Page 25 of The Secret Play

I ordered the same thing and after he left, I asked, “Five years? How come?”

“Los Angeles,” she said, rolling her eyes. “They don’t do barbecue like this out there. Everything’s kale and quinoa. No offense to kale and quinoa, but it’s not the same. Not even if you drown it in barbecue sauce.”

I chuckled, watching as her enthusiasm bubbled over. “So you’re happy to be back in Atlanta?”

“I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I came back. The food, the people, the way the air feels…it’s just different. This is home.”

Something in her tone tugged at my chest. I wasn’t sure if it was the way she said the wordhomeor the way she looked at me when she said it, but it made me want to reach across the table and hold her hand. But I worried that’d be forward. Weird, that.

We’d had sex, but holding her hand right now felt too intimate. So, instead, I settled for a smile. “I, for one, am glad you’re back.”

Her gaze lingered on mine for a moment, and I thought I saw the faintest hint of color rise to her cheeks before the waiter arrived with our food. “Me too.”

I wasn’t prepared for how thoroughly Gemma would tackle her ribs. By the time she was halfway through her full rack, her hands were covered in sauce, her face wasn’t much better, and there was a small pile of used napkins accumulating on her side of the table. She didn’t seem to care, though—in fact, she looked like she was having the time of her life.

“These are incredible,” she said, licking a bit of sauce off her thumb. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re a mess.”

“I know,” she said unapologetically. “Totally worth it.”

Watching her was exhilarating in a way I couldn’t explain. She wasn’t self-conscious, wasn’t trying to be anything other than exactly who she was. That kind of confidence was rare, and I couldn’t get enough of it.

“Five years,” I said, leaning back in my seat. “That’s a long time to go without good ribs.”

“It’s not just the food, though the food here is far and away better than Los Angeles,” she said, reaching for another napkin. “Minus the tacos. That’s where they have Atlanta beat.”

“I’ll have to take you to my favorite taco shop some time. We’ll see how they compare.”

“Oh, yes please.” She excused herself to the bathroom to wash up, so I did the same. When we came back, she said, “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed Atlanta until I came back. It’s good to feel like I belong somewhere again.”

Her words hit me harder than I expected, and I found myself nodding. “I get that. Sometimes it takes leaving to figure out where you’re supposed to be.”

“How so?”

“My family is from Maryland, and I visit now and then, but after living in Atlanta, Maryland doesn’t feel like home anymore. This is home.”

She looked at me then, her green eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, the world felt quieter. I wanted to say more, to tell her how much I was starting to feel like she might be where I was supposed to be. But the words felt too big, too soon, too crazy, so I let the moment pass.

After dinner, I asked if she wanted to come back to my place to watch a movie. She agreed without hesitation, and as we drove, I was nervous again. Funny. No other woman had ever made me nervous the way Gemma did.

I was stuck somewhere between wanting to impress her and wanting to show her the real me. I’d been looking forward to showing her my favorite movie all week—not because I thought she’d love it, but because it felt like letting her into a part of my world.

When we got to my house, I led her into the living room and grabbed the DVD off the shelf. She laughed when she saw the cover.

“Casablanca?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “How old are you again?”

“It’s a classic!” I said, grinning.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

She settled onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her as I started the movie. I sat next to her, leaving a polite amount of space between us at first, but it wasn’t long before she leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder. The simple intimacy of it set me at ease, and I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer.

As the movie played, I felt myself relaxing into the moment. The plot was as familiar as an old friend, but having Gemma there made it feel new. She asked questions about the story and gasped when the tension ramped up. Watching her react to something I loved made me see it through fresh eyes, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so content.

About halfway through, she turned to me with an apologetic smile. “I hate to say this, but I’m not up for fooling around tonight. I think I’m slipping into a food coma from those ribs.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Neither am I. I just wanted to watch the movie with you.”

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