Page 40 of Love You, Mean It

I startled at Theo’s fingers closing over mine, glancing up at him in spite of myself. He was leaning across the table, genuine remorse tugging at his features. Warmth spread up my arm and swirled through my chest, stirring up all sorts of fairy dust I’d frankly prefer he left alone.

“I promise, all I meant was you’re clearly on top of it. You wouldn’t have such a successful business if you weren’t smart with money.”

I nodded, the best I could do with this stupid lump in my throat blocking all clever retorts. After a few seconds, I managed to gulp it back down.

“Then we should split the bill.” I tugged my hand back. Dear lord, it wasn’t just trace code, it was clearly some sort of mental malware I’d unwittingly downloaded.

“No, no way.” Theo shook his head for emphasis. “Whoever picks the place covers the tab.Especiallyif they pick a place with twenty-eight-dollar salads.”

“Yeah, that lettuce better be dipped in fucking gold.”

“Or at least sprinkled with real saffron.”

I decided to let that mollify me (there was a lot of coursed for you ahead of us, after all), then turned to the menu, losing myself in the details of the obscure foodstuffs that had been shaved, whipped, flash-fried, and sprinkled over the top of a protein so deeply heritage, so emphatically sourced, that I was half-surprised we didn’t get a list of hobbies alongside the details of the farm or coastline it had previously called home.

Before long, the server returned and we traded picks until we’d filled our quota. Once he’d slid off toward the kitchen—the staff seemed to undulate through the restaurant more than walk—we fell into a not quite companionable, but at least not tense silence. I looked around, wondering whether any of the well-dressed people holding forks up to one another’s mouths and exclaiming over the handmade pastas would be familiar.

“I still can’t get over that shirt,” Theo said. I turned, surprised to find his gaze hooked on my collar, the most intricately detailed section of my peacock creation. I’d imagined it as the petals of a daffodil when I’d drawn the pattern, the inner lace layer tightly frilled while the moiré surrounding it opened into a wider, more languid bloom.

“Is it really that surprising that I’m capable of more than slicing meat?” I said, a bit more sharply than I’d intended.

“Of course not. But this isn’t hobbyist level.” Theo leaned back as Jaden placed a plate of house-cured duck prosciutto with a local honey drizzle, tart Maine blueberry preserves, and homemade sourdough toast points. I busied myself assembling the perfect bite so I wouldn’t have to meet Theo’s eyes. “Was that what you moved to New York for? Fashion design?”

“Not precisely.” I took a dainty nibble. “Jesusfuckthat’s good.” I stared in open shock at the half-eaten morsel in my hand. Theo flashed a self-satisfied grin.

“Rethinking your stance on this place?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. You forget that you’re talking to not just a hobbyist seamstress, but a charcuteriemaster.”

“Clearly you’ve been holding out on me.”

“Future meat hopes are the only thing I have to keep you coming back for more.” I grinned as I stuffed the rest of the toast in my mouth.

“I think that’s supposed to bemyace in the hole.” Theo leaned closer, a conspiratorial look on his face. “Full disclosure, I’ve been told it tastes just like jamón ibérico.”

My laugh was so barky that all the diners nearby turned to stare. Theo flashed a self-satisfied grin as I sipped my water to tamp down the residual giggles. I knew Theo could be funny when he wanted, but that sounded more like, well…mykind of joke.

“You said not precisely,” he said, taking a bite.

“Sorry?”

“You weren’tpreciselydoing fashion design. What were you doing?”

I stared at him, trying to decide if I could trust him with all that. Him knowing about my year and change of trying—really, mostly failing—to kick-start an artistic career felt like it would leave me vulnerable, even all these years after I’d (admit it, Ellie) given up. But he seemed genuinely interested, and honestly…it was almost embarrassing how good it felt, even now, to hear someone praise my work. I might have abandoned the idea of ever finding a wider audience for my creations—many of them far too fantastical for me to even consider wearing in public—but it didn’t mean I’d stoppedcaring.

“I was trying to break into costuming. For theater?”

“Right, you mentioned that when we left the hospital.” Theo nodded slowly. “Were you always a theater kid? I don’t remember you in any of the high school shows.”

“Why would you? I know for a fact you weren’t a theater kid.”

“Why so certain? I’ve been told I haveseveralleading man qualities.”

“I’m sure you have, but you didn’t use them in any Milborough High productions. Besides, lacrosse season overlapped pretty much entirely with the spring musical.”

He rolled his eyes skyward in a half-ruefulYou got me.

“I wasn’t ever in the shows. But Maritza was in all of them, so I went to a lot.”

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