Page 22 of Endless Love

Fifteen minutes later, we were sitting face-to-face in a small, dimly lit Indian restaurant, dipping Naan, a pita-like bread, into a yummy chutney sauce and sharing an order of tandoori chicken. The food was delicious and I ate ravenously, hungrier than I thought. I washed down the spicy food with sips of chilled rosé as did Ryan. My eyes stayed on him as he ate and drank, in awe of how elegantly he did thanks to his upper class upbringing.

“You eat the European way,” he commented as I slipped a forkful of the tender chicken into my mouth.

Chewing, then swallowing the tasty white meat, I nodded. “I lived in Europe for a few years. Holding my fork like this comes naturally to me.”

He took another sip of his wine. “Where did you live?”

“Latvia.”

“Latvia?”

“Yes, it’s a small country in northern Europe. Not that many people know about it. Riga, the capital, is often called the Paris of the Baltic.”

At the mention of Paris, my companion’s jaw ticked. I suddenly realized my faux pas. Paris was where Allee had died.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stuttered.

“Don’t be,” he replied, his tone genuine enough to assuage my guilt. Reaching across the table, he swept his forefinger along my bottom lip. “You’ve got a little chutney on your mouth.”

I let out an embarrassed giggle, his touch making my skin prickle.

His beautiful blue eyes stayed fixed on me. “What were you doing in Latvia?”

My giddiness gave way to an inward shudder. Even with the wine, I wasn’t feeling loose enough to talk much about my past.

“I was a dancer. A ballerina. I danced with a ballet troupe.”

“Wow! Why didn’t you tell me this the other night?”

I shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about it that much.”

“Why aren’t you there now?”

I took another sip of my wine and then set the glass down on the table. “I needed to take a break. It was intense.”

“How so?”

Gustave.My body tensed at the thought of him. Not wanting to take things any further, I quickly changed the subject and thanked him again for taking me to the hospital and staying with me. “My dad is my everything,” I added, my eyes growing watery. “Except for my grandma, he’s all the family I have. I love him to pieces. Maybe more than he loves me, if that’s possible.”

A wistful smile crossed Ryan’s lips. “You’re so lucky you have such a great relationship with him. Why does he call you Pumpkin?”

I laughed. “I was born on Halloween with a big head of bright orange hair. My dad thought I looked like a pumpkin and the name stuck.”

Ryan laughed back. “That’s funny. And by the way, you don’t look anything like a pumpkin.”

“Thanks.”

“So, you have a birthday coming up soon.”

“Yeah.” My trick or treat birthday was four weeks away.

“How old are you going to be?”

“A ripe old twenty-five.”

He reflected on my words. “That’s so young.”

A tense silence followed. Intuitively, I knew what was going through his mind. Allee was just a few weeks shy of her twenty-fifth birthday when she died. I recalled that grief-ridden passage in Ryan’s memoir. No, it wasn’t fair that she died so young. I felt his sorrow as we both drank more of our wine. My mother wasn’t that much older when God claimed her. We lowered our glasses back onto the table at the same time.

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