Page 19 of Sing For Me

Eli puts the truck in gear. “I didn’t think it was a disaster.”

I gape as he pulls onto the road.

Eli throws me a glance. “Look, it didn’t end great. I take full responsibility for that. But I don’t regret it. I know you do, but I don’t.”

I fold my arms, that old irritation flicking up my throat. Or is that a lump? He doesn’t know how badly he hurt me. He has no idea.

But I can feel his eyes on me. I can see, from the corner of my eye, the way his hand scrapes over his jaw. “Reese, I’m sorry. You’re right, I won’t bring it up again, okay? And I told you I fully intend to make this worth your while. It’s not a one-sided favor.”

“Got it,” I say. But I keep my face turned to the window, watching as we leave my neighborhood on the edge of downtown and approach the shops along the waterfront.

We don’t speak again until a few minutes later when Eli parks outside Viande et Patates. I offer him some quarters as he plugs the meter, but he just raises an eyebrow like I’m crazy.

Then we walk side by side toward the restaurant.

My hand—the one next to his—twitches. I don’t know why; it’s not like we should be holding hands, should we? They can’t see us yet.

But when we stop outside the front door, my stomach does another flip.

When Eli picked me up, that wasn’t my last chance to run. This is. Right outside the restaurant.

But I don’t run. I pause on the sidewalk looking at our reflection in the plate glass window of the closed boutique next door.

We look, for all intents and purposes, like a handsome couple. We fit, somehow.

“You okay?” Eli asks.

I almost laugh. No, I’m not okay. I’m crazy for going through with this. My heart fucking hurts.

But I’m also crazy for what I do next. I reach for his hand, blinking fast at the little spark that shoots up my arm as I slip my hand into his rough, warm palm. “We’re supposed to be together, remember?” My voice is almost raspy.

Eli seems frozen for a moment. Then he grips my hand back, hard. His eyes are a gorgeous deep chocolate brown—a perfect match to his thick locks—and they twinkle as he squeezes my palm.

Oh God, it feels good, him holding my hand like this. Bestowing that smile on me. Then his smile drops, and he looks over toward the waterfront walkway. “Aren’t you happy, Reese?”

The question is like a brick dropped on the sidewalk.

I swallow. “I’m fine.”

He looks back at me with something like concern in his expression, and I don’t love it. In fact, I hate it. I want him to look away from me. But I know he won’t lose that frown unless I show him I’m okay. “Don’t go all deep on me,” I say, forcing a smile. “We’re here to show Kelly thatyou’rehappy. So, let’s pretend we’re copasetic. Ready?”

Eli’s still frowning, but he glances toward the restaurant door and nods. “Okay.”

Neil stands up when we walk in the door. “Eli and Reese,” he booms, insisting on kissing both of our cheeks, European style.

“Handsome as ever, Eli. How’d you ever walk away from this beast of a man?” Neil asks Kelly, without a whiff of self-awareness. He laughs heartily as Eli and Kelly look awkwardly at each other.

“Let me,” Neil says, coming behind me to remove my coat and handing it to the hostess who’s appeared behind us, giving her a wink.

“Stunning,” he says once he turns to me. Clearly, Neil has a bit of a wandering eye. It makes me slightly uncomfortable, but I brush it off. He lavishes everyone with the same level of attention.

It’s not me who’s stunning, anyway. It’s Kelly, in a silky black blouse and red lipstick, her hair in long waves that cascade down her shoulders. She’s looking at Neil with a flicker of annoyance, but she still makes me feel positively mousy next to her. All my confidence back at home with Nora seems to flitter away.

That is until Eli takes my hand and gives me a squeeze. Even if it’s for his own reassurance around Kelly, I cling to him for a second longer than necessary before letting go.

“Eli!” A man has appeared at the side of our table, around Eli’s age, who looks like a biker in a suit with his big beard and tattoo escaping the collar of his neat white button-down.

“Ben,” Eli beams, giving the man a thudding back pat hug the way dudes sometimes do. “Everyone, this is Ben—this is his restaurant.”

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