Page 11 of Ordinary Secrets (Secrets Trilogy #1)

11

TREY

The restaurant host leads us toward an outdoor corner table under some twinkling string lights. The other tables are occupied by people sipping from wineglasses. From a small stage at the front of the patio area, a violinist in a flowy dress plays an enchanting upbeat melody. Couples dance together in the grass, their energies full of warmth and lust.

“Your waitress will be here shortly,” the host says as she sets two menus onto our table, then leaves.

Almost everyone here is horny. I sense it from most of the men and plenty of the women. I need to be careful about not letting their emotions control me. If Victor was here, he’d tell me to embrace it. He seems to think that having sex with Arella as soon as possible will get her to trust me faster, which will get her to tell me her secrets. I don’t know Arella very well yet, but I know her well enough to know that Victor’s method is more likely to scare her away.

“Wow,” Arella says with her jaw slack. I pull out her chair, and she accepts it without making another comment about how tonight isn’t a date. “This place looks way too romantic for a friendly dinner.”

And there it is. After draping my leather jacket over the back of my chair, I sit on the other side of our cozy table. Whether she considers this a date or not, I’ve already told Victor it is.

“You’ve been here before?” she asks.

“Yep. This was one of the first places our band played at. We did acoustic covers of lovey-dovey songs all night.”

“Hi.” Our waitress sets two glasses of water onto our table. Her exasperated energy shoots at me while her cheerful tone comes out through a smile. “Would you like to try our house wine?”

I turn to the exquisite woman sitting across from me. Before I can ask her if she prefers red or white, she smiles and says, “Water’s fine. Thank you.”

I guess getting her tipsy to talk is out of the equation. “Me too, thanks.”

“Awesome. I’ll give you a moment.”

Once the waitress leaves, I take the silverware out of my cloth napkin and drape the napkin over my thighs. Liz taught me to do this the first time I ever ate at a fancy place. I hope it makes Arella think that I’m a proper guy and that I know shit.

I pick up my menu and pretend to read it. “Are you sure you don’t want any wine? I’m treating.”

Arella responds sweetly yet firmly. “I’m sure. And no, you’re not treating. I don’t want this to be a date, remember?”

Of course I remember. She’s reminded me so many times now, I’m beginning to think she’s trying to convince herself, not me. “Friends are allowed to treat each other.”

Ignoring me, Arella flips over her menu to read the other side. I already know what I’m getting, so while she chooses what she wants, I keep my menu in my hands and concentrate on trying to sense her. With all my might, I narrow my eyes on her and fire every ounce of my mind power her way. My energy tightens in on her body, straining to latch onto something, anything . The only thing I get is the sexual tension of the man behind her.

After a full minute, all I’ve accomplished is a headache.

“Do I have something on my face?” Arella asks when she sets her menu down.

“No. You’re just beautiful and easy to stare at.”

“So . . . you admit you were staring?”

I chuckle, nodding. “You’d do the same if you were in my shoes.”

We make small talk for a bit before our waitress comes back. Whatever upset her before is passing, because her mood is calmer now. Arella and I place our orders, then the waitress takes our menus away.

Leaning forward, I rest my arms on the table. “So, tell me more about your grandparents.”

Arella unfolds her cloth napkin, then sets it onto her lap the way I did. “What would you like to know?”

“You mentioned that you guys moved around every year. Where do they live now?”

“They’re still in Brawley. After I graduated high school and came to LA, they decided to stay.”

“Are they retired?”

She takes a sip of her water. “Yeah. Gramps was a mechanic. Grammy stayed home with me.”

How odd. What kind of mechanic gets a new job in a different town every year? It’s not a career that requires traveling. That makes me think he was running from something. Question is: What and why? Then, once Arella moves out, all of a sudden, he’s done running? Something’s not adding up.

“If they liked moving around so much,” I say, “why aren’t they anymore?”

Arella shrugs like there isn’t anything more to this. “It’s not the moving they loved. It’s the living in different places. The adventures. The new experiences. Since I was in school, they didn’t get to explore the world like they wanted to. Moving around the state was a good second option until I graduated. Now that I’m not around, they travel all the time. They’re currently in Alaska until tomorrow. In two weeks, they’re off to Brazil.”

I guess that’s a possible explanation. Still, I think there’s more to it. Either that or I want there to be more, so I’m looking for it.

Arella continues, “They get antsy when they stay in the same place for too long.”

I can relate to that. The minute I graduated, my uncle told me to get out and “find my place in the world.” I packed up the little I had, bought a car, and went wherever life took me. I’d stay in one city for as long as it suited me, then I’d pack up and do it again.

The longest I’ve lived anywhere since I left home is LA, and that’s only because of my band. I’d like to think I’ve found my place here, but if that’s the case, why do I always feel like I don’t belong?

The violinist finishes her piece, and the crowd erupts with applause. In the grass, a few couples swaying together mosey back to their seats. After some thank-yous, the violinist turns a page in her book, then returns the instrument to her shoulder.

“What about you?” Arella asks as another tune fills the air. “Do you like to travel?”

I’m not a fan of how she keeps spinning our conversations back to me. Talking about myself depresses me. Plus, that’s not the point of this dinner. “I do. I’ve been to lots of different places. How ’bout you?”

“I haven’t gone anywhere outside of California.”

That’s odd. How has a girl whose family loves to travel not been anywhere except this one state?

“What’s been your favorite place to visit so far?” Arella asks.

“Besides here, I lived in Spain and France the longest, so maybe those two.”

“Did you pick up the languages there?”

“Only conversationally.”

Her face lights up. “Have you ever been to Paris?”

“Of course.”

“Ah!” She throws her head back, swooning. “I’ve always wanted to go there. I’ve heard they have the best bakeries.”

Although I can’t sense it, I can see her strong desire for Paris. Seeing her feelings but not feeling them is like I’m watching TV, where people are expressing emotions I can’t sense.

“Trey?”

My head jerks up. “Huh?”

“You got quiet all of a sudden.”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“About?”

I clear my throat, trying to think of a lie. Nothing comes to me, so I go with the truth. “You. Just wondering what you’re feeling.”

As impassive as ever, she says, “I feel fine.”

Well, I’ve accomplished nothing. All I’ve got is more questions. How do I ask her if her grandpa was running from something, without sounding like a psycho?

“House salad with the dressing on the side,” our waitress says, placing it in front of Arella. “Caesar for the gentleman.”

While we indulge in our salads, I ask Arella about what her favorite movies and books are, because it’ll help make my questions about her family and childhood less suspicious. Victor wants me to rule out that her immunity is caused by something that happened to her as a kid. Besides the annual move and being raised by her grandparents, she seems to have had a normal upbringing.

One of Victor’s many theories to explain Arella’s immunity is that she was experimented on in a lab as a baby. By the way she talks about how much her grandparents love her, I doubt they would have allowed that to happen.

Another one of Victor’s theories is that Arella possesses some kind of gene defect. To me, she looks, sounds, and acts like any other twenty-two-year-old Ordi woman.

The most ridiculous theory Victor had is that Arella came from another planet. It’s only the first date, but I’m pretty sure I can rule that one out. Arella seems as human as anyone else.

“Wow,” she says, wiping her lips off on her napkin. Two empty pasta plates sit between us. So far, I’ve learned a lot about her, yet nothing at all. “That was the best Alfredo I’ve ever had.”

“I’m happy you think so.” I clean off my hands and nod toward the grass. “Now that we’re done eating, do you wanna dance?”

Dancing is the main reason I chose this place. While we slow-dance, I’ll have permission to touch her for an extended period of time. This will be a great opportunity for me to continue my physical research because, sadly, the verbal kind is getting me nowhere.

Unfortunately, Arella shakes her head. “I can’t dance.”

“It’s easy.” I stand and hold my palm out to her. “I’ll teach you.”

“Um, you go. I’ll watch.”

I make a crumpled face at her. “I’ll look like an idiot slow-dancing by myself. Is that what you want?”

Grinning, she nods eagerly.

She thinks I won’t do it. Clearly, she doesn’t know anything about me.

Challenge accepted. “All right. I’ll dance solo.”

Arella’s eyes go wide as I saunter away. She whisper-yells, “Trey! I was kidding!”

I wasn’t. I stop at the top of the patio steps and say over the heads of couples eating, “You gonna come dance with me?”

Her head shakes again.

Without another word, I hop down the steps and join the sea of couples swaying to the melodic notes. With gusto, I put my hand on the waist of an invisible woman and pull her close. My other hand holds her invisible palm up, then I twirl her around the grass.

The more dramatic my turns are, the more Arella loses it. She laughs so hard, she’s slapping her knee. I don’t care that other people are staring at me like I’m stupid and ridiculous. I know I am, and that’s the point.

“Okay, Trey,” Arella says through giggles over the railing. “You can stop now.”

“Nah. Miss Invisible and I are enjoying ourselves.” I continue for another minute before the song ends. To finish my performance strong, I spin my lovely dance partner twice, then dip her for a solid beat. Only once the crowd claps for the violinist do I make my way back to the table.

“Oh. My. God.” Arella’s still giggling. “I can’t believe you did that. Aren’t you embarrassed?”

I plop back into my chair, unashamed. “It made you laugh. The embarrassment is worth it.”

Arella’s cheeks fade into the most adorable shade of pink as she giggles some more. Whatever I’m doing, it’s working. She’s becoming more comfortable with me. Soon, she’ll be comfortable enough to tell me the information I need.