Page 31 of The Making of Marnie Jones

He sat, and his blue eyes narrowed. “Marnie—”

“I think I’ll have the fish.”

“Marnie—”

“Or maybe the spaghetti.”

Suddenly Kristin reappeared and placed two drinks on the table. “One Diet Coke and one ginger ale.” She made no remark, as if people changed their drink orders all the time. “What can I get you?”

“Teriyaki chicken rice bowl.” Marnie’s heart still raced, but she slowly reined it in.

Without missing a beat, Jake added, “same for me.”

“Great.” Kristin scooped up the menus. “Back in a flash.”

Finally, her emotions under control, Marnie gazed quizzically at Jake’s ginger ale.

“Go ahead and ask.” His tone was gentle, his demeanor open.

“Why’d you change your order?”

“I saw your face. Me ordering that beer panicked you.”

“Maybe. You didn't have to change your order.” She was touched by his insightfulness and consideration—all the while hating herself for her weaknesses.

“He drank beer, didn't he.” A statement, not a question.

Her chest tightened as she dredged up the memory. “He drank beer. Day or night, it didn't matter. Every time he came down to rape me, he had beer on his breath. I kept hoping he’d get arrested for drunk driving, but then I’d panic and think I’d die because no one knew where I was.” She pounded her fist on the table, frustrated at being unable to deal with it. “I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“You should be able to have a beer.” Her self-loathing was nearing an all-time high.

“Marnie, I don't have to have a beer. I sometimes have one with dinner. I gave an automatic request, but it’s not something I need.”

“You should be able to have a beer.”

“Maybe.” He acknowledged her assertion. “You don't drink.”

She shook her head, nausea revolting her stomach. “The thought of losing control…it scares me.”

“Control is important to you—and there's nothing wrong with that. I respect your feelings. They're your feelings, and you never have to apologize for them.”

She met his clear blue eyes and the truth of his statement was there. He didn’t blame her for her overreaction. She relented that little bit, wishing, for an instant, she could get lost in those eyes. “How do you envision this working? If I come to Toronto with you.”

His eyebrows shot up with apparent shock before he schooled his features. “When they discharge Olivia, I’ll bring her to meet you. I think if I can—”

She held up her hand. “I'll go with you, but I'll have no part of forcing her to do anything. She’s spent enough time being forced to do things she doesn't want to, and I won’t add to that. There have to be ground rules.”

“Whatever. I agree to them.” He pulled out his cell phone, his hands shaking. “Let me book your ticket.”

“No.” The word stopped him mid-movement. “I’ll book my ticket. I have to work tomorrow, but I can fly out tomorrow night. I choose my own hotel and rental car. You can tell Olivia I'm in town. If she agrees to meet me, we’ll meet in neutral territory. She cannot feel threatened by me or this will never work.”

He put his phone back in his pocket, a slight tremor in his hand. “Can we fly out together?”

Her lips quirked as she suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. “I'll call you with my flight number. Obviously, I have your number.”

“Are you going to reciprocate?”

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