Page 30 of The Best Wild Idea (Off-Limits #3)

Juliet

An hour later, I’m sitting opposite from Silas at a solid wood plank table in a little fondue restaurant. A flight of white wines is out in front of us. I let him order since his German is nearly impeccable, thanks to an array of foreign au pairs and nannies growing up.

The waiter has just left us with a collection of bowls filled with crusty breads, pickles, and tiny boiled potatoes that are soft enough to spear with our long forks before dipping them into the simmering cheese pot in the center.

“Dig in,” he says, handing me a fork. He looks somewhat aged after that discussion we just had, and I don’t blame him.

“I’ve never done this,” I tell him, choosing a cube of bread before sliding it onto the mini spear. I watch as he swirls a potato the size of my thumb around the white melted cheese.

“Never done fondue in Switzerland? What in the world have you spent your adult life doing?” he asks sarcastically. “You like your white dry as a bone, right?” He picks up one of the little carafes and pours a splash into my glass. “Try this one first.”

“I’ve spent my entire adult life working,” I answer. “Normal people work most of their adult life, Si. Not spend it eating fondue in Switzerland.”

I smile. It’s meant to be a joke but he sets the carafe down, stealing a breath before settling his eyes on me.

“Jules,” he says.

“Yes?”

“I know I was an ass to you at one point, and I know you get most of your information about me now through tabloids, which, by the way, feature almost nothing but fabricated shit to sell clicks and subscriptions . . . But if we’re going to spend the next few weeks together, I’d like to clear one more thing up. ”

I set my fork down.

“Fair enough. I’m all ears,” I say, then take the sip of the white wine he’s poured for me. “Damn,” I whisper. “That’s good.”

“I know good wine.” He smirks.

“Clearly.”

“Okay, first, do I have a privileged lifestyle? Absolutely. But do I work my tail off for it now? Yes. Did I always? No. But did I ask for any of this?” He waits for me to answer this time.

I blink back at him. I’ve never considered that.

“No.”

“You work hard at your job, and I work hard at mine. Let’s just leave it at that.” He picks his fork back up, ready to move on.

I frown, nodding. “That’s fair,” I concede. He has a point.

He takes a sip of wine, then drains the glass.

“Next,” he says, pouring a splash from a different carafe into his glass. “Speaking of work, tell me what the hell a dating coach does.”

I laugh, realizing that there’s a lot for us to catch up on.

“Well, probably exactly what you’d think I do. Sit down with people, just like this, and tell them what they’re doing wrong when it comes to attracting a partner.”

He laughs then leans back in his chair.

“I can see how you would be good at that. People pay you to tell them what they’re doing wrong?”

I grin. “Among other things, yes.”

“Brilliant.” He laughs again, but there’s admiration in his eyes. “How did you decide you wanted to do that?”

“The idea started back in college although I didn’t swap out my corporate HR job for it until a few years ago when I saw how much fun Grant had getting his nonprofit off the ground.

I wanted to be my own boss, too. I’m not the first person to become a dating coach, so I can’t claim the idea as my own, but I used to watch people flounder in the dating pool back in college.

I always felt like I could have helped them out if they’d asked. ”

He eyes me, the hint of a joke running across his face. “Let me guess, I inspired you?”

I laugh. “Yes, you did. Not because you were hopeless in dating, but because the friends I matched you up with were always dumbfounded that you didn’t stick around very long. I felt like they were all a bit desperate for you and nobody likes desperate.”

A deeper shade of amusement slides across his face while his mouth curls up.

“Go on,” he says, taking a long swig. He tips his chair back, looking pleased.

“I don’t necessarily mean that as a compliment though. I never saw you get in a serious relationship with anyone and I always wondered why.”

His eyes dim, but the smile doesn’t leave his face. “Great question,” he remarks, adding another splash of wine to my glass. This one is from the third carafe out of the six we have lining the table. We’re having a self-selected wine tasting, I suppose.

“Have you been with anyone long-term? Ever?” I ask, trying another sip. It’s more delicious than the last.

“Here and there,” he answers. “Nothing like you and Grant had, but I’ve committed to a few women over the years.”

I nod, suddenly struck by two things: one, I never knew that, and two, I wouldn’t have guessed from what I’ve seen of him in the news. I feel a slight pang of regret at the distance we’ve allowed to grow between us.

“Were any of them special?”

New emotion flashes in his eyes.

“Not really,” he answers. “The last woman broke up with me because I wouldn’t stop talking about you in my sleep.”

At first, I think he’s kidding. I widen my eyes then burst into laughter when I realize he’s not. “Why would you be doing that?”

“I had a lot of anxiety about our upcoming trip, I guess,” he says, now laughing too.

“Do I want to know what was happening in your dream?” I’m a little afraid to know how his subconscious mind might paint me.

“Let’s just say this reoccurring dream always ended with you shoving me out of a plane door, or off a cliff or something, so I’d wake up yelling out your name.”

I gape at him, unable to wipe a ghastly wide-mouth grin from my face.

“That’s awful! I’m so sorry!”

He laughs and tips his glass toward me. “It’s not like you had anything to do with it, right?”

“But still, I’ve been giving you nightmares for a year, so much so that your girlfriend broke up with you? Did she know that the dream was actually about me being awful?”

“Raven never believed my explanation. She had her own ideas about what it meant.” He shrugs and smiles.

I look away, embarrassed that I’ve caused so much havoc in his life without even knowing about it.

“Well, I’m sorry just the same.” I scrunch my nose.

“I can’t believe she broke up with you over that.

Or that you’ve known about this trip for the past year while I only found out about it a few days ago.

No wonder you had anxiety about it. The last time I saw you .

. .” I trail off, remembering the way he’d shown up on my doorstep looking like he had so much to say, but filled the awkward silence instead with comments about flowers and being exhausted and offering money.

I cringe at the memory. I don’t think he knew what to do with himself that night, either.

“I can understand why your dream entailed me pushing you off high places.”

He nods, remembering too. “I should apologize for what I said that night. I was trying to make good on the promises I made, but nothing was coming out right. My timing couldn’t have been worse.

I was trying to run back to the car when you opened the door because I already knew what a horrible idea it was. ”

I blow a stream of air out the side of my mouth.

“I was pretty awful to you,” I admit.

“And what I said was . . .” He pauses, thinking through his words. “Well, I had told Grant I’d be there for you, but obviously how it came out was all wrong.”

We smile sadly at each other. We both have things we regret.

“God, grief can really fuck with a person, right?” I ask, and although it’s not an excuse for either of us, it’s the truth.

“You have no idea,” he says.

“Actually, I think I’m starting to,” I admit.

He nods, and this time, when our eyes meet, I see nothing but the friend he once was staring back at me. Full of compassion, understanding, and most of all, a second chance at making everything right between us.