by Layla Frost
“Do you like wine, Dahlia?”
I’d always thought wine was a casually sophisticated drink. I’d looked forward to my twenty-first birthday, when I’d been able to proudly march into the store and pick up a bottle of their cheapest wine. All the anticipation had been for nothing, because the entire bottle, minus a few sips, had ended up down the drain.
Hesitating, I tried to think of how to decline politely.
Theo read me better than I’d anticipated, and chuckled. “I’ll take that face to mean you don’t.”
“I’ve only tried it once, but I wasn’t a fan,” I admitted, leaving out the fact it’d been a five-dollar bottle of wine that’d left the bad taste in my mouth.
Literally.
“What about orange?” the hostess asked. “We have a popular orange cocktail that doesn’t have a strong alcohol taste.”
“That sounds much better.”
After taking Theo’s scotch order, the hostess left us to look over the menu. Despite my efforts to plan ahead, I had no clue what I wanted.
Our server came over and introduced himself before returning a few minutes later to drop off our drinks. The irrational feeling of pressure grew with each minute.
“Would you like to go somewhere else?” Theo asked. “I figured this was a safe bet, but if you aren’t finding—”
“No, no, I’m finding a lot. Too much, actually. I’m horrible at deciding.”
“Is there any food you’re allergic to or hate?” At the shake of my head, he continued. “Answer fast, okay? Chicken or Seafood?”
“Seafood.”
“Seafood or steak?”
“Steak.”
“Porterhouse or filet?”
“Filet.”
“There you go, order the—”
The telltale tension set in. “No, wait, porterhouse.” When Theo’s lips tipped up, I explained. “Sometimes it’s the disappointment after a decision that lets me know what I want.” I took a sip of my drink. “How do you like your steak cooked?”
“Medium rare. You?”
“Rare to medium rare, depending. If I’m eating it all right then, I cook it medium rare. If I’m putting it in something, or I’m having leftovers, then I cook it rare so it doesn’t get too tough when I reheat it.”
When the server returned, Theo ordered us each a medium rare porterhouse steak and more family style side dishes than we could possibly finish.
I quirked an eyebrow when the server walked away. “Hungry?”
“You have main dish indecision; I have side dish.” He shrugged. “Plus, Luc normally clears through any and all leftovers I bring home.”
“Oh, do you guys live together?”
He shook his head. “You’d think so based on how much of my food he eats, but no.”
“He did seem to like pastries.” I took a sip of my seriously delicious drink. “How do you two know each other?”
“We grew up together, and our families are close.”
“That must’ve been cool, it’s almost like you two are brothers.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you work together now?”
Theo’s smile grew into a grin. “You’re good at that.”
“What?”
“You keep the conversation flowing without giving me a chance to ask about you.”
I could feel my cheeks heat, but my lips tipped up in a small smile.
It was a habit I’d formed so long ago, I didn’t even think about it by that point. Most people never noticed, happy to talk about themselves.
“But, yes,” Theo answered, “we’ve basically always worked together.”
“What do you do for a living?”
Theo froze, his glass halfway to his mouth. “You didn’t look me up?”
I laughed, admitting, “I’d been tempted. But then I thought the date would be a lot more interesting if I didn’t know everything about you, right down to your Facebook likes.” When his eyes widened, I forced a serious expression. “Were you worried I’d see all the Bieber and Harry Styles fan pages?”
“I’m still insulted,” he huffed. “But, no, I don’t even have Facebook.”
It was my turn to look surprised. “Twitter, Instagram, anything?” At the shake of his head, I asked, “What do you do with your free time?”
“Work. A lot of work,” he said through his chuckle. Before I could fire off another question, he beat me to it. “Speaking of, tell me about your work.”
“Java Brew is about what you’d expect. Crazy hectic, then tumbleweeds roll through, and then madness again.”
“Do you always work by yourself when it’s so busy?”
“There’s more staff that work weekends. I did have a couple other girls who worked mornings with me, but they returned to school, and the owner wouldn’t let me replace them.”
“Are you the manager?”
“Yeah, technically.”
His brows lowered as he tilted his head. “A few nights ago when you texted, you said you were getting home from work. Is Java Brew open that late?”
“No, I work evenings at Weggies, the small grocery store on Chestnut.”
“What do you do there?”
“Produce department manager. So if you ever need to know what fruits and veggies are in season, I’ve got the info.”
“You’re a manager at two places?” When I nodded, he returned my earlier question. “What do you do with your free time?”
I lowered my voice to mimic his. “Work. A lot of work.” I hid my smile behind my drink as his deep, smooth chuckle burrowed into my memory.
I really need to make him do that more.
“Where do you work?” I tried again.
“Amaric.”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “What do you do?”
“Sometimes when a business or company is about to go under, another company will buy them out, or take a majority control. They’ll make changes to hopefully turn things around.”
“Like, a hostile takeover kinda thing?”
“Rarely. Usually it doesn’t come to that because the businesses request my company’s help. But it does get ugly every once in a while.”
“‘My company’ in a general way, or yours?”
“Amaric is mine,” he said as if it were no big deal.
Wow, that’s not intimidating or anything.
I seriously should’ve utilized Google. The internet is for more than funny cats and two-day shipping, Dahlia.
“Dahlia,” he said, regaining my attention. “Please don’t make this into a thing.”
“I’m not,” I lied.
Is it too late to tell him I’m actually a world-renowned brain surgeon?
With my luck, someone would start bleeding right here and I’d faint.
I’m woozy just thinking about it.
When the waiter arrived to drop off our food, Theo didn’t say anything more, but his lips pressed into a thin line. His fingers drummed lightly on the table as he looked out the window.
Inhaling deeply as the waiter walked away, he turned to me. “Dahlia—”
“So, you own your own company?” I kept my voice nonchalant. “That’s cool. Can you pass me those potatoes, please?”
Some of the tension left his face as he handed them to me.
“Thanks.” I scooped a small mountain of them onto my plate. “Do you have any siblings?”
The last of the tension disappeared as he smiled warmly at me. “No, not blood ones. My parents wanted a big family, but it never happened. Then I became a teenager, and I think they were giving thanks it was only me. I have Luc and his sister, plus more than enough cousins, so it was like having a bunch of siblings. Too many, usually. What about you?”
I shook my head. “Are your parents local?”
“Yeah, they live right outside the city. What about yours?”
“They both passed away when I was little.”
Theo set his drink down and leaned closer, but he didn�
��t touch me. “I’m sorry.”
“I never knew them, so it isn’t really as bad as it could’ve been. My maternal grandma raised me until I was four, but then her breast cancer returned, and she wasn’t able to continue.”
“What happened then?”
“I went into foster care. Which, with all those ‘siblings’ throughout the years, I definitely know how all your cousins could feel like too many.”
Just like I’d worked to keep my voice normal as we’d discussed his work, Theo did the same when talking about my childhood.
It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate the sympathy from people, it just wasn’t needed. It was hard to explain to people that I couldn’t mourn parents I never knew. I’d end up feeling heartless because I wasn’t sad.
Foster homes weren’t always the best, but mine were far from the worst. I had a better childhood than a lot of the kids that’d left to return to their parents, that’s for sure.
“What’s your favorite color?” I asked, changing the subject not because I needed to, but because there wasn’t much more to say. At his raised brow, I shrugged. “What? First date question time.”
He grinned. “Teal. You?”
“Hot pink. Favorite food?”
He answered by holding up his fork, a piece of steak speared on it. “You?”
Using my fork, I lifted the cheese I’d pulled off the gratin potatoes. “Cheese. Any and all.”
“Ahh, I thought maybe you didn’t like it. I was trying to figure out how to distract you so I could swipe it.”
“No, I save it for last. And had you tried to take it, you may have gotten a fork to the hand. Foster care teaches you to be fast and possessive of your food.” I popped the cheese in my mouth. “Music?”
“Anything, really.” When I opened my mouth, he rushed on. “Except pop. It’s not my thing.”
“Same. Age?”
“Thirty-five. You?”
He was a couple years older than I’d expected, but not much.
“Twenty-three,” I answered, watching his reaction. It was a wasted effort because there was none. “Movie preference?”
“Any.”
“Does that include sappy romances?” I teased.
“Hey, I’ve seen The Notebook. Whenever it is on TV, I get sucked in. And, yes, I get a little choked up at that part every time.”
I grinned and shook my head. “I’ve never seen it.”
“Never?” Theo asked.
“I only watch subtitled foreign films set in the 1930s or before. There’s a showing next week of a French film from 1884 about a baguette delivery. It’s a bit bougie, but we should go.” After enjoying the horrified and panicked expression he was trying to suppress for a few moments, I let him off the hook. “I’m kidding.”
His shoulders slumped in relief. “I’d have gone, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not happy I don’t have to.”
“You mean you don’t want to watch a bougie baguette?” I laughed. “I like comedies.”
“How was your steak?” Theo asked.
Since my mouth was full of my final bite of said steak, I nodded and gave him a thumbs up, which got me another deep chuckle. I washed it down with the last of my cocktail. “It was delicious, thank you. How was yours?”
Meeting my gaze, he paused and held eye contact for a moment before answering, his voice low and smooth, “Perfect.”
Butterflies erupted in my stomach, their frantic pace matching the beat of my heart. I forgot to be shy and intimidated by how mismatched we were. I even forgot about how insanely underdressed I was.
Instead, I focused on enjoying our date.
And Theo.
···
“C’mon, baby. Don’t pretend you can’t hear us.” The jerk sitting next to me inched closer, his annoying buddy laughing like a hyena behind us. His breath smelled like beer, but weak stuff. He wasn’t drunk, although he’d likely use alcohol as an excuse.
He was just an aggressive asshole.
Where Theo exuded class in a natural way because it was who he was, everything about this guy was forced. The ostentatious watch, the expensive labeled shirt, and the perfectly styled haircut all screamed he was trying too hard.
I kept my ear buds in, pretending not to hear their vulgar whispered conversation. I’d learned early on to not even bother interacting. At only a couple inches above five feet, I wasn’t exactly a menacing figure. Even my harshest of glares seemed to come across as amusing rather than fear inducing.
If I didn’t respond, most people got bored. I’d get called all sorts of names as they walked away, but them leaving was the important part.
These guys didn’t seem to be getting bored. In fact, my lack of reaction seemed to spur them on, their words becoming harsher. Annoyance quickly devolved into malice.
I brought up a news page on my phone and pretended to read, all while keeping a firm grip on my purse. A purse which happened to have mace in an easily accessible front pocket. I didn’t want to spray it in the train, but I wouldn’t hesitate if they followed me off.
It’d happened before, though thankfully it was very rare. I’d never had to actually mace anyone, the threat of it was enough to have them heading in the opposite direction.
My stomach lurched and a shiver went down my spine when I saw the news story was about a recent mugging on the other side of the city. While it was a fairly common occurrence, it wasn’t what I wanted to read about. Especially right then.
“It’s rude to not respond when people are talking to you,” the creep next to me snapped.
“Yeah,” hyena boy agreed. “We’re just trying to give you what you obviously need. We’ll loosen you up.” His high-pitched laugh made me grit my teeth.
“For a poor bitch, you sure are uppity. Someone needs to teach you your place.” The back of his hand grazed my chest as he grabbed my earbud cord and tugged them out. “I said—”
I turned to go off on him, only to find the chair empty. So quick I wasn’t even sure if I was seeing it correctly, the jerk was up and practically flying across the aisle. Slamming into the seats on the opposite side, he slid to the floor.
I shifted in my seat to see hyena boy jump up and open his mouth. His eyes widened before he backed away and rushed to help his friend up. The doors slid open a minute later, and they hurried out. I’d overheard them talking enough to know they weren’t close to their stop.
When I looked up, I was shocked to see the older man with graying red hair that I’d seen earlier in the night. He’d easily lifted and tossed a man half his age, all without rumpling his suit.
“Thank you,” I said as he looked me over. It was a clinical scan, nothing sexual or even warm about it.
“Didn’t want you to mace us all out of here,” he said, dipping his head to my lap.
I glanced down to see the canister clutched firmly in my fist. I hadn’t even realized I’d pulled it out. “Oh. Yeah, uh, that wouldn’t have been good.” I returned the spray to my purse. “Still, thank you for getting rid of them. Now I feel bad about not rescuing you from the brunette earlier.”
His face remained blank. “What?”
“Uh, we were on the same train earlier,” I explained. “A drunk brunette was chatting your ear off.”
Yeah, that doesn’t make you sound like a whackadoo stalker. Good job, Dahlia.
“I didn’t notice,” the man said.
“Oh. Well, I’m glad you noticed those guys. So, uh, thanks again.”
He scanned me one last time before lifting his chin. Turning without another word, he took a seat a few rows back and pulled out his phone.
Putting my earbuds back in, I went back to pretending to read. A small amount of tension left my body, some of the warmth and happiness resurfacing as I thought about my date.
After dinner, Theo had walked me to my subway station before promising to be in touch.
I was already looking forward to it.
Chapter Three
In the Rain
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Dahlia
Sneaking a couple muffins to the side, I worked on my pre-opening tasks. The coffee was ready for me to start. Cups, stirrers, sugar, and cream were all restocked. I began transferring the baked goods from their boxes to the trays in the display case, nearly jumping out of my shoes when the bell above the door jingled. I always locked up after the pastry delivery, but I’d been elbow deep in a mess left by the weekend crew.
Safety first, dummy.
“Sorry, we’re not open ye—” I started as I turned around. “Luc?”
His clothes were wrinkled like he’d been sleeping in them. Which was at total odds with his face, since he looked as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.
His jaw was unshaven, dark circles prominent under tired eyes.
“Hey Dahlia,” he said with a smile, though it was small. “Theo sent me.”
I braced, not sure what to expect. I hadn’t heard from Theo at all over the weekend. He hadn’t struck me as the type to follow the imaginary three-day rule, but one date didn’t make me an expert on the man.
“Okay,” I drawled hesitantly.
He shook his head. “Everything’s fine. He got called out of town for work, and he’s unreachable by phone, so he sent me. He wanted me to tell you he’ll call you as soon as he has service, and he’s sorry he wasn’t able to get in touch sooner.”
There was a rush of emotion and racing thoughts at Luc’s words, but I wasn’t going to pause to evaluate in front of him.
Instead, I smiled. “And that meant coming in at,” I paused, glancing at the clock, “not even five in the morning?”
He shrugged. “Following boss’ orders.” Looking beyond me, some life came back into his eyes. “He did, however, mention there might be baked goods in it for me.”
“Deal.” I bagged up a big selection. “I don’t have coffee made yet, sorry.”
“That’s okay, the sugar from these should work.” Taking the bag, he pulled out a hundred and set it on the counter.
“Didn’t Theo tell you the new rule?” I pushed the bill back to him.
“Yeah, he did,” he said around the scone he was already inhaling. “But I’m not the one taking you out on dates.” He turned and headed for the door before adding over his shoulder, “Lock this behind me until you’re actually open.”
