Page 47 of The Great Dating Fake Off
Her eagle eye moves to her son next. “You’re looking festive tonight, Benjamino. I love seeing you get into the spirit of things.”
He bids her a brief, tight smile. “Nora’s handiwork.”
She watches him devour the rest of his dinner in three bites. “What’s the rush?”
“There’s a documentary premiering at nine that I have to watch,” Benji says around a mouthful. He swallows. “I’m discussing it tomorrow during my live online lecture or else I’d catch it later.”
“Can’t you just use the computer”—she mimes typing—“and have it tell you what the documentary is about?”
Benji wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “No.”
“And your lecture tomorrow—”
“—is bright and early so as not to interfere with any wedding events. Lucky, isn’t it?”
She lays a hand on her chest. “So lucky. I’m glad you have such flexible work. Gives you plenty of time to study for the bar exam.”
I choke on my sip of wine. The bar exam, and the lawyer path Benji is no longer on, is number one on the Do Not Discuss list.
I rise to my feet, mentally preparing myself for a night of reading in the chair in our room while he watches a documentary about methane gas or some such topic. Maybe I can at least con him into snapping a selfie in front of the cool backdrop before we exit.
“Nora, you don’t have to run off, too. Benjamino can work on his own. Stay and mingle with the family. There will be those marshmallow sandwiches by the fire pit.”
“They’re just called s’mores, Ma.” Benji looks down at me. “And yeah, you should hang out if you want.”
I hold his eye, suspicious. He holds mine right back.
“Stay,” he finally says. “Find my sister. There’s a marshmallow sandwich in your future. I’ll see you later?”
“I’ll walk you to the door.”
“No need.” He gestures at my plate. “You’ve still got your salmon.”
What a terrible time for my friend to forget how much I hate seafood.
I glance at my largely untouched dinner. “Right. Of course. I love all this.”
“It’s one of our favorite family dishes,” Mamma V says. “You’ll be enjoying it at our house for many Sunday dinners to come.”
I stew in my own regret as she follows Benji toward the exit, no doubt chatting his ear off.
And then there were two.
Sebastian taps the edge of my plate. “A future full of salmon and clams. You must be so excited about all the seafood.”
“My joy is immeasurable.” I peer sideways. A dangerous thrill skitters down my spine. “You remembered.”
He reaches for his wineglass. “We talked about it less than eight hours ago. If I’d already forgotten your weird diet specifications it would be cause for concern. So, what are you going to do about dinner?”
“Nothing. I’ve got a granola bar in my suitcase, and the promise of a marshmallow sandwich. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You need something substantial to eat. More than one food group, preferably. What have you had today?” His thigh falls flush with mine under the table.
My heartbeat picks up to a canter. “I had a bagel I snuck back to my room after continental breakfast for lunch. Bagels constitute several pieces of the food pyramid.”
“Whatever you say.” He drops his attention to his phone.
He’s not in a skirt that exposes the skin of his thigh, so he may not even feel where we’re touching. But I sure do.
