Dario

by Eden Butler

“It’s the best you’ll ever have.” Marco waited for me to sit, taking my coat to lay it across the booth. He swept a look around the dining room before he sat, his gaze lingering on the small crowd around us. “I took a chance you’d want something warm in your mouth to chase away the chill.”

  I didn’t miss the innuendo or reaction to it by my libido but managed to distract myself with a flourish of the napkin on my lap. “Pho can do that easily.”

  “Again, this will be the best.”

  “You keep saying.” I looked up, smiling at the white-haired Asian man as he approached, nodding to me and the menu in my hand. When he spoke, I twisted my head, pushing my eyebrows together. “I’m…sorry?”

  Next to me, Marco grinned tugging the menu from my fingers. “It’ll be easier if you let me order.” I straightened, started to shake my head, but then he touched my hand, hurrying to interrupt me. “I’m only offering because I’ve eaten here most of my life, and Mr. Hoàng’s English ain’t the best.” He pointed to the elderly man with the wide smile as he looked between us.

  “And you speak Vietnamese?”

  In answer Marco rattled off what sounded like perfectly accented Vietnamese clear enough that the old man’s smile grew bigger and bigger. “Um…okay,” I said, lifting my hands to Mr. Hoàng when he smiled at me. “Whatever he says.”

  “He wants to know if you have any allergies,” Marco said, holding up a finger after the old man asked him a question.

  “Flirty men with lip piercings,” I said automatically, surprising myself and earning another devastating smile from him.

  Marco paused, his lips parting like he was just as surprised as I was by my sarcasm, but he quickly recovered, shifting a glance down my body then up again before he responded. “I have something for that.”

  A quick noise of laughter broke from my mouth without my control, and I played off his comment, muttering a low “Oh, I bet you do” before he finished placing our orders.

  Two more waitresses approached, outfitting the table with more plates, chop sticks and a pitcher of water. Next to me, Marco ignored them, seeming more interested in the way I looked around the place, taking in the low-lit candles and glittering chandeliers above us. I had practice deflecting attention no matter where it came from, and I tried to tell myself he was just like any other guy. Nothing special about him. That he didn’t smell as good as I thought. That his attention was something that had no impact on me at all.

  Except, I couldn’t shake the niggling sense of familiarity around him. It had scratched to the surface of my recollection when he first approached me on the sidewalk and teased along my frayed and broken consciousness the more he spoke. But why that was, I couldn’t say. Watching him now I knew for certain that I’d never seen anyone like him. Handsome, but gritty. Kind, but guarded.

  “I like this place,” I said, blinking away the thought. I kept my tone casual, a little bored, and, I hoped, not obvious. “It’s got… atmosphere.”

  “You sure it’s the place you like?” His voice was low, and some of the confidence seem to slip out of him, but at my look, Marco stretched an arm across the back of the booth, absently moving his piercing as he watched me. “Maybe it’s just me.”

  Head shaking, I finally looked at him, leaning against the plush leather at my back. “You’re a little full of yourself.”

  He leaned his elbows on the table. “It’s all an act to deflect from my crippling shyness.”

  “Ha. Now I know that’s a lie.”

  His head tilt was off-putting. It made him look sweet, curious. “Would I lie to you?”

  Warning bells flared inside my head, but I again tried to play cool. “Only if your lips are moving.”

  “Damn. You don’t think much of me, do you?” He grabbed a toothpick from the container in the center of the table, rolling it around his fingers as he kept a close appraisal of me—that sharp, ever-present smirk making my head a little fuzzy and my skin feel tight.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  “Or are you trying to convince yourself you shouldn’t be here?” His question was honest, shocking me so that I dropped my composure and from the look on his face, I knew surprise showed in my expressions. But Marco hurried to ease me, holding up one hand. “Relax. I’m good at reading people. It’s a gift.” Winking, he dropped the toothpick on the table.

  Pulling myself together, I glanced at his neck tattoo. “Or being read.” Marco didn’t lose his composure when I pointed to his ink. He gave nothing away. “Is there a meaning to that one?”

  “I’d never put anything on my body unless it meant something.” He watched me, as though expecting another sarcastic reply. When none came, he continued, waving a hand as though I’d have to be satisfied with whatever explanation he gave. “I was young with not much else to do in prison, but it did mean something.” When the smile dropped from my face, Marco smirked, like he expected my shock. “Gonna take off now that you know you’re sitting alone with a convicted felon?”

  “I—well, what did you…” I closed my mouth, reminding myself how many other convicts I’d been around in my life. Of course, every one of them deserved the sentence they got.

  “Relax.” He leaned forward, folding his fingers together. “I didn’t do a damn thing to deserve that bid.”

  “Doesn’t everyone in prison say that?”

  “Yeah, they do, but this time, it’s the truth.” Marco rubbed his neck, across that massive eagle, resting his chin on his knuckles. “Got this fixed,” he motioned with his hand, showing me the roses and rosary beads, “and this when I got out. Prison tats aren’t done by professionals.” He glanced at me from behind his glass, as though he couldn’t quite meet my eyes, like he might be worried what I thought of him now that I knew the truth. “Uh…maybe…I dunno, if you agree to spending more time with me, I’ll tell you about them.”

  The man could pull unexpected laughs from me despite that new detail about where he’d been, and one came just then. Leaning forward, I let an uneasy but slow grin stretch across my mouth. “We haven’t even gotten through the appetizers and you’re already thinking of a second date?”

  “Gotta be honest,” he muttered, not watching me, “but I was already up to the fifth and six date before you gave me your name.” He spoke lightly, offering me his usual shrug, but I didn’t miss the glint in his eyes.

  Mr. Hoàng interrupted and I was glad for the diversion. His honesty and the quick, shy looks he gave me were getting to me, and I was surprised how easily Marco made me forget the strict rules I’d always followed to keep myself safe. But then the older man placed a bottle of Ponzi Pinot in front of me along with two glasses which he filled, though I hadn’t ordered anything to drink, and I nodded my thanks, slipping a look to Marco. “You knew I liked white?”

  He tapped one finger to his temple. “Told you. It’s a gift.” Whatever Marco made of my lowering smile he didn’t say. Instead, he pointed to my chopsticks, then the plate. “Try the Banh Xeo.” I obliged, my stomach rumbling, and I took hold of the chopsticks, grabbing the crepe. The flavors of garlic, shallots and juicy shrimp met my tongue and the luscious taste distracted me from his smile. “What did I tell ya?” he said, as I stifled a low moan.

  “Damn. That’s good.” I covered my mouth with my hand, moving back to sit against the booth.

  “We’re just getting started.”

  Twenty minutes later, and I’d gotten down half a bowl of the best Pho I’d ever had. My glass had been refilled twice and Marco destroyed a plate of Bun cha. My stomach ached from how full I was and how often the man had me laughing, something that hadn’t happened much since I left Boston.

  “You can’t be serious,” I said, still not sure when Marco was telling tall tales or being completely truthful.

  “Didn’t I tell you? I don’t lie.”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. It’s in man DNA to not be completely honest.” He gave me a mock insulted frown before I laughed behind my glass. “You’re
telling me the oldest living woman in the country actually is from this town?”

  “Mrs. Donaldson.” His expression was sincere, though he didn’t seem able to smile outright. Something about that had me wondering how someone so flirty and sweet would be reluctant to let himself fully smile. “She turns a hundred and twelve this summer.”

  “And she’s lived here her whole life?” His nod was quick, and I shook my head wondering if I should believe him. “What’s in the water?”

  “Whiskey.” Marco lifted his glass, nodding to the bar and the collection of bottles filled with dark liquid above the mirror in the back.

  The thought of the old woman he mentioned had me pausing. Jada slipped into my mind before my light laughter, but I pushed her memory away. The night had been a rare occasion for me: fun. Sweet, and I didn’t want to ruin it by letting reality gatecrash the date.

  “What’s that look?” Marco asked, pushing his glass toward his empty plate.

  There wasn’t much I could give away. As nice and beautiful as he was, I’d already let him into too much of my life. He’d seen Makayla’s face and knew she was my goddaughter. He was a stranger and getting too much insight into me and my plans could leave me open.

  “I just don’t think I’d want to live that long.”

  The slightest shake of Marco’s head caught my attention. “Life is a blessing.”

  “Sure, it is, when it’s a good one.” I looked away from him, watching Mr. Hoàng greet a young couple as they came inside, bundled up from the wind and pelting rain that had started up again. “But to be left alone while everyone you love dies? I’ll pass.”

  “You might think differently when you get to be Mrs. Donaldson’s age.” Marco drummed his fingertips on the table and the sound brought my attention back to him. The smirk showed up again, but there was something more there in his expression. Certainty? Determination? I couldn’t quite place what that look was. “I can’t imagine facing the Grim Reaper is much fun. No matter how long you’ve lived.”

  Overhead, the chandelier flickered with the ripping noise of the wind outside. Marco’s voice was even, but he had the hint of something behind his eyes. Some small clue about whatever it was that kept him at a distance. “You have experience with that?”

  He lowered the smirk, not frowning exactly, but the easiness in his expression wasn’t there anymore. “I know what it’s like not being allowed to live my life. Gave me perspective. Made me never want to worry about how long I had left.”

  It was an answer loaded with truth and tied up by the things about himself he kept hidden. It was laced behind the way he wouldn’t look directly at me and how his gaze moved around the room. He’d done that a few times tonight—like the tension in his limbs was there for a reason and unless I’d been where he had, I’d never understand what that reason was.

  I hesitated, realizing Marco had more secrets that he wasn’t going to share, but then, so did I. “We have the same experience.” The wine in my glass was nearly gone, and I swirled it, watching the bubbles inside that gold liquid pop before I downed what remained.

  “You wanna elaborate?” Marco leaned forward, elbows back on the table.

  “No,” I said placing my empty glass on the table. “And neither do you, I’m guessing.”

  “Too early, right?” When I tilted my head, not getting his meaning Marco winked at me. “We can’t go telling each other all our business. Not yet.”

  “Well, the prison thing was a big one, but you’re right. No, not yet.” I fiddled with my napkin but didn’t break my stare with him.

  “I agree. That’s, I dunno, bedroom talk, right?”

  The napkin fell against my lap when I held up my hands. “You’re racing now. First date, remember?”

  “Nah, not racing. Preparing for the sprint.” When I rolled my eyes he waved a hand, as if silently admitting he was pushing his limits. “Fair enough. I’m racing, but can you blame me?” He motioned at me, moving two fingers up and down. “Look at you.”

  “That tells me nothing,” I said, gesturing to the waitress for a refill on the pitcher of water.

  “Come on, I mean”—he looked down at his fingers—“you gotta know you’re beautiful.” He nodded to the waitress after she’d brought us a refilled pitcher. “What is that, a family trait? The red hair at least, yeah?”

  I hoped my smile hadn’t lowered in the least. This color was natural, and I loved it. After years of bleaching and dyeing, I never wanted to sit in another salon chair again. “I…don’t have much to say about my father other than good riddance, but the hair, yeah. That was my mom’s.”

  Marco pushed his eyebrows together. When he spoke, his voice was low and soft. “Was?”

  I only offered him a shrug, not willing to give up any details.

  His eyes relaxed and he smiled as though he knew not to push. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “It was a long time ago.”

  “Bet it still hurts.” He reached across the table like he might squeeze my hand but then pulled back, moving his fingers in a drum again.

  “What about you?” I wanted him to give me something of himself. “Your family—”

  “Can’t get rid of them and believe me, I tried.” The grin was small, just an uplift of the right side of his mouth. “They’re a pain in my ass, but I love them.” He scratched the underside of his chin. “But I don’t want those assholes on our date.”

  “Funny thing is, we’ve both called this a date, but I thought you were just being a good citizen.”

  His gaze went to my face, and he slid closer, moving his head toward me. “I’m the best citizen.” He pressed his lips together like he was holding back filthy things that ran through his mind. Marco hesitated, like doubt held him back before he dropped his gaze, keeping that grin steady on his mouth. “In fact, I could be a really good citizen to you if you’re up for it.”

  The shy sweet talk worked for him and for a second, I thought he’d whisper something he felt might have me naked in his bed before the end of the night. The look was hesitant, not remotely serious, but there was something in it that made me believe he might give me some sort of insight to the things he kept to himself. Just then the chandelier flickered again, and a loud popping noise shot through the restaurant, taking all traces of electricity with it.

  Around us, the smattering of other patrons and wait staff released gasps and oaths of irritation, but Marco stayed calm and collected. “Nice. Now it’s you and me in the dark.”

  I sat up straight, moving my gaze around the room, trying to tell myself I wasn’t in danger. When Marco leaned forward, his cologne teasing my sinuses, I sat back, my stomach rumbling for a different reason. “Did you plan this?” I asked him, crossing my legs when his thigh brushed mine.

  “I’m not nearly that smooth.”

  “What is this?” I scooted to the right, willing my hands to stop shaking.

  “Hey,” he said, his voice close, but not so near that my worry doubled. “It’s okay, I promise.” I heard the clinking of glass and the noise of a bottle emptying. Then, Marco slid me a refill of the Pinot. “Take a breath and have a drink. You’re safe. I mean that.” When I didn’t immediately reach for the wine, Marco spoke again, this time his voice gentle. “I’d never let anything happen to you.”

  “I don’t know you—”

  “If you’re uncomfortable, we can leave—” My nervousness was obvious now, I knew that and though Marco had been nothing but nice, if not a little forward, he could still be a threat. Anyone could. I’d blunted my own self preservation just by agreeing to this date and now, in the darkness a thousand different scenarios, all unlikely and improbable, ran through my mind. Marco must have sensed my hesitation and seemed anxious to prove he meant what he said.

  I made out shapes and sizes; most the waitresses and other staff moving around to speak to customers and then Mr. Hoàng hurrying to our table when Marco called his name.

  They spoke quickly, Marco’s voice cal
m, but serious before the old man nodded, hurrying toward the bar.

  “He’s settling our bill.” At my side Marco drummed his fingers on the table again but then stopped when I touched his arm, glancing down at me. “You okay?”

  “I’m—sorry.” Breathing deep, I tried to clear the chaotic thoughts from my mind, tried like hell to organize what I’d say so I didn’t sound insane. “I’m…not good with strangers or…new situations.”

  It was a lie, but not a big one.

  “You did your own time, that much I can tell.” His voice was lower now and that forced sarcasm was gone. “I meant what I said. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

  It was stupid to believe him. I could practically hear Alex’s yelling if he knew I’d let some complete stranger get me alone in a restaurant. But Marco hadn’t just promised he’d keep me safe. When my nervousness surfaced, he’d moved into action, asking for the check seemingly to get me out of here.

  Was I overreacting? Probably. Did he seem irritated by that? Not at all.

  “We…can stay.” I moved my hand onto the table next to his, liking the way he radiated warmth, his large frame keeping the chill from me.

  “Not if you’re not—”

  I grabbed the wine, making out the expression on his face against the emergency lights. “Ava—”

  “I’m…just paranoid.” I gestured to his glass, pushing a smile on my face. “Don’t waste it.”

  Marco nodded, slow and steady, his gaze sharp, waiting like he tried to read something in me that I wouldn’t give away.

  A waitress hurried by, leaving behind the check before she moved to another table and Marco grabbed it, not doing more than that. “The building is old. The power flickering off happens in storms like this.” He leaned behind me, cautious, slow, to grab my coat and wrap it around my shoulders. “It’s going to get cold in a minute.”

  “I have my coat.”

  “Or, we could ask for more Pho.” Marco’s shrug was indifferent, but he already waved Mr. Hoàng before I could refuse.

  “I couldn’t get another bite down,” I admitted, tilting my head when the older man and Marco spoke quickly.