Page 142 of Every Beautiful Mile

I do not let the fact his tie is loosened around his neck nor how his eyes are burning affect me.

I also ignore how he almost paralyzes me when he puts his hand on the small of my back when he leads me into the restaurant. I barely notice how my body responds to the simple act of him rolling up his sleeves as we sit at our table.

When I openly stare at him as he orders a bottle of wine, it’s not because he looks good. It’s because he doesn’t. This is what I tell myself over and over.

He leans back in his chair, props an elbow on the table, and crosses a foot to his knee. He is the epitome of relaxation, and it makes every inch of my body itch.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks as he twirls the stem of his wine glass.

I do what I have to, I lie.

“I was thinking if you wanted to do something different, you could train the bar staff in smoked cocktails. I know a few methods, but it might be something you’d want to consider letting me bring an expert in for. I don’t think any bar in Bangor does it, but I’d have to double-check.”

I slide a paper I’d written out a few of my favorites on across the table to him.

“The smoked Manha—”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming here.” He cuts me off as he pushes my notes to the side without even as much as a glance toward them.

“Well, to be fair, neither did you.” I raise an eyebrow, lifting my wine glass to my lips. “And I was planning to come see you in Bethel after this meeting I was bamboozled into.”

He snorts. “Bamboozled is a stretch. There really is a business, and I really need help. I just used a different name.” He shrugs as if to say, what’s the big deal?

I sigh. “I didn’t want you to tell me not to come. I wanted to show up and see you with my own two eyes, for better or worse. Though the fact you’ve met someone you’re serious about, it’s probably for the best I didn’t have a chance to let some kind of weird confession fly out of my mouth.”

“You?” He snorts. “Never.”

I look at him until it’s too uncomfortable.

Voice low, he says, “You looked away, Penelope.”

The reference catches in my throat. “Well, old habits and all that,” I say quietly, staring at my wine glass so long I see two of them.

“How are the kids?”

“Excellent!” I smile proudly. “Marin helped me brand my business, and Finn has a new girlfriend, is gearing up for baseball season, and apparently trades recipes with Derek.”

He nods, telling me everything I need to know. Ethan knew they were staying in touch, which means they must also know he’s seeing someone. They let me walk right into this situation with false hope.

Everyone is getting grounded when I get home.

“The boys?” I ask, pushing the feeling I’ve been backstabbed by my own children aside.

“Good. Austin is back at school, and Derek just told me he plans to go to culinary school after he graduates. He works with me in the kitchen a couple of nights a week and doesn’t even yell at me.”

He smiles the entire time he talks about them.

I’m not surprised by the news at all.

“I wanted to call you. A lot,” I confess, startling myself. “When Finn told me about his girlfriend, when I started the business, and when I had my first consulting booking. The days I was at the market. I wanted to call you after all of them, but I just didn’t know what to say and if it would make everything worse. I know you’re with someone you care about. God help us if it’s Deep Throating Brooke, but I just wanted you to know. Just so you know, I meant it all.”

I rearrange the silverware in front of me.

“I would have waited, Penelope. For however long it would have taken, I would have. I meant it all, too.”

His throat moves slowly as he swallows, and we sit in a loud silence, staring at each other.

“Filet mignon with a sweet potato?”

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