Page 27 of Sliding into Love
I'm notsure what to make of tonight.
We're sitting at a table inLa Famiglia, one of the more upscale places in Bellport. Royce went home to change and has come back in a beautiful outfit that is everything I expect from them and more. It's flashy, but not in a bad way. I can't keep my eyes off them.
I, on the other hand, went home, put on more deodorant, and argued with myself for twenty minutes about whether changing would be in my best interest—until I got a text that they were ready to meet me.
I'm thankful I wound up changing, but now, as we sit here awkwardly at the table, it's apparent neither of us has a plan.
When my mother showed up earlier, I froze. Having her there while Royce was around felt all kinds of wrong.
She's a part of my life that I compartmentalize. I don’t talk to her about baseball unless I’m asked specifically about the business, and I don’t dare mention that I’m interested in men. She’s still holding out hope that I’ll marry one of her friend’s daughters and give her grandchildren. My father is much the same.
So when she appeared, and I was enraptured by Royce, it felt as if she could see past all the defenses I normally keep up.
"What's the deal with your mom?" Royce asks, quickly pulling me from my whirlwind of thoughts.
I shake my head and place the menu down. I'll figure out what I'm eating at some point. The waiter went to get our drinks—I know it’s only been a minute or two, but it feels like an eternity.
"What do you mean, what's the deal with my mother?" I ask them.
They tilt their head to the side, eyeing me in a way that says they call bullshit.
"You know exactly what I mean, Kenneth. There was tension between the two of you."
I roll my eyes. “There's tension between a lot of people and their parents. It doesn't have to mean anything.”
The waiter appears with Royce's whiskey and my champagne. Really, I wanted to order a fizzy and sweet drink, like a cider or maybe even some apple juice.
It isn't really appropriate for a lot of people though. I don't need to give Royce any other reason to question me.
I can tell they’re still wary about my intentions—about whether I truly mean what I say and what I'm doing.
Royce takes a sip of their drink, staring at me like I'll crack. I mimic their movement, sipping mine.
I give an involuntary wince at the sharpness.
Royce pauses, their eyebrows rising.
"You don't like it, do you?" they ask.
I swallow thickly in an effort to regain my composure. I don’t think I’m a good liar when it comes to them.
The attraction there makes me a bit loopy.
Besides, I don't really want to lie.
I begin to shake my head, but at the dip in their brow, I slowly nod.
"What would you have instead, if you could have anything?" they ask me. Their fingers drum on the tabletop as they wait for me to gain the courage to respond.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "I like things like juice or punch. The fancy stuff is a requirement at big parties and places like this, so it's what I get."
At my tone, they nod sharply, then reach their hand up to gain the waiter's attention.
When the young man bustles over, they lean forward, speaking directly to him. They share a few whispered words, and then the waiter rushes off with a smile.
Royce leans forward, arms on the table. It's not proper etiquette, and they know it. I can tell from the grin tilting up the corner of their mouth.
"Now then, if we're going to be honest, let's continue talking about what I want to know. Why was your mother acting so…" They pause, as if searching for the correct word.
