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I take a breath and push the thought aside. “Thursday works.”
“What would you like to do? There’s a vineyard north of the city that offers private dinners, or I could get us into that new restaurant on the shoreline.”
I think about the helicopter, the train, and every detail he arranged to give me one perfect night. I loved all of it, but I don’t need another grand date. I want to know what being with him feels like when neither of us is trying to impress the other.
“How about you come here? Takeout and a movie. Nothing that requires a pilot.”
“You could have the vineyard.”
“I know.”
“And you want takeout?”
“I want you here.”
His arm tightens around me. “Then that’s where I’ll be.”
I settle against his chest again. Another night in my apartment, with no grand plan and nowhere else to be. It sounds simple and warm and wonderfully normal. I like the thought far more than I expected.
29
RACHEL
The next night, Chloe and I sit outside a wine bar two blocks from the Hartwell. Fairy lights hang above the tables, and the air still holds some of the day’s heat. Every few minutes, a breeze carries the smell of garlic and grilled meat from the kitchen.
We came for one drink. Then our waiter placed an answer sheet and two pencils on the table, and somehow we ended up joining Wednesday night trivia. Chloe is taking it very seriously.
My phone sits beside my wine. Eric said he had plans tonight, but I don’t know what kind. We’ve only had two dates and haven’t agreed to anything, so asking would’ve made me sound jealous. That hasn’t stopped me from wondering if he’s with another woman.
This morning, while I was in the shower, I pictured her. She was beautiful, laughed at all his jokes, and had never gone on television to ask the city to reject his hotel. Eric gave her the same full attention he gives me, leaning closer as she spoke with one hand resting over hers. I saw it so clearly that I turned the water colder and forced myself to think about something else.
I know I created an entire date from one word. Knowing I’m being foolish hasn’t made the jealousy go away.
The host reads the next question through a speaker near the door. His voice is far too loud.
“Name the only mammal capable of true flight.”
“Bat,” Chloe says, writing it down.
“I knew that.”
“Of course you did. You’ve known every answer tonight exactly two seconds after I said it.”
I reach for my wine to hide my smile. We both know I had no idea. I’m not sure where Chloe collects all these random facts, let alone how she remembers them.
Chloe sets her pencil beside the answer sheet. “I signed us up for salsa on Friday.”
“You did what?”
“A new studio opened near Alton Square. They want me to recommend them to my clients, so I agreed to try a class.”
“And you need me because?”
“I can’t salsa alone.”
“Alright.”
Chloe frowns. “That was easy.”
