee shop.
Bridget slips her hand in mine as we walk from the car into the building.
A woody and leathery smell engulfs us as soon as we walk over the threshold and we’re immediately greeted with a homey atmosphere.
The young kid stands behind a small wooden counter, his elbows resting on the top with a bored expression on his face but as soon as his gaze lands on Bridget, his cheeks flush a deep red and he stands up, his back ramrod straight.
The boy is no older than fifteen, but he sure as hell takes his time letting his gaze run over Bridget’s figure, and I can’t say I blame the kid.
When she came downstairs dressed in this short dress that hugged her so decadently, I had to refrain myself from throwing her over my shoulder and taking her back upstairs to our bedroom.
My hand skates across her lower back and curves around her hip, and I watch as the boy’s gaze snags on my hand.
His eyes flicker up to meet my own and widen when he sees he’s been caught.
The red from his cheeks moves further up into his blond hairline and he tucks his head down, fumbling with some menus.
“G-Good evening,” he stutters, cursing under his breath when he trips over something. “Do you have a reservation?”
I nod. “Cohen,” I reply, watching as he looks down at the planner that lays open on the top of the counter.
He holds a pencil to the paper and drags it down the page until he lands on my name and then puts a tick next to it.
Kieran—according to his name tag—leads us through the restaurant to a table in front of the window.
He places our menus on the table, nods, and then quickly walks away back to the host desk.
I pull out a chair for Bridget and enjoying the way she puts her hand on top of mine before sliding into the light wooden chair. As I take the seat opposite her, I take in our surroundings.
The restaurant is small with light wood tables adorned with terracotta tablecloths. The walls are light which gives the illusion that the space is larger than it actually is. My eyes move over to where Bridget sits opposite me, her gaze flicking around the room.
“It’s lovely here,” she says. “How did you say you knew about this place?”
I move the menus from their pile and place one in front of her. “My brother and I came here on a double date when we were younger. She was from here and the only reason I had gone was because he was trying to sleep with her cousin.” I chuckle at the memory. “But that was many moons ago.”
Bridget quirks an eyebrow, a teasing look on her face. “Oh, who was the special lady?”
“Her name was Leah,” I tell her. “We ended up dating for six years or so after that. We met when we were both juniors in high school, and back then we’d only see each other when my family was here on vacation. As we got older, we’d both make the trips back and forth whenever we could.”
Bridget tilts her head to the side. “Why did you guys break up?”
I shrug. “We wanted different things. She wanted to go travelling and that wasn’t something I was interested in.
We tried long distance when we were at university and that was difficult for us, so when she told me she wanted to do long distance again, I shut it down.
It wasn’t something I was comfortable with. ”
She hums. “Have you seen her since?”
“When I was twenty-five. I was out with Oscar at a bar in Vancouver and she happened to walk in with some girlfriends. She was having her bachelorette party, met some guy in Spain and fell head over heels in love.”
A waiter comes over with a smile on his face as he looks between us. “Can I get you two something to drink?”
I order us a bottle of red for the table and he comes back a few moments later with a bottle of rioja and takes our order.
Bridget smiles softly as the waiter makes a suggestion and she takes his advice, ordering the mushroom risotto.
She reaches across the table and places her hand on top of mine.
I take her hand in mine and run my thumb over the ring that adorns her ring finger.
She looks over at me, her face illuminated by the flickering candle in the middle of the table. The warm hues from the flame cast a beautiful glow across her pale skin, her eyes bright under the light.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, basking in the way her cheeks turn pink. “How’re you feeling about the wedding?”
Bridget puffs out a breath. “Elias,” she whispers. “I’m not sure this is a good idea, I just…” She pauses and takes a sip of her wine, holding on to the glass with her free hand.
I can tell what she’s trying to say is hard for her, so I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb and wait patiently. “When I was with Tom, I was so desperate for this—the wedding and the family—and I just assumed it was never meant for me, and that I wasn’t meant to be married.”
I frown, opening my mouth to speak, but she starts talking again before I can get a word in.
“I’ve never had someone look at me the way you do, Elias. I’ve never had someone treat me with such respect or affection. I’m so used to just being looked at or glanced over, but it’s like no one ever really sees me.”
Hearing the sadness lacing her tone has me frowning and my chest tightening, her eyes drop down to the table and where our hands meet.
“I see you,” I say quietly and her gaze lifts.
“I fucking see you. I see how kind and warm-hearted you are, how affectionate and generous you are with people you care about. Bridget, you mean the world to me, and I don’t know how else to show you how much I care about you or how much I lo—”
The waiter stops at the edge of the table with our meals and sets them on the table.
Bridget sits across from me with a parted mouth and wide eyes, staring at me in shock.
She knows what words sit on the tip of my tongue just as much as I do.
She pulls her hand back and smiles tightly at the waiter, who can’t read a room to save his life, and the two of us sit in silence as he looks between us before turning away.
Bridget looks down at her food and twists the plate around in a full circle. She clears her throat and reaches up for more wine and takes a large gulp. “This looks…” Bridget trails off and clears her throat. “Lovely.”
“Bridget…” She looks up at me with an uneasy look, and I sigh. “You’re right, the food looks great.”
Oscar and I are sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen in silence.
The rest of dinner felt awkward, and we left quickly after we ate. Bridget barely said more than two words to me in the car, and as soon as we walked into the house, she went straight upstairs and shut herself in our room.
Oscar and Isobel are in the kitchen when I walk in, sulking like a teenager. They watch in silence as I grab a glass from the cupboard and pour myself a double shot of whiskey.
Neither of them speak as I sit myself down at the table and rest my head in my hands. Isobel pats my shoulder and walks out of the kitchen. Oscar sits down beside me, and I hear one of the bedroom doors open and close. I let out a deep sigh and rub the heel of my hands against my eyes.
“Want to talk about it?” Oscar asks.
I hesitate. “I love her.”
My brother chuckles. “Yes, that is painstakingly obvious.”
“I nearly let it slip,” I tell him. “I was about to tell her, and then the waiter came over with our food and it ruined my flow, and I don’t think she was expecting it…
and then it was just so fucking awkward.
She looked at me like she had no idea what to say, and, fuck, I should’ve said something, but… ”
Oscar wraps an arm around my shoulder and pulls me into him.
“It’ll sort itself out, you know. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and trust me, she feels the same.
Maybe she just needs some time? Listen, things are different for you guys.
You didn’t just meet in a bar or on an app, you met in a really unconventional way, and while this fake relationship has made both of you realize you have feelings for one another—it’s still fake. ”
“You think she thinks I’m saying it for the sake of it?”
My brother shrugs. “I can’t know for sure, but it seems like it could be a possibility. I think you just need to talk to her and see how she feels.”
“What if she doesn’t feel the same?”
Oscar doesn’t say anything. He watches as I lift the tumbler to my lips and take a long sip of the whiskey I poured myself.
“It would suck,” he finally says. “But you’ll get through it. Like you always do.”