Page 50 of Broken Rivalry

I shake my head, choosing to let the past stay in the past for now. “Nothing. It’s lovely. Thank you.” I bring the rose to my nose and smell it. “Where are you taking me?”

“Chez Jacques,” he says, extending his hand to take mine.

I take a rapid step back and another. I forgot for a minute the circles Ethan still navigated, circles that even if my manners could help me blend in, my actual life could not.

“Poppy?” Ethan takes a step toward me, and my hand tightens around the rose.

I remember the kind of people who go to Jacques, and they are unkind and rude to lower-class people going for dinner there. Hell! I even joined in with the mockery on occasion.

Karma sure has a way of teaching you a lesson.

I shake my head and take another step back. “This was a mistake.”

“No, Poppy, please.” He grabs my wrist, his eyes looking sad, almost pleading. “I wanted to impress you. I don’t care where we go. Anywhere.”

I stand there, frozen, as Ethan holds my wrist, his eyes pleading for understanding, for a chance. My mind races, grappling with the stark contrast between our worlds. I’m not the same Poppy I was back in high school, and the life I lead now is worlds apart from his.

He speaks softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We can go wherever you want, Poppy.”

I hesitate, then slowly nod.

“There’s a place I like. It’s a diner called Josie’s Diner. It’s a modest place, nothing like Chez Jacques, but it’s the best meal I’ve had in the past two years.”

It was a gift from my mom’s colleagues at the trucker diner where she works, a generous gesture for her fortieth birthday.

“It’s perfect.” He lets go of my wrist and intertwines our fingers. “Come on, beautiful. Our date awaits.”

As we drive, I can’t help but steal glances at Ethan. He seems unfazed by the change in plans, his profile calm and composed under the streetlights. But beneath that composed exterior, is he judging me? Comparing this Poppy to the girl he once knew?

We pull up to Josie’s, its warm, inviting glow a far cry from the chilly evening outside. Ethan steps out and walks over to my side, opening the door for me with a gentle smile. It’s a simple gesture, yet it sends my heart into a flutter.

The inside of Josie’s is a comforting blend of homely and nostalgic. The walls are adorned with vintage posters and little trinkets from the past, each item telling a story of its own. The checkered floor and red leather booths give it a classic diner vibe, while the soft, mellow tunes from a jukebox in the corner add a soothing ambience. The air is filled with the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, sizzling bacon, and the sweet scent of maple syrup. It’s a place that, despite its simplicity, holds a certain charm, a refuge from the complexities of the outside world.

Ethan pulls out a chair for me, and as I sit down, a pang of guilt washes over me. He’s trying so hard to make me comfortable, to fit into my world, and here I am, drowning in insecurities and doubts.

A waitress, her smile as warm as the ambience, presents us with menus. We scan them in silence, and I find myself lost in thoughts of Ethan’s perception of this humble place.

“I have to say I like this place more than Jacques,” he says, putting the menu on the table as if he were answering my unspoken thoughts.

I regard him with a blend of skepticism and curiosity, to which he chuckles, hands raised in playful surrender. “I swear! Chez Jacques is not my scene; it’s way too pretentious. I’m more at home in the sports bar on Canal Street.”

I sigh, relaxing a little. We order the burger special with sodas, and I find solace in the ease that Ethan exudes in this unassuming place.

“Are you coming to the game next week?” His question, casual yet laden with unspoken implications, catches me off guard.

“I’m not sure. Why?” I reply, a bit thrown off by the casual question.

He shrugs. A subtle vulnerability reveals itself in the way his fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on the tabletop. “I don’t know. It’s something people do when they are—” His gaze lifts toward the heavens as if seeking the right words. “I’m really good at soccer, you know?”

I can’t help but smile a little, my chest warming at the clumsy way he’s trying to speak. I like this Ethan. The lack of perfection and usual smooth talking. This version is far more endearing and similar to me.

“Do you mean that’s what girlfriends do?” Even if I say it with lightness in my tone, my heart starts racing. I’d never imagined myself as being Ethan’s girlfriend, and we’re only one fooling-around session in. It’s a little too early to call this a burgeoning relationship.

Except that’s not true. It’s a secret I’ve kept to myself, one I might never confess, but my first glimpse of Ethan at his parents’ garden party had me spellbound. There he was, looking as broody and mysterious as a twelve-year-old could, and I felt an instant crush. He stood among his entourage, and as our eyes met, I daydreamed about him being my first kiss. But then my father intervened, yanking me aside. He warned me sternly to steer clear of the boss’s son, saying he couldn’t afford teen drama jeopardizing his job and threatening to cancel my art camp if I disobeyed. For the rest of the event, I feigned indifference, even as I sensed his gaze following me.

We both started at Crestwood Heights at the end of the summer, and the silly crush died right there as the teasing and hazing started. However, it was not in my nature to bow down, and we escalated it, making it a competition in every area of our lives until my life imploded. Now, here we are, sitting like longtime friends and potentially so much more, and I’m not sure how to fully settle into this new narrative.

“Isn’t it?” His voice, gentle and probing, pulls me from my memories.

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