Page 28 of Tobias

“And you’ll inherit it one day?” he guesses.

“That’s right.”

“But only if you do everything he says?”

I frown. “Can you wait until after I’ve had a drink to say things like that?”

He holds up his hands in apology, but his smile is blinding.

“Gentlemen, how are you tonight?” the waiter asks when he reaches the table. He’s an older guy with grey hair that’s pulled back into a thin ponytail, and a neat short beard.

“Couldn’t be better,” Tobias says.

“Glad to hear it. Can I start you off with a drink?”

“Scotch, please,” Tobias says.

“Same,” I answer.

“While I get that for you, may I suggest looking over the appetizer menu? We have a few new items that may interest you.”

He leaves us and I glance over the menu but don’t see anything that’s there. I’m nervous in a whole different way than I was last time. The first date was innocent. I was doing it to figure something out. It wasn’t about who I was going on the date with, but because I needed an answer to a question about myself. But now I’m herebecauseof Tobias, and that just feels wrong. Like I’m cheating. This is a line I've never crossed before.

“Do you think I’m cheating on my fiancée?” I blurt out.

Tobias looks up at me from under his lashes. “Like in general or…”

“Being here,” I say. “This.”

“Oh.” He puts his menu down. “Cheating is a funny thing.”

“How so?”

“Everyone has a different idea of what it means.”

“What are you talking about?” I ask, not hiding my frustration. Panic is swelling in my chest.

With a sigh, he says, “If you found out your fiancée was doing this, would you think it was cheating?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d care, because I’d be relieved.”

“Unhelpful,” he says. “What if you were dating someone you wanted to be with. Someone you loved and knew you could marry and be happy with. If they were doing this, would it be cheating?”

“Yes.”

“Then there’s your answer,” he says, going back to his menu.

I frown. “That isn’t an answer.”

“Then ask your fiancée what she thinks. I don’t know what to tell you.” I stare at him, unblinking. When he looks up, our eyes meet and after a moment, he says, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“I will if you want me to.”

“I don’t want you to,” I say adamantly.

The waiter drops off our drinks and I ask him to suggest an appetizer for us because we aren’t picky. He happily obliges.

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