Page 108 of Show Off

I’ve heard all these stories and got to be present for some. It’s never been me on the receiving end of a grand gesture, so I’m not sure how to feel.

“Lana.” Mari touches my knee. “We’ll stand by you no matter what.”

“Of course.” Lauren squeezes my hand. “Men can be dumbshits, and we can forgive them. That doesn’t mean we’re obligated to do it.”

I pluck the last dauphinoise off the plate, biting a buttery edge off. “Women can be dumbshits, too.” I savor the slide of cheese over my tongue, wondering if I should text Dal. To say thank you, at least. “Bad behavior isn’t the sole domain of dudes.”

There’s a murmur of agreement, followed by more munching. The muffins and bagels get gobbled up slowly, but the potatoes disappear fast. My belly feels warm and full. My heart? That’s another story.

What if Dal had a point? His execution sucked, no doubt. But did I do anybody any favors by holding my secret so long?

I’m still not sure.

We’ve just gotten back to our book talk when the doorbell rings.

“Let me guess.” Amy leans back on the sofa, trying for a glimpse out the window. “My husband this time?”

“Probably a good bet.” I know Cooper loves Dal, though I’m a little surprised he’d get involved. He’s fiercely loyal to me, and if he knows I’m still angry at Dal—well. It’s fine. Especially if he’s bringing more potatoes. I pull open the door, then freeze.

“Dal.” My mouth falls open. He’s wearing the charcoal trousers I like, plus his chef’s coat. Sorta. “I think you missed a button or two.” Or all of them, since the garment gapes wide, revealing his tawny bare chest.

A ripple of abs rolls down his torso, disappearing down into dark trousers.

Someone behind me gives a hum of approval, but I don’t turn to see who it is.

Dal straightens his chef’s coat and meets my eye. “A woman I love once told me I should never wear a shirt.”

I gulp back the throat lump that isn’t potato. “She sounds like a very wise woman.” I don’t smile when I say it, since I’m feeling more guarded than jokey. “Is that for me?”

He looks at the box in his arms and nods. Handing it over, he sets down a tote at my feet. Inside it, I spy three boxes of Nutter Butters and two cans of whipped cream.

“There’s tater tots in the box,” he says almost sheepishly. “The gourmet kind you like with lemon pepper and truffle aioli for dipping.” He nods to a second box, tucked inside the first. “Also some gamja jorim—a Korean potato dish with sesame and onion and?—”

“Thank you.” I glance at the girls behind me, not sure what to do.

Gretchen comes to my rescue. “Don’t mind me.” She swoops in quick to grab the potatoes and the tote. “I’ll just take those off your hands.”

“Thanks.” Drawing a breath, I turn back to Dal. “That was very thoughtful.”

“Lana.” He swallows hard, glancing at the group behind me. “I debated doing this in private, but since I embarrassed you in front of an audience, it seemed fitting to apologize with one.”

“Okay.” Wow, this is happening. My first grand gesture from a guy. “Go ahead.”

He slips a hand in his chef’s coat and comes up with an envelope. He’s doing this in writing?

“Here.” He looks a bit nervous as I take it from his hand. “That’s also for you.”

There’s a notecard inside and I pull it out slowly. “Should I read this now?”

One shoulder lifts in a sheepish shrug. “Yeah, probably. It seems corny now.”

“Corny’s good.” I open the note and start reading the words. “Not as much as potatoey, but—oh, wow.” I study the note as tears fill my eyes. “It’s a checkbox note.”

In Dal’s careful script, it says eight simple words:

Please forgive me? Check one:

[] Yes

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