Page 64

Chapter Eighteen

A urora

The light turns green, and I press on the accelerator so slowly that the car behind me honks.

I flip my visor down and squint into the low-hanging sun. The warmth feels good on my face and casts a positive glow around me. Too bad it doesn’t work to rid me of the negative thoughts rolling through my mind.

Mostly … guilt.

I press my lips together as I make a right-hand turn.

I don’t owe Tate anything, and I’ve also been clear about not wanting anything. But that’s the problem. I’m not certain that’s wholly true anymore.

“You mean, aren’t you more trouble than you’re worth?”

My palm smacks against the steering wheel.

How can he see right through me? And how much longer can I pretend he doesn’t have a key that unlocks the box where I hold my deepest fears—a key he seems to want to use?

He’s wrinkled my plans and made me question everything I thought was true. It’s uncomfortable. It’s concerning. But it’s also impossible not to acknowledge the effort he’s putting forward.

“Why won’t you give me a chance, Aurora?”

I pilot the car into Caesar’s parking lot and find a spot near the door.

A lump settles in my throat. “I don’t know Tate. I don’t fucking know anymore.”

Isn’t he objectively everything I’ve dreamed of in a man? He’s emotionally intelligent and kind. Patient. Respectful. He sees me and makes me feel like I matter. And, my God, can he make me come.

“What’s really happening here?” I ask, turning off the car. “Why the hell am I going on this pseudo-date when everything I want is a phone call away?”

The answer trickles into my mind like a dark cloud.

Because I don’t know how to handle him.

The realization makes my stomach woozy. My palms sweat. That single sentence cuts through the fog in my brain like a knife.

I don’t know what to do with Tate. It’s really that simple. What happens when the answer to your prayers, the embodiment of your dreams, actually materializes? How does that work?

Worse, what if it doesn’t work? What if everything you thought you wanted turns out to be wrong, and then you’re left with nothing, not even a dream?

I grab my purse off the passenger’s seat, but I can’t stop the thoughts from coming at me like a freight train.

I know what to do with men who talk a good game but don’t walk it. I can handle men who say what I want to hear when I’m facing them but talk out of the other side of their mouth when I turn away. And I know what happens when a man love bombs you but is missing once the dust settles.

My breaths are shaky. “He’s flipped the script. It’s no longer that I’m afraid of making the wrong decision. I’m actually afraid of making the right one.”

A smile ghosts my lips as I get out of the car and head into the restaurant. I deliberately place one foot in front of the other, so I don’t hop back into the car and flee the scene of what I’m fairly certain is going to be a crime.

The restaurant isn’t busy, which is no surprise at this hour in the middle of the week. I’ve never felt so old in my damn life.

“Table for one?” A pretty blonde with a name tag reading Morgan approaches the hostess stand from the dining area.

I scan the room for Curtis. “No, actually, I’m supposed to be meeting someone here. Do you happen to know if there’s a man waiting on a woman?”

“There’s not. We only have three tables right now—two couples and a regular patron who always dines alone.” She grabs two menus from a stack. “I could go ahead and seat you, if you’d like. Or you’re welcome to wait out here. It’s totally up to you.”

I’m not sure what to do, but sitting alone feels slightly less awkward than standing near the door.

“A table would be great,” I say.

Morgan lets me choose where to sit, and I select a booth in the corner. Something about having my back to a wall is comforting. She takes my drink order and leaves me with the menus.

I blow out a breath, surveying my surroundings. The place is nice and clean. The handful of other patrons seem to be comfortable and happy with their food. It’s the kind of place that Kent would’ve taken me during our marriage. I’m not quite sure how to process that.

“Well, hello,” Curtis says, materializing out of thin air. He slides in the booth across from me. “You must’ve been right on time.”

“I was about five minutes early.”

“I’m always fashionably late. It keeps people on their toes,” he says, chuckling at himself.

Morgan appears with my glass of water. Her brow is furrowed, and I can only imagine what she’s thinking.

Curtis is slathered in a bottle of men’s cologne. His freshly cut hair is slicked back in a style that’s very unbecoming of him. He’s not a bad-looking man, but he’s not doing himself any favors with the attempted mustache.

“Hello to you,” he says to Morgan.

She stands next to me. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Do you have a vino menu?” he asks.

Oh good God . I rub my forehead.

“Excuse me?” she asks, rightly confused.

“Wine,” I say, dropping my hand to my side. “He’s asking for a wine menu.”

“No. We don’t have one of those. We do have a chardonnay and a pinot grigio, if you’re interested.”

Curtis looks at me like he’s surprised. “I guess we’re drinking cheap tonight.” He then looks at Morgan. “I’ll have a glass of the chardonnay, and a glass of water with lemon. Two slices, if you can.”

“Sure.” She casts me a sympathetic smile. “I’ll be back for your order in just a minute.”

“Take your time,” Curtis says, picking up a menu. “We’re in no rush.”

My eyes meet Morgan’s in a silent plea not to do that. She gives me a slight nod and hightails it to the kitchen.

I pick up a menu, too, and try to shake my discomfort. I’m already here, and I agreed to this. Make the best of it, Ror.

“So what did you do today?” I ask.

“I had one hell of a day. My ex-wife called. We’ve been divorced for five years, and she still calls me to come over and fix the air conditioner.

I should tell the bitch no, but I don’t.

You’d think she’d figure out how to use a thermostat by now.

” He sighs haughtily. “But, like they say, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. ”

I don’t know his ex-wife, but I instinctively feel the need to defend her.

“Growing up, we had a thermostat that never worked right,” I say. “My mother could never get it to kick on. My father always had to do it. It was a joke around the house. It only liked Dad.”

“Electronic things typically prefer men.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, my eyes widening.

“It’s not women’s fault. I think it’s something in their body chemistry that does it.”

I set my menu down, my blood heating. “You know, Curtis, I’m picking up a chauvinistic vibe here, and I should point out before we get too far into this that I’m not the one.”

“Here is your chardonnay and your water with two slices of lemon,” Morgan says, placing the drinks on the edge of the table. “Would you like to start with an appetizer or jump right into your entrées?”

“Double cheeseburger for me,” Curtis says. “Fries are fine on the side.”

He hands her his menu.

I haven’t even perused mine. But the thought of eating anything right now makes me ill. And I just want to get the hell out of here.

“Same for me,” I say, forking over my menu, too. “Thank you, Morgan.”

“You’re welcome.”

She’s not two steps away before Curtis lets loose on a tangent about classic cars. Out of nowhere, and with no attempt at finding a topic that I know anything about or have any interest in, for that matter, he goes off about torque. Pistons. Crank shafts, which I gather is not what it sounds like.

I nod here and there, but there’s no input needed from me. This is a one-person conversation. I’m just here as a spectator.

I shouldn’t be here. I’m not sure what I was thinking agreeing to this farce.

As he chatters away, my thoughts drift to Tate.

“And to think that my goal has been trying to run into you all day. This doesn’t bother you, does it? Me being in your office? Because, if it does, I’ll go.”

My heart tugs in my chest.

I’ve been unfair to him. I’ve been unfair to myself .

Somewhere along the line, I’ve allowed the monologue in my head to skew to the negative.

Instead of looking at a situation and seeing the positive— what happens if this is the best thing to ever happen to me?

—my mind always goes to the dark side— what happens if I screw this up and ruin everything?

I don’t feel hopeful; I’m fearful. I don’t imagine the joy that could come out of something.

I go immediately to the potential pain and heartbreak or judge myself preemptively.

I look up at Curtis. His lips are still moving. I watch him jabber on, having muted him in my head, and ask myself what I’m getting out of this. The answer: nothing. So why was I so willing to take this risk when I could’ve taken a much safer gamble and had dinner with Tate?

I need to talk to him.

Adrenaline fires through me, and my eyes dart around for an escape plan. Just as my hand locks around my phone, Morgan appears with our plates. Curtis finally stops jabbering long enough for me to catch my breath.

“Your burgers are here,” she says, setting our plates in front of us. “Do you need anything else? Ketchup? Refills?”

Earplugs.

“I’ll take another chardonnay,” Curtis says.

“Could you bring the check whenever you have time?” I ask. “Just to save you the trouble later.”

She nods knowingly. “I’ll grab that for you. And the chardonnay.”

“Ah, dammit,” Curtis says, pulling his phone from his shirt pocket. “This is Cathy.” He glances up at me. “The ex-wife. Mind if I take this?”

God bless Cathy.

“Be my guest,” I say, scooting to the edge of the booth. “I’m going to use the ladies’ room.”

I’m not sure he even hears me.

“I told you I was on a date,” he says, smirking. “What do you want?”

A lobotomy if she’s still calling you.

I speed walk to the restroom, desperate to be alone. I don’t have Tate’s number and I’m not sure how to get it. Would Tally have it, by any chance?