Page 9 of Wasted On Us

I’ve been to Bingham’s no more than three times in my life, and one of those was with a group of awkward sweaty teenagers the night of my senior prom. The restaurant isn’t extravagant per se, but it’s leagues more romantic than most places in Frostvale. That has to be the reason the buttoned-up version of Eden has fled the scene. My tongue hasn’t been this loose in a while. And my brain hasn’t been this engaged.

You talked about goodnight kisses in the car with a strange man.

But I keep finding myself wanting to say yes to him, just to see where things go. Mateo is sweet and interesting and most importantly, interested. He really listens and asks thoughtful questions. Being around him just feels good. And God, it’s been so damn long since I felt that way. I haven’t thought about the apartment or my job or the accident all night. A girl could get used to being cared for in this way.

Despite the handsome man beside me, a shadow lingers in the corners of my heart. Rick, my ex-boyfriend, has left an indelible scar that time has yet to heal. Meeting him in Italy, falling in love beneath the timeless beauty of its architecture and culture, seemed like a fairytale coming to life. But the fairytale shattered when I discovered his affair. He left me stranded in the city of love, a love that was no longer ours.

His betrayal was a slap that still stings, an ache that twinges in the depths of my heart. The moments we shared, the love we professed, all seem like a cruel joke now. I was left picking up the pieces of my heart in a foreign land, grappling with the reality of his deceit. It felt as if the beautiful Italian canvas we had painted our dreams on had been smeared with the ugly shades of his infidelity.

It’s not easy for me to trust and even harder for me to love. Rick’s infidelity wasn’t just a betrayal, but a mockery of the way my brain works. And it was this pain, this deep-seated hurt, that gnaws away at me, making it hard for me to open myself up for possible rejection. Even just for something as innocuous as dinner.

Best to keep things casual and protect my heart. But that doesn’t mean I can’t indulge in a little harmless flirting. Maybe even more.

As Mateo holds the door open for me, I can’t help but glance at him and realize that I was sorely mistaken about the evening’s plans. The soft lighting, hushed conversations, and tinkling laughter from Bingham’s chic interior are a far cry from the raucous chatter and dimmed fluorescence of a place like Applebee’s. The rich scent of gourmet cuisine hangs in the air, and I can’t help but feel underdressed in my basic blue dress and sensible pumps.

We’re shown to a booth in a quieter section of the restaurant, and I slide into the plush seat across from Mateo, who unbuttons his jacket and settles in with a self-assured air that suggests he’s comfortable here. It’s clear that this is his domain. The thought makes me more aware of the differences in our lives. Despite our shared upbringing in small-town Frostvale, we’re worlds apart.

A waiter appears at our table, offering menus with a polite smile and a nametag that readsJames.Mateo asks about his family. They chat about James’s college-aged daughter for a moment, and I can’t help but be taken in by Mateo’s warmth. His charm isn’t the manufactured sort I’ve seen in men trying to impress a date, but the kind that comes from someone genuinely interested in people.

It’s disarmingly attractive.

Once we’ve ordered—him, a Scotch on the rocks, and me, a glass of Chardonnay—I catch Mateo looking at me with curiosity in his eyes. He’s not studying me like I’m some kind of alien or a specimen in a lab. He’s seeing me. Truly seeing me.

The realization makes me warm from the inside out, a heat that has nothing to do with the plush seating or the subtle radiance from the overhanging lights. And it’s not just a physical heat, either. It’s a comfort, an acceptance. A pull. As though Mateo has silently called out, and some part of me, deep down, is eager to answer.

As the conversation rolls from our shared school experiences to favorite movies and hobbies, it’s clear that we connect on a level that I wasn’t expecting. I find myself laughing at his jokes, touched by his compassion for others, and drawn to his optimistic view of the world.

It’s a dangerous feeling. To be so comfortable with someone, so quickly. To feel like I could tell him anything and he wouldn’t judge me but rather seek to understand. For a woman who rarely gets it, his acceptance feels intoxicating.

Mateo pauses mid-sentence, his eyes on me, waiting for me to weigh in on the merits of foreign films. I find my mind going blank, caught instead on the warmth in his eyes, the way his gaze seems to invite me in, and how the subtle brush of his hand against mine sends tingles up my arm.

It’s exhilarating and terrifying, this whirlwind of emotions. But as I look at Mateo across the candlelit table, as we share this moment, I can’t help but think that perhaps, just maybe, this might be worth the risk.

Fiddling with the stem of my wine glass, I summon the courage to voice the question that’s been lingering in my mind. “Why are you so interested in me, Mateo?” I ask. There’s a genuine curiosity in my voice, along with a hint of apprehension.

He raises his brows, an amused glint in his eye. “Why wouldn’t I be, Eden? You’re fascinating.”

“But I’m... different,” I mumble, unable to meet his gaze.

“Different how?” His tone is laced with genuine curiosity, not judgment or sarcasm.

I pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. Finally, I let out a resigned sigh. “My brain, it... it doesn’t work like most people’s. I… I… I have ADHD.”

A silence follows, not a judgmental one but a thoughtful one. Finally, he breaks it, saying simply, “I see.” His gaze on me is filled with warmth and acceptance, not the pity or confusion I had feared.

“Does that... bother you?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “It usually bothers people.”

Mateo shakes his head, reaching across the table to cover my hand with his. “No, Eden. It doesn’t bother me. Everyone’s different. Unique in their own way. It’s part of what makes you... well, you.” He gives me a tender smile. “In fact, it’s what I like most about you. You see the world in a way that nobody else does. And that’s a gift. From the moment I saw you standing on the curb, I found you intriguing.”

The relief I feel at his words is palpable. My shoulders relax, a knot of tension in my chest loosening. For the first time in a long time, I feel truly seen by a man.

We continue talking until James clears our plates, and by the time Mateo pays the bill, the restaurant has nearly emptied out. Rising to his feet, Mateo extends his hand, helping me to slide out of the booth. He retrieves my coat, draped over the back of the chair, and carefully holds it open for me. There’s a gentle quietness to the moment, a soft anticipation, as he guides my arms into the sleeves. His fingers brush against my bare skin, trailing a slow, purposeful path down my arms as he adjusts the material. I shiver, not from the cold but the sensation, that slow tingling heat spreading through me.

He steps closer, his breath warm against my neck as he gathers my hair, lifting it to cascade over the collar. The intimacy of the gesture stirs something low in my stomach. For a moment, we’re locked in this silent exchange, our eyes meeting in the dim light. His gaze is soft, searching, holding a promise of something more. As we step outside, the cool night air is a refreshing contrast to the warm, intimate atmosphere we left behind. But the sensation of his touch, the heat from his gaze, lingers, wrapping around us like an invisible bubble.

Walking toward his car, Mateo offers his arm, and I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow, a sense of warmth spreading through me.

I can’t help but think that tonight has been nothing like what I expected. It’s been better, so much better. Mateo’s acceptance and understanding have given me a sense of peace, a feeling of connection that I’ve never felt before with a man.

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