Page 34 of Cru's Crush

“I do?—”

“Did I hear my name? Or are you talking about another guy called Roan?”

I laughed, and so did my parents. Cru did not.

“Daphne, it’s really good to see you.”

“Likewise.” He’d aged in the time since we dated but in a good way. The truth was, he could be a male model; that’s how good-looking he was. He was tall, with a powerful build, like Cru’s, but instead of dark, almost-black hair, Roan’s was golden like the hillsides in the valley. And, rather than deep bourbon-colored eyes like the man’s seated to my left, his were blue.

“Hey, Cru.”

“Roan,” he responded without looking up from the menu.

“When you said you were coming here tonight, I started craving their food. I’ll let you enjoy your dinner. I’ve got a spot at the oyster bar.”

“No, don’t eat alone. Join us.” My father motioned to the empty chair between my mum and me.

“I don’t want to intrude.” Roan looked between Cru and me.

“Did I mention Daphne is working for Los Caballeros?” my dad asked.

Roan raised a brow. “Really?”

It would’ve been a good time for Cru to chime in on the conversation, but he didn’t.

“Have a seat, Roan,” my dad said, pointing to the open chair a second time.

“If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, do we, Daphne?” My mother leaned over and nudged me.

“Of course not.”

Roan made his way around the table. It would’ve been easier had Cru stood to allow him to pass, but he was behaving as though he hadn’t heard a single word of the conversation.

“Can I give your seat to someone else?” Stormy asked, approaching the table.

“Of course. Sorry. I should’ve come and told you,” said Roan.

She waved her hand. “Not a problem. So, can I bring you anything to drink while you’re waitingto order?”

“Two bottles of Norman Chardonnay, please,” I said.

“Excellent. Will you be tasting, Daph?” she asked.

“Please.”

“You didn’t have to,” said Roan, leaning into me.

“I actually chose it before you got here.”

“Well, I’m honored, nonetheless.”

My father engaged Cru in conversation while my mum and I chatted with Roan. Every so often, I’d glance in their direction, thankful Cru had livened up a little. I found my dad’s about-face from earlier today intriguing. Then he and my mum had sounded as though they were ready to send out wedding invitations. Maybe whatever Cru had said to him about us while I was speaking with my mother convinced him we were nothing more than friends and never would be.

“Cru?” said my mother partway through our meal.

“Yes, Beatrice?” he responded, setting his utensils on the edge of his plate.