“But you presumed correctly. And I didn’t mind you coming by my apartment.”
His head snaps up, but other than that, he neither moves nor speaks. After a long moment, I force a smile that feels brittle with disappointment.
What had I expected? That he would swoop me into his arms and tell me he fell madly in love with me the moment he met me, that the other woman doesn’t matter to him anymore?
“Thanks for seeing me on short notice. Have a nice evening, Mr. Andrews.”
I walk back to the door, blinking back tears.
“Gracie.” His voice is rough.
I turn.
He’s standing, his expression both cautious and hopeful. “Do you have plans for dinner tonight?”
Twenty-Three
“That’s fantastic news,” Sebastian says, refilling both our glasses with the bottle of zinfandel he’s ordered to go with the steaks.
I’d expected him to suggest a fancy restaurant, one of those with big glass windows and high ceilings and stuffy waiters.
Instead, he’s led me to a hole-in-the-wall steakhouse with wood walls, dark lighting, and the enthusiastic buzz of people having a good time. We’re seated in the back corner, enjoying delicious steaks and even more delicious mashed potatoes.
Most pleasurable of all though? The company. I can’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed a meal so much… ever.
“So, what happens now?” he asks, picking up his knife and fork, but studying me instead of cutting into his meat. “I know Hugh personally, but I don’t know much about his art world.”
“He wants to do a gallery opening,” I say, taking a sip of water. “He hung one of my pieces already—just to generate buzz, but he’s saving the rest, wants to do a whole thing with champagne and cocktail dresses.” I laugh a little breathlessly at the sheer excitement of it all. “A gallery opening. I still can’t believe it.”
I sit back in my chair and smile sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve been hogging the conversation. I haven’t even really told my family any of this, but I’m glad you’re the first to know.”
He smiles. In fact, he looks rather pleased. “Do you think your brother will come back to town for it?”
“I’ll invite him, definitely,” I say. “But he lives in New Hampshire—about a six-hour drive—and I’d hate to have to ask him to make it twice in a month.”
“The opening’s happening that soon?” Sebastian says around a bite of steak.
I shrug. “Hugh said two weekends from now.”
Sebastian nods, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to invite him. But I hold back, knowing that if he makes some polite excuse, it’ll sting, and I want to hold on to this night.
I take a bite of steak. “So, this is none of my business, but your parents were so lovely, and I keep thinking about them. How did they take the news that you and Genevieve broke up? Your mother must be disappointed.”
Okay, fine. My motivations aren’t totally pure. I know he said he and Genevieve were over for good, but it can’t hurt to check…
He shrugs. “My mom was a bit disappointed. Genevieve is like a daughter to her though, and that doesn’t change just because Gen won’t be her daughter-in-law. Also, it’s helped everyone that Genevieve is pregnant.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Wow.”
Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask…
He smiles. “The father is an anonymous donor.”
“Hmm.” I take a prim little sip of wine. “Well, good for her.”
“It is. She’s happy. My mom’s happy about getting a sort of second grandbaby.”
“Second? You have a sibling?”
“Stepbrother,” he says, picking up his wineglass. “Gary married my mom when I was seven. He has a son—Jason—from a previous marriage who lived with his mom in DC. Jason and his wife had their first baby last summer.”
“Oh! I didn’t realize Gary wasn’t your biological father.”
“He may as well have been. He adopted me. Raised me.”
Something in the back of my mind flickers, telling me that this information is important somehow, but then he pours more wine, and the thought flits away.
“What’s it like? Being an uncle?” I ask, scooping up the mashed potatoes. They’ve mixed in bits of fried onions, and it elevates the dish to a whole new level of delicious. I make a note to tell Keva about them.
“A little strange,” Sebastian admits. “Jason and I are friendly, but not close. I’ve only met his wife once, at the wedding, and I haven’t made it down to DC yet to meet Juliet. Based on the pictures she’s beautiful, and fond of bows.”
I smile. “Gotta love a good bow.”
“You like kids?”
“I do. I certainly hope for some of my own someday,” I say, thinking of Lily and the heartache of her fertility struggles. “Though lately I’ve made the decision to do a little less hoping and a little more acting.”
He holds my gaze questioningly, and I twist my fork in the air as I chew, trying to figure out how to describe it.
“It’s been brought to my attention recently,” I say, setting my fork down, “by myself, that I’ve been living in a bit of a fantasy world.”
“Fantasy as in the fairies you like to paint, or fantasy as in… you know.” He makes a playful hubba-hubba motion with his eyebrows that seems both completely unlike him, yet somehow perfectly natural, reminding me how many layers this man seems to have.
“More like the castle-and-white-knight variety. Except the knight’s a musician with tattoos and a little belly.”
He blinks. “You lost me.”
I find myself telling him everything. Not about Sir and him declining to want to move our relationship beyond what it is now. That’s too private—too fresh. Too painful.
But I tell Sebastian all about my penchant for fairy tales. My tendency to focus on what could be rather than what is. My hesitancy to really, truly throw myself into the things that matter the most out of fear they won’t live up to what I’ve built up in my mind.
“It’s a real problem,” I finish with a sigh.
“I don’t know that it’s a bad thing to know what you want,” he says thoughtfully.
“No. But I’m learning it’s a bad thing when you’re so focused on what you think you want that you don’t see what’s right in front of you,” I reply slowly.
Sebastian’s fork freezes for just a fraction of a second, his fingers seeming to tighten on the utensil, his eyes flicking up to mine. The second our gazes clash, it’s like that first day on the sidewalk all over again, all crackle and butterflies and Frank Sinatra.
“I know the feeling,” he says quietly, still holding my gaze.
My stomach turns over on itself, and because these sort of feelings—these real-life feelings—are so very new to me I look quickly back down at my plate.
When I look up again, he’s gone back to eating his steak, though there’s a quiet tension between us now. Not uncomfortable. Just… knowing.
The server comes to clear away our plates with promises to bring the dessert menu, and Sebastian wipes his mouth, then drops the napkin into his lap, leaning forward, forearms on the table. “Can I ask you something?”