Page 126 of Love What's Left
“I wasn’t a fan either. You were in a private dining room. The walls were polished dark wood. You ordered Mediterranean chicken and were out with an ad executive named Tony.”
I remember. “It wasn’t supposed to be a date. I invited him as a friend.”
“He didn’t see it that way.”
The rest of that night comes roaring back, not only in detail, but carrying every single emotion I had with it. Incredulous, I stare at my husband.
“You remember?” Gabriel looks as ill as I feel.
“Oh my God.” An almost hysterical laugh punches out of me. “You sneaky son of a bitch.”
42
Sydney
Almost Sixteen Months Ago
“Did I mention you look gorgeous in red?” Tony smiles at me across our restaurant table, his dark eyes hooded.
I drop my chin and spear a perfectly seasoned bite of roasted potato with my fork. “You did. Thank you.”
Tony’s tan skin glows with health, and his smile has always been friendly. He’s not smirky or sexy. Nothing at all like—Stop thinking about Gabriel McRae.
Tonyadmires the general splendor of the room with a satisfied expression. “I can’t believe you had this up your sleeve the whole time.”
I give a confused shake of my head and do my best to look like I want to be here. “This is my favorite place to eat. It’s close to my apartment, and you don’t need reservations, so that’s nice.”
Tony smiles, but frowns at the same time. Hesmowns. “All this time, I thought you weren’t into me, but you were playing the long game.”
Oh, no.“It’s not like that. I was serious, Tony. I told you this was a friendly dinner. If my friend Janessa hadn’t needed to cancel at the last minute, she’d have joined us too.”
He gives me a knowing look. “You don’t have to underplay what you’ve done here. I’m well aware this place has a nine-month waitlist for reservations.”
“Maybe you have it confused with another restaurant. Our dinner really was a last-minute thing. You asked me if I had plans. I didn’t feel like cooking.”Or staying home worrying about Gabriel.“I suggested we meet here because it’s convenient.”
“I tried to talk to you for a year. Then, you not only agreed, you had a reservation for a private dining room in one of the hottest restaurants in town. This feels pretty special.” His gaze trails over me in blatant sexual interest.
If he refuses to listen, then I have to be blunt. “We were people who happened to run into each other often enough in the lobby of our work building that we started making occasional small talk. We’re a couple of casual friends out for a meal.” I was worried about Gabriel and wanted a distraction, not whatever he thinks this is. “I didn’t book private dining. They put us in here because they were full in the main restaurant, and I chose this place because the food is great, and I have a coupon. It’s not a big deal. I eat here at least once a week.”
I always have a stash in my junk drawer for this restaurant and a couple of others. They show up in my mailbox in flyers every week. I don’t know how they stay in business giving away so many discounts, but I always tip extra well.
Annoyance flits across his face. “This place doesn’t give out coupons like some neighborhood pizza joint. Why don’t you want credit for what you’ve done? I said I was impressed.”
“I’mnot trying to impress you,” I say, growing more frustrated by the moment.
Through the open doorway, I catch sight of a familiar masculine form in a black suit, black shirt open at the collar to expose the strong column of his throat as he speaks with the hostess.
Oh, holy frickin’ hell. Seriously? Why now? Why here?
Gabriel McRae’s rich-man laugh carries through the room and curls into me, making me hot and hectic when I should be . . . I should befurious. He can’t ghost me for two weeks, then show up here at the worst possible time.
An inner voice reminds me that we don’t have a romantic relationship of any kind, don’t have a schedule, and if I’d called or texted him, he probablywouldhave responded.
I tell my inner voice to stuff it. Itfeelslike ghosting, so it counts.
Gabriel scans the full house beyond our private space as though he’s looking for someone.
Me. Hebetterbe looking for me.
