Part 8 (1/2)
Gabe looks over my menu and decides he's having the beef. He suggests I try the red curry chicken. I'm not sure why he always feels the need to order for me. It's probably about him wanting to eat my food too and making sure I'll order something he likes.
The server takes our orders and leaves us. Bridget digs for something in her flashy purse, creating a lull in the conversation.
”Thank you again,” I tell them. ”Thank you for the beautiful roses.” I know I've thanked Weston already, but I feel the need to thank Bridget as well.
She smiles, pulling out a tissue from her purse. ”It was our pleasure. You should really thank Weston. He was the one on top of it.”
I'm thrilled to hear it. I don't know why. Just the thought of him picking the flowers and...
”You wrote the card?”
He pulls out the familiar small plastic bottle from his suit jacket. ”Yes, I wrote the card,” he informs me, his expression neutral, ”or rather, I dictated it. The woman at the flower shop wrote the card.” He rubs his hands with disinfectant.
He's put on his ”all-business” face again.
Which is fine.
I decide to drop the subject.
But...
Just one more thing.
”The flowers she chose were beautiful. Please thank her on my behalf.”
He smiles and looks over at Bridget and Gabe who are discussing the restaurant's furniture...I think-I'm not sure-I'm not really listening to them.
”I chose them,” he corrects me, his eyes are dark and absolutely devastating. ”I chose the flowers.”
This is where I should offer a simple thank you, but my intuition tells me we're having a between-the-lines conversation.
I bite my lip and after a long, intense moment I ask, my voice quavering, ”Why lavender?”
He doesn't answer me. He doesn't even look at me. Instead, he fiddles with his place setting, readjusting the cutlery just so.
The man is driving me insane.
I seriously start to think he might be missing some synapses in his brain, particularly in the lobe responsible for social interaction skills. Or something like that...
And just as I look away, he says, so softly, I barely hear him. ”You know why.”
The server comes over to top off our water gla.s.ses, and my head is spinning. Suddenly my senses are heightened. I'm overwhelmed by the clatter of dishes and utensils and the buzz of the conversations around the room.
I'm smothered, suffocated, trapped in this wooden h.e.l.l of a booth.
I can't breathe.
And I seriously worry I'm about to have a full-on panic attack-I'm very p.r.o.ne to them. I close my eyes and suck in a deep breath. I nudge Gabe who's still in conversation with Bridget and completely oblivious.
”I need to get out. I need to go to the washroom.”
He slides out, not even taking his eyes off Bridget-I might as well not even be in the room. I glance at Weston as I leave the table.
He's noticed my sudden panicked reaction.
He looks mortified.
I've overreacted. I press my back against the cold hard tiles of the bathroom stall. I'm safe here, relaxed.
Away from the situation.
But something is happening between Weston and me.
And it's scaring me to death. I've never faced this kind of situation before. Yes, I've found some men attractive, but never like this. I'm simply not equipped to handle this. I vow to keep my composure around him, from now on.
All business-no more flirting, no more between-the-lines conversations.
Surprisingly, the rest of dinner flows smoothly. We talk about our children, our families, and our lives. I bore them with stories of my Irish Catholic upbringing. Bridget can't believe Gabe and I have been together for eighteen years, and I'm shocked to learn Bridget is actually a year older than Weston.
Weston and Bridget met in Boston. He was doing his Masters, and she was a freshman. Despite this, he was actually a year younger than her-he had skipped six grades.
”A real mathematical prodigy,” Bridget comments. Weston's mouth curves up at the corners as he looks away, and I can't quite tell if he likes the attention or not.
”He was such a cute sweet little thing. I absolutely had to corrupt him.”
”Well, I'm sure he didn't mind,” Gabe chimes in.
Weston smiles a little, still not quite looking at us.
”Then I fell in love,” she says, looking over sweetly at Weston. ”I never thought I would fall for a nerd.”
Well if he was a nerd, he surely isn't anymore, I think, eyeing the clean smooth lines of his build and fantastic head of hair.
”I bet you liked the jocks,” Gabe ventures, flirting with her.
”Oh yes,” she tells him.
”You would have liked me,” he says, completely serious.
He is so arrogant.
”For sure,” she laughs.
I decide to change the subject-enough with the flirting already. ”So tell us about your kids.”
Yes, you are married with kids, remember?
A smile lights up her face. ”Well, Ashton is just like his father, a real whiz.” She rolls her eyes, like this trait irritates her somehow. ”They spend hours building things, gadgets.”
”It looks like you have two nerds on your hands,” I tease.