“And that makes it fine and dandy for people to hurt you?” I was honestly trying to understand him.
“It’s not about right and wrong, it’s about reality. We live in a world full of not-right people, and if your boss isn’t cutting on you with knives, they’re probably cutting on you with words or neglect. If you know anyone long enough—boss, friend, lover, child, parent—they’re either going to do one or the other.”
I admired his pragmatism even as I rejected his words, swallowing around a sudden, thick knot in my throat.
I didn’t want that, to be cut, to be a victim of abuse or neglect. Not now, not ever again. And I didn’t want it for him. Nor would I accept that all folks eventually hurt each other.
“Do you really think that’s true?”
“Have you ever known anyone who didn’t?” Though his eyes held no humor, they did hold warmth, softness. He wasn’t mocking me, he was asking honestly. “Have you ever met a person who didn’t cut with knives, words, or neglect?”
“My daughter,” I said, my answer immediate, my chest squeezing with sadness and regret.
His expression seemed to soften further. “Your daughter.”
“She’s . . . she’s an angel.”
“She’s an innocent.”
“No. She’s not. And that’s my fault.” I picked up my wine but didn’t drink it. “Never mind about that. Let’s talk about something else.”
Jason picked up his wine too, considering me over the rim, his eyes kind. “How about more of those first date questions, Beth?”
I nodded, suddenly restless and agitated, also grateful for his willingness to let me change the subject. This might not have been the flavor of first date I’d had in mind, but up until this moment I’d thoroughly enjoyed myself. Our time together had been better than I’d hoped, and I didn’t want tonight to end it on a down note.
“Let’s see.” He studied me. “Favorite movie?”
“Steel Magnolias.” Again, my answer was immediate. His question had been an easy one and I found myself breathing a little easier.
“I’ve never seen it.”
“Oh, you have to. It’s—it’s a beautiful story. It’ll make you laugh so hard, you’ll be holding your stomach. And in the next moment you’re crying. Then you’re laughing again.”
“The best kind of stories.”
“That’s what I think, too.” We shared a smile and renewed heat warmed the places that had gone numb. Feeling a little shy, I took a sip of my wine before asking, “How about you? What’s your favorite movie?”
“Easy Rider.”
I barked a laugh, because—after getting to know him better this evening—I didn’t believe that for a second.
He also laughed, his eyes dropping to his half-eaten spareribs. “The real answer is Casablanca.”
I perked up at this news. “Really? You like old movies?” How wonderful.
“Haven’t seen many movies—don’t get much of a chance. But I was stuck in San Antonio a few years back and they were playing it on a dollar screen.”
“You watched it by yourself?”
“I did.”
“Have you seen it again?”
“I have.” He finished his wine, leaving his fingers on the foot of the glass after he set it back on the table. “Anytime I’m traveling and it’s playing, I like to go.”
I resisted the urge to take another sip of mine. Everything had been so delicious, but I was stuffed. And I didn’t need any more alcohol. I’d been careful. Other than the champagne cocktail two hours ago, I hadn’t finished a full glass of anything. I didn’t feel at all tipsy, but wondered if, just to be safe, I should call for one of the Lodge’s courtesy limos.
“Have you ever watched Casablanca with someone else?” I asked.
“No.”
“We should watch it. Together.” I gestured between us. “And you can tell me all the things you like about it.”
He tilted his head to the side in a subtle movement, his attention warming me further. “That’s a nice thought.”
My heart skipped a beat and I frowned. “You say that like it’ll never happen.”
“It might.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, so I decided I wouldn’t push the subject, instead asking, “How about as a kid, growing up? What was your favorite movie?”
He gave his head a small shake and glanced away. “Like I said, I haven’t seen many movies.”
“Have you seen Fried Green Tomatoes? That’s another one of my favorites.”
“No.”
“I think you’d like it. They barbeque someone.”
Jason’s eyes cut back to mine, searching, like he assumed he’d misheard me. “I—What?”
“It’s funny, in a way. What about Sixteen Candles?”
“Wait, did you say they barbeque a person?”
I sent him a smile. “I did.”
“In what context?”
“I don’t want to give it away. You’ll just have to wait until movie night.”
He opened his mouth as though to protest, so I headed him off. “How about Breakfast Club? Or Indiana Jones?”
“No, I’ve not seen either.”
“Do you like Christmas movies?”
He breathed out, not exactly irritated, but something like it. “Haven’t seen any.”
“Sure you have. It’s a Wonderful Life? Miracle on 34th Street? Unpopular opinion, but I like the newer one just as much as the black and white one.”
“Just assume I haven’t seen any of them.”
“Well then, that settles it.” I patted the table. “I guess I know what we’re doing on our next date.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Watching movies.”
“I can’t just come over to your house for movie night, Diane.” That sober quality to his gaze hadn’t budged since I’d asked him again whether anyone intimidated him. I wished now that I’d never pushed the subject.
“The name is Beth and I know that, Henry. But I can be creative when it comes to getting what I want, and I want to do a movie marathon with you. Hey—have you seen the Godfather movies?”
He slid his teeth to the side, his expression caught somewhere between irritation and admiration. “I haven’t.”
“We’ll start there. And since you like Casablanca, we’ll watch the Maltese Falcon. Oh! I should get a pen and make a list.” I reached for my purse.
“You’re going to teach me all about movies? Expose me to the cinema?” I almost missed the undercurrent of bitterness in his questions since he’d framed them with a teasing lilt to his voice.
“No. I’m going to show you movies I like.” After finding a pen, I pulled out the tiny notepad from the tiny, zippered compartment. Some folks liked to take notes on their cell phones. I was not one of those folks, especially not when I was out to dinner with a man I fancied more than I fancied pie. Which was a lot.
“To give me some culture?” The bitterness eclipsed the teasing.