"A road trip sounds like the perfect way to travel," I agreed. "You don't have to be packed into crowded trains or planes or buses or boats with a ton of other people. It sounds peaceful."
"Katie..."
"Yeah?" I asked, looking up, seeing a raw vulnerability in his gaze that made me want to reach out toward him, but he had his arms off the table.
"It's okay if you're not okay with it."
"Our pasts don't define us, right?" I asked, shrugging. "I mean... I used to be a huge Twilight fan. Like... I went to the midnight release parties at the bookstores," I admitted, cringing at the memory.
"Baby, I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to judge the fuck out of you for that," he teased, beaming at me, the light in his eyes chasing away the uncertainty I didn't like seeing there.
"No fair," I said, shooting him small eyes as our server came back, placing our plates in front of us, cutting off the line of conversation for a moment.
"Really, though, Katie. It's okay," he said, tone earnest as he watched me with understanding eyes.
"Do you plan on falling back into your old, erhm, career?" I asked, grabbing my fork.
"No."
"Then it's all in the past. This is, you know, the present," I told him, twirling my Alfredo noodles onto the tines of my fork.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," I agreed, nodding. "I get why you did it too. I mean, I don't know what I would do if that happened to my mom. That's unfathomable to me. I don't think I'd ever have the nerve to get revenge, but I would want it. So I get it. And that's not who you are now. You work in private security. That's a respectable profession," I said, giving him a smile. "Maybe even more respectable than mine," I added, laughing. "I tell people that I am a receptionist at a call center. No one ever asks a follow-up question to that."
"What would you say to your mom?"
"My mom already knows where I work," I told him.
"No, baby, about me," he clarified. "About my past," he added. "I am seeing this going somewhere right now. And I know you and your mom are tight."
"We are," I agreed. "But there's a time and a place, I guess. I didn't tell her about tonight," I added.
"Why not?"
"Because I didn't want to overthink it. And I know if I started telling people, I would do that. I'm going to tell her tomorrow. She likes you. She's a little mad that I said you couldn't come to brunch."
"Well, now you can ease her mind and tell her I will be there bright and early with an empty stomach the next time. I've been craving those crêpes," he admitted.
"She'll be thrilled," I told him, silently adding that I would be too.
I won't lie and say that his past wasn't a shock, that I didn't have mixed feelings about it. But I believed what I said. What was in the past, was in the past. Someone's history didn't define them if they actively worked to build a new life. He'd been young and hurt and angry.
He was older and more level-headed now. He was all about his family. And I knew that because as we ate, he talked about his siblings, their women, the Mallicks and their women, about the crazy things that could happen at get togethers.
He did it with warmth and humor, telling stories so vivid that I felt like I was there, but without the social anxiety I would feel if I was.
"They have bets on us now," he added, making my fork pause on its way to my mouth.
"What?"
"Mark makes pools. For everything. Genders of babies. Whose kid is going to rebel the hardest. Which of the women will object first to a no-shave November. And, most of all, which couples would get together and when. They're betting on us right now."
"How do they even know about me?"
"Fee. King. Don't worry, they don't gossip, just mention shit. Apparently, the whole Mallick clan knew she'd trapped us together in the woods—and why—before we ever figured it out."
"God, that feels like forever ago," I admitted, feeling like so much had happened since. But, I guess, when your life is as uneventful as mine had been since, well, forever, these little dramas that had been a part of my life the past few weeks felt like a lot.
"I regret answering that phone sometimes," he admitted, shaking his head. "I think if we had one more night, things would have happened organically."
"Maybe," I agreed. "But I think you would have been even more angry when you found out about the calls if that had happened."
"Possibly," he admitted. "For the record, I don't regret those calls or anything like that. I just wish I'd have understood why there had been a reaction with you when there hadn't been with someone else."
"I was so lonely," I admitted, gaze slipping to the table. "And I was too insecure to tell you I had a little thing for you."
"Just a little one?" Rush asked, reaching across the table to tap his fingers over my knuckles.
"Well, like, you were unattainable," I said. "So it couldn't be a big crush. Just the sort of far-away admiration people feel toward celebrities kind of thing."
"Think it's much better now that I can do this," he said, sliding his fingers between mine.
"Yes," I agreed, lips curving up. "Much better."
"You want dessert?"
"Do you?" I asked, watching as his eyes went from warm to molten.
"Oh, I can go for a little dessert," he told me. "But they're not serving what I'm hungry for here. Or, he went on, not wanting to pressure me. "We can go get some coffee and donuts, then each go home to our separate places," he said, though I swear it sounded like genuine pain in his voice at the idea.
Pain.
Over the idea of not sleeping with me.
"Take me home with you," I suggested, letting my fingers squeeze his a bit.
THIRTEEN
Kate
I know I had carefully arranged my room to accommodate having company. And, in a way, I might have been more comfortable in my own space, around my own creature comforts.
That said, I was curious about Rush's place.
So we left Famiglia and turned in the other direction from the way that would lead back to my place, heading instead to a nicer apartment building than mine.
It was a four-story-stucco building with black window casings and black balconies, giving it a more sleek, modern look.
The main areas inside were noticeably sparse as all apartment buildings were, but meticulously clean.
Rush lived on the top floor, nestled in the back corner.
"I'm half-expecting model cars lining the walls," I joked as he unlocked the door.
What I found, instead, was a neutral gray color scheme, lighter on the walls, darker on the sectional. The cabinets and tables were all black. The walls didn't host pictures of his family, but rather, large canvases.
"These are lovely," I told him, walking over toward a wall of canvases, finding muted colors—black, gray, deep blue, hints of green—showing various different landscapes. Some looked to be from the States, others were decidedly not.