Page 112 of Beneath Her Skin

Tonight, I guess I’m eating dinner alone.

6

It’s finally Friday night. That means it’s time for our weekly date night where we switch off who picks what we do and where we go. I’m fully looking forward to this one. Miles and I have had a rocky week, and I know spending some time together to wind down will help alleviate some tension between us.

Typically, we start the night with happy hour at our favorite bar, then head to see a show or movie, ending the night with dinner. This week, Miles picks the itinerary. We watched the new vampire movie critics have been raving about, and now we’re seated at an upscale restaurant I didn’t even know existed. It’s posh dining meets steampunk, if that’s even a thing that can be combined together. Seems a little like an oxymoron to me, but I can’t turn down a killer dining experience.

“This place was recommended by one of our clients. Apparently, their house made focaccia bread and French onion soup is to die for.”

Miles never ceases to amaze me with all the little things he knows and people he meets at his job. And, damn, does he know which foods speak directly to my heart.

I take a sip of my wine, focusing back into the conversation as Miles updates me on a big project he’s taken on for work. I don’t understand much of what he does, but that doesn’t stop me from being a supportive wife. It’s the least I can do when he provides so much for the two of us. His job is to provide; mine is to support. And I’m happy to fill that role for as long as he needs it.

“Miles, my man!” a boisterous, male voice shouts from the entrance of the restaurant, interrupting Miles in the middle of a rant about his work nemesis.

Miles and I turn to find the culprit of the noise. A burly man stands in the doorway, waving in our direction. His thick, black beard gently bounces in time with his body movements. He greets the hostess before weaving through the tables towards ours.

I give Miles the side eye, but he’s not paying attention to me. He’s rigid in his seat and, if I didn’t know any better, he’s holding his breath.

“Miles,” I hiss. “Do you know him?”

Miles turns towards me, and, for a split second, I swear I see fear stricken across his face. But he schools his features, plastering a large smile on his face when the man arrives at our table before I have a chance to ask him what the fuck is going on.

“Hey, Darren. How are you?” Miles greets him.

They shake hands, the man double tapping Miles’ hand during the shake.

Men and their weird fucking social cues.

“Good, buddy. So good. How are you doing tonight?”

Miles stiffens again, but stifles the motion with a cough. Maybe this is someone from work that he doesn’t get along with?

“Good. Just doing date night with my wife. This is Mary Jo,” he introduces, motioning towards me. I give a small wave, not saying anything because I honestly don’t understand what is going on right now.

Darren beams at me and shuffles over to my side to offer his hand. I stare at it for a second before returning the handshake.

“Of course. We’ve met previously. Pleasure, Mary Jo,” Darren says.

Without thinking, I jerk my hand away, scrunching my nose up at him because what in the fuck does that mean? I have never seen this man in my damned life. This better not turn into a stupid fight tonight, because now Miles must think I’m cheating on him.

“Um, excuse me?” I question with a little more venom on than I planned.

“It’s okay, Mary. He just recognizes you from all the photos I have at work. We meet so many people on a daily basis and Darren has the worst memory in the whole office.” Miles laughs, patting Darren on the back.

“Ah, you know what,” Darren replies, rubbing the back of his neck. “You might be right. I can never keep track of faces. Apologies for the misunderstanding, ma’am.”

I nod, silently accepting his apology, but still wary of whatever is actually going on between them.

Miles is looking—no,staring—at Darren, his eyes locked onto him. It’s domineering, almost like an alpha taking control of his pack. I have never seen this look on Miles and it’s discomforting. Reaching across the table, I take his hand in mine and squeeze. “Hey, it’s okay. Mistakes happen. No hard feelings, right?” I smile up at Darren.

Miles rubs his thumb over my hand, giving a tight squeeze before letting go.

“Well, at least I can brag about how memorable you are,” Miles gushes.

Darren laughs, a nervous pitch to his tone. Now I’m looking at him, wondering what silent conversation I’m missing between them.

“Anyways,” Miles drawls. “We have a date to get back to. And, Darren, don’t be late to the next board meeting.”

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