Page 80 of The Seven Year Slip

“Don’t you have a restaurant to run?”

“Usually...?” he replied hesitantly. “I’m in the process of prepping my new restaurant for a soft opening. Isa and Miguel are going to help me with some last-minute touches later. What areyoudoing here?”

“I brought my friends to try your friends’ food.”

“Friends...” His nose scrunched as he thought—and then he sat up straight. “They’re here?”

“...Yes?”

Drew called from the front of the truck. “Everything all right, Clementine?”

I replied, “Fine! The cooler’s just—uh—cold!” And I waved my hand for him to open the cooler he was sitting on and get the waters out. “Why’re you acting so strange?” I murmured to him.

Miguel called, “Iwan should be back there. Get him to get them!”

James and I locked eyes. “Thanks!” I called back, as James muttered under his breath and plunged his hands into the icy water, and took out three bottles. He handed them to me.

“I’m not actingstrange,” he replied, and then I realized what was off—

“Oh my god, you’rehungover—we didn’t even drink that much last night!” I replied. Well,hedidn’t drink very much. The him seven years ago drank me under the table.

“You don’t look so great yourself,” he replied wryly. We bothlooked a little green around the gills, to be honest. He glanced behind me, debating on whether to say hello to my friends. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m in fighting shape to meet them right now.”

“You’ve already met Drew, it’s just her wife you haven’t.”

“Ah, the editor—yes, I think it might be best if she doesn’t see me hungover,” he reasoned with a nod. “Would that be okay?”

It was adorable that he asked. “You get one Get out of Jail Free card.”

“I’m taking it,” he replied somberly. “I’ll be sure to make it up to—” His words caught in his throat. Then, without warning, he reached toward me, brushing my hair to the side, and his pale eyes grew dark and stormy. He pursed his lips together, and I didn’t understand why until—

“Seems like you had a good night, too,” he joked.

And then I realized. “Oh my god,” I gasped, quickly reeling away, and pulled down my hair to cover the bruise there. Well, thehickey. I’d tried hard to cover it with concealer this morning, but it must have worn off throughout the day.

“Had another date after dinner last night?” he egged me on. “Was it hot?”

I gave him a silent look. He didn’t understand for a moment, and then his eyes widened, and he pressed his fingers against his mouth.

And all he said as he remembered was—

“Oh.”

I cleared my throat. “It was, in fact.”

“Was what?” His eyes were a little dazed.

I replied, “Hot.”

He groaned, then, and pulled his hands through his hair. “You can’t do that, Lemon.”

“You asked.”

He sounded absolutely destroyed as he replied, “Iknow. It drives me crazy.” His face pinched. “For me it was seven years ago, and for you it was last night.”

“Technically this morning, too,” I corrected.

He made a pained noise in his throat. “Of course, how could I forget?”

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