Was last year’s Oona worthy of Crosby? Because surely this year’s Oona wasn’t.
When their wine was served, Oona gulped hers without tasting it.
Uncomfortable silence fell over them like snow. They regarded their ornate surroundings, searching for something to comment on. The room had a soft glow from the chandeliers; their silverware and plates gleamed as if underwater.
Say something.
Yet neither one did.
A pull at the back of her throat. Her fake smiles weren’t passing for the real thing, but Crosby didn’t prod. Instead, he reassured her with careful glances that said he’d listen, that he’d understand.
Oona didn’t trust those glances; no way he’d understand if she gave voice to the unspoken between them.
The waiter brought over their appetizers, and they bit into giant shrimp. Maybe good food would take the edge off their disappointment.
I have to turn this around. I’ll die if this dinner gets any more uncomfortable.
“So you know how the new year is a new beginning and all that?” she asked.
The corners of Crosby’s mouth twitched, uncertain. “Sure.”
“Well, with my birthday, new beginnings are magnified for me. Can we try something?”
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. A crimson dollop of cocktail sauce dropped onto the white tablecloth. “Depends on what that something is.”
“Can we pretend this is our first date?”
“What?” He set the fork down.
Eyes on the centerpiece, she coaxed her voice into a breezy lilt. “I know it’s silly, but I thought it might be fun to, you know, pretend like we just met and it’s our first date. Kind of get to know each other all over again.” She pressed her fork tines into the pads of her fingers.
“Oh.” A shrug and his body relaxed. “I mean, I guess. I thought you were going to say you wanted us to see other people or something.”
“No! God no. I have no interest in seeing other people.” The bigger concern was sorting out her interest in him. “I just thought—just for tonight—we could have a blank slate. Is that too weird?”
Head tilted, he squinted in exaggerated concentration. “Too weird … hmm … on the grand scale of weirdness, this ranks fairly low. What the hell, let’s try it.”
“Awesome.” The word came out in a breathy sigh.
“So how do you want to do this?”
“I think we just dive in. Like … how did you get those scars on your face?”
He rubbed the one above his eyebrow, smirked. “I walked into a glass door.”
“Were you drunk?”
He was taken aback for a beat, but resumed his role. “No, I was six. Playing with a neighbor’s kid, running back and forth between their living room and backyard. Someone closed the sliding doors when I wasn’t looking. I went crashing through them.”
“Yikes.”
“Yeah, it was pretty scary at the time, but I ended up with a nice insurance settlement that my parents invested for me. Which is how I can afford a decent Manhattan apartment on a retail salary. What about you? What’s the story behind your tattoo?”
“What?” A glance at her wrist, as if the ink would reveal a clue. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. “I would love to tell you…” She coiled her lips seductively. “But that’s something I never reveal on a first date.”
Their steaks were brought out and Crosby ordered a second bottle of wine.
“Let’s see…” Oona continued. So many things she wanted to know, deeper questions to ask, but she had to maintain their first-date role-play. “Who are your five favorite bands or singers?”
Restrained impatience tightened his face, his eyes asking, How long do we have to keep this up? “Bowie, New York Dolls, Sisters of Mercy, Depeche Mode, Bob Dylan.”
“Bob Dylan? But he can’t sing.”
“Says the girl who loves Lou Reed.” The glint in his eyes was playful yet barbed.
“So you work in retail … Do you want to own your own store one day?” she asked.
He hesitated, as if he had to talk himself into continuing the charade. “I don’t think so. Working at Vamps is fun—and St. Mark’s Place is awesome—but it’s not like retail is any great passion of mine.”
As Oona listened, she tried to calculate a formula for the quickest way to fall in love. How could you apply mathematical logic to something that defied numbers? Good-looking man plus fancy restaurant plus wine plus friendly banter might not equal a pounding heart and undying devotion. Love at first sight was too ambitious (even if it had gone that way with Dale).
She and Crosby exchanged polite, bewildered smiles, her secret a barrier between them. What had her first kiss with Crosby been like? No way had it sent her into a similar free fall as Dale’s.
But a new set of firsts with Crosby awaited. A new first date (in progress). A new first kiss. A new first fight. Other firsts, both good and bad, but weren’t the earliest days of a relationship some of the best? Sure, technically this was a continuation, but she’d also experience the novelty of their relationship, even if it was one-sided.
Maybe I’ve been looking at this all wrong.
“I guess it’s my turn to ask questions,” Crosby said. “Do you like your job at … what is it you do again?” His delivery wooden.
“Um…” Crap. She stalled by cutting and chewing a large bite of steak. “I, uh … I have a trust fund, so I’m lucky … I don’t have to have a regular job…” Maybe that answer would fly.
It didn’t.
“A trust fund? I thought you’re a personal financial advisor.” He narrowed an eye.
Damn that incinerated cheat sheet. “Yeah, I do that, too.” Not a complete lie, since she advised herself. “On the side. I’ve always liked numbers and seem to have a knack for it…”
“Did you keep the trust fund a secret because you thought I’d take advantage of you?”
“Of course not.”
“Because I’d never do that. If you remember, you had to talk me into accepting that Vespa you got me for my birthday.”
“I remember,” she said through dry lips.
“I don’t care about having lots of money. I have enough to be comfortable. And I don’t have expensive tastes—tonight’s an exception and more for you. I think wanting more than I have would just make me unhappy.”
A stirring within her, a whisper of tenderness. “That’s a very … Buddhist way of looking at things.” She tried to numb the pinpricks of shame with more wine. “So if making a lot of money isn’t your thing and retail isn’t your thing, what’s your big passion?”
The hurt and suspicion in his eyes softened. His face flushed and he shifted an eyebrow, implying he didn’t need to vocalize his great passion because he was looking at it.
No question about it. There was no way she deserved a man like Crosby. And she had no idea how she’d hold on to him.
“That was a lovely dinner. Thank you,” she said as they exited the restaurant.
“My pleasure.” He slipped an arm around her waist. “I’m crazy about you, you know that?”