Page 110 of Yes No Maybe

She rubs her bare arms, leaning closer. “I told my students the real story. Not the whole story, of course. But that it was an assault, not a kitchen accident.”

Once again, I gape at her, impressed. “How’d they take it?”

“You met them. They’re amazing. I came clean about lying, and they offered instant forgiveness. I even think they put the word out to the rest of the classes not to bring it up because no one has since. It’s such a relief for me—I hate lying.”

“You’re really bad at it, anyway,” I say as her hands run up and down her arms again. “I’m proud of you.”

“Without our talks, I never would’ve been ready.”

“Again, too much credit. But you’re welcome… And you’re cold. I have a hoodie in the car. I’ll get it.”

She opens her mouth to argue, but I’m already out of my seat, gently placing her foot on my empty chair. Walking away, I take in the patio. Kids run around the corner table and their tired parents. The twenty-something breaks into a delighted cackle as she rubs her date’s thigh at the bar. I weave behind the graying couple at the middle table and hear the bearded man say, “God created make-up… She should do more to hide it… damn ugly…”

Anger spikes in me like a fever, nearly rendering me delirious. It’s only out of consideration for Rowan that I continue my mission rather than yank the asshole from his chair and beat some manners into him. I want nothing to ruin our night or erase that gorgeous smile from her face.

On my way back, our eyes lock across the patio, and her light side-smile matches mine. But hers falls when the middle couple laughs, drawing her eyes to them. I wonder if she heard them, but she probably didn’t have to—she said herself that she’s hyper-sensitive to staring. She runs a hand through her hair, combing it downward like she feels exposed.

Edging around the older couple, the wife gives me a grinning once-over, whispering something to her husband before laughing. I hear only one word—opposites—as I go by. Assholes.

Rowan’s visibly relieved when I reach the table. I slip the zippered hoodie on her shoulders, leaning close to her ear. “Everything okay?”

“Yes, thanks for the hoodie.”

“No problem.” Instead of taking my seat and resuming foot duty, I steal another chair from a table nearby and set it next to hers.

As I move my plate and beer to my new side, she asks, “What’re you doing?”

I sit, completely blocking her view of the nosy couple. “I want to be closer. Easier to charm you like this, and the way things go with us, this may be my only chance.”

Her uneasiness dissipates with a laugh. “Not youronlychance, I think.”

My leg brushes against her thigh under the table as my fingers skirt her knee. “That’s the third-best thing I’ve heard today.”

“Third best?”

“Well, after you agreeing to go out and your awful attempts at renaming a meet-cute.” I chuckle, tickling the soft skin under her knee. It’s fun—watching her flush. If the hoodie doesn’t warm her, my touches will.

The waitress approaches and asks if we need anything. I turn to Rowan. “Want to get out of here?”

She nods enthusiastically.

“We’ll need a box,” I say, pointing to the leftover pizza. “The bill… and we’ll take the bills for the couple at the bar and the family in the corner. Don’t tell them until after we’ve left, but make sure they know it was us.”

The waitress looks stunned, slightly confused, as she bounces away.

“What are you doing?”

“Creating a scene.” I lean closer, and she follows my gaze to the dining room. “The kids look tired, so the family will leave next. They’ll ask for the bill, and the server will say,‘Oh, the hot couple in the corner took care of it.’They’ll be fucking ecstatic, attracting attention because, well, it’s a stretch eating out for them anyway. But they’ll leave, and the other couples will be like,‘aw.’Then, the bar couple will go next—she’s already giving him the ‘come hither’ look. Again, the waitress will announce that it’s covered. They’ll fucking go berserk, taking pics and posting on social media about paying it forward and shit like that… Following the scene so far?”

She nods, her brow pinched.

“Okay, good. Then, the couple in the middle will catch on to the vibe and ask for their check, already thinking it’ll be covered. When the waitress delivers their unpaid bill, they’ll be like,‘Why didn’t the hot couple treat us like they did the others?’One of them—probably the wife—will say,‘Maybe it was because you were staring too much, Gerald.’Or better yet, they’ll think they were overheard talking about us and feel bad about what they said. Doesn’t matter. From this day forward, they’ll remember the night they could’ve gotten a free meal but didn’t because they stared and whispered like assholes. So, maybe they won’t be so shitty next time. The end.”

Her pouty lips part like she’s breathless, and the lights in her eyes sparkle more as they fill with tears. Is it anger? Frustration? Sadness? I can’t tell. Only I expect she’s pissed at me for interfering like volatile is our default. We started this day with anger—is that how we’ll finish it?

I move so close I can feel her breath on my lips. “I promise I’ll never embarrass you or make you uncomfortable like with Renita again… but doing nothing isn’t always the answer, either.”

I start to say more, but it’s too late.

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