Page 50 of The Betrayer
She shrugged, replacing the bottle on the table, then swirling her glass before she took a delicate inhale. “Enough. My mom is an enthusiast. Although I don’t know whether it’s the wine or the alcohol she prefers.”
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth. Rita’s comment was odd, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. It certainly wasn’t full of warmth and affection—if anything, it had been condescending and edged by disdain.
“I take it you and your mom aren’t close?”
Rita’s gaze had been on the ruby-red liquid in her glass, her mind obviously elsewhere. At my question, her green gaze flicked up to mine, widening slightly as though surprised she had said the words out loud.
“Oh, yeah, I guess. We’re just really different people.”
“Different, how?” I pressed, curious.
I thought for a moment that a shrug would be my only answer as the woman sitting across from me grew oddly reticent and guarded, but then she sighed. “My mom puts on a good show but can be cold and calculating. Not everyone can see it, and my mom takes pains to hide it so she can get her way and so people like her, but it wasn’t comfortable growing up like that.”
“You seem different,” I observed. Then again, if she were cold and calculating like her mother, she probably wouldn’t tell me outright. My sense of her told me the woman I saw was the true Rita, not a mask. People like that could only cover up their true selves so much, and at some point, their smiles seemed too brittle to be authentic.
“I guess that’s something she taught me—how not to be her.” Rita flipped a strand of hair behind her shoulder with a little too much force, and I realized I had touched a nerve. “I’m determined not to be like my mother."
“Well, you seem to be doing a good job,” I offered.
Some of the strain left Rita’s shoulders, but her smile seemed a bit forced. “Thanks.”
I steered the topic to a lighter note from there and made sure to stay away from it for the rest of the evening. If Rita wanted to tell me at some point, she would.
If there was a future between the two of us. As the evening wore on, I found myself hoping there was. What I had earlier determined had been simply interest without a romantic edge had turned to something else the more I spoke and learned about the young woman across from me.
Rita was, as ever, sassy, funny, and strong-willed, all of which I appreciated. But the woman was also brilliant. She didn’t shy away from subjects most people avoided from a lack of comprehension, and the breadth of her knowledge was impressive. She was almost a sparring partner when it came to conversation, something I had rarely found, even in people twice her age.
I had enjoyed our conversations at the coffee shop, but tonight was something else altogether. Yes, I was attracted to her, but I was more attracted to her mind—she was fascinating. By the end of the evening, I realized I had found something rare and wonderful.
A line still waited when we stepped outside the restaurant, pulling on our coats against the damp chill in the air. It had rained while we were eating, but the sliver of a moon was visible through the shredded clouds.
Rita shivered and pulled her coat closer around her neck before she smiled at me. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you for the conversation,” I replied, entirely serious. I could tell Rita wasn’t sure because he tilted her head, trying to decide whether I was being facetious. “I’m serious. All I get to talk to all day is old men, and all they talk about are stocks and what’s wrong with the business.”
I flashed Rita my most charming grin, and I was rewarded with a slight flush and a girlish giggle.
We stood there beside each other for a moment, and I nearly invited her back to my apartment. Before I could say the words, however, she smiled again. “Thanks again, Will. I had a good time tonight. Goodnight.”
Rita turned and started the opposite way down the sidewalk. Surprised, it took me a moment to get any words out.
“Hey, wait up.” I had to jog a few steps to catch up to her long strides, and she turned and stopped when I took hold of her arm. “Am I going to get to see you again?”
“I’ll see you for coffee on Monday morning, right?”
“Well, I—”
There was nothing girlish about her laugh this time. It was rich and throaty and entirely amused.
“And I might be interested in seeing you again for dinner some other time. Maybe drinks beforehand sometime. I’m sure you know a good place.”
“Of course I do,” I scoffed, then noticed the gleam of mischief in her eye. “I’ll find a good place,” I promised.
“Good. So, I’ll see you then.”
Then Rita was walking down the sidewalk away from me again, and all I could do was watch her go. I didn’t know what to think of tonight or even what was happening between us. It felt almost like the beginning of a relationship, but I was thirty years out of practice.
