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We got into the back seat of the car and left.
He looked out the window most of the time, but his eyes occasionally glanced to me, checking out my legs.
We pulled up to the restaurant and walked inside. He pulled out the chair for me, ordered a bottle of wine for the table, and then held his menu in front of him even though his eyes were on me.
I’d lost weight I couldn’t afford to lose for the last few months, so now I was bony. My ass probably wasn’t as nice anymore. How could it be when I wasn’t eating enough to keep those muscles strong. But I hadn’t had an appetite…until now.
Because I was happy again.
I was there, with Deacon, and now I was starving.
Deacon continued to watch me. “What are you getting?”
“Everything.”
He smiled slightly.
I wasn’t joking. I was so fucking hungry that I was going to get that steak. I set my menu down.
“What appetizer do you want?”
“Any of them.”
“Alright.”
When the waitress came over, Deacon ordered the appetizer and ordered his meal.
“I’ll take the New York strip,” I said with. “Medium well. With the potatoes. And can I add a soup?” I handed over the menu so she could walk away.
There was a basket of bread on the table, so I took a piece.
Deacon kept up his stare. “I’m glad you’re indulging.”
“Yeah. I’m starving because I—” I didn’t tell him I’d been too broke to eat much, too depressed to have an appetite, that losing him had fucked up my health and my sanity. I’d felt my body change, not just in physical appearance, but on a biological level. It was so nice to go out for real food, to eat something I couldn’t afford even if I’d been working this entire time. I didn’t want Deacon for his money, but damn, it made a huge difference. “I’m just hungry.”
He grabbed his wine and took a drink.
I noticed his appearance wasn’t different, his weight hadn’t fluctuated. His schedule probably remained stable, and he ate whether he was hungry or not. Food was medicine to him, so there was no reason for it to change.
I smeared the butter onto the bread and ate the whole piece, my stomach rumbling once it knew the suffering was over. I drank my wine afterward, always loving the selections he made.
Deacon was quiet, like usual.
I was comfortable around him instantly, but there was a change in the relationship. He didn’t speak his mind as much as he used to. He was more restrained, observing me from the comfort of his private thoughts. Since Deacon’s mind worked differently from most people, it took a long time to get anything done with him…a very long time. I wouldn’t be surprised if it took six months for us to be what we were once more.
“I want you to know that I haven’t been with anyone but you.” He blurted out the statement with no segue, like it’d been on his mind but he had no idea how to approach the conversation.
I stilled at his words, wishing I wouldn’t react, but it was inevitable. My mind was on the basket of bread between us because I couldn’t look at him right then. In my darkest moments, the most terrible images had flashed across my mind, beautiful women in his t-shirts, walking down the hallway where I used to walk, sleeping in the bed that had become home. I pictured those red panties on the floor, imagining him being inside a woman who didn’t give a damn about him for him. It had made me cry more times than I could count. When he didn’t take me back, I assumed he’d moved on, and it was so disturbing that I’d stopped myself from thinking about it. Otherwise, I would fall back into that black hole of terror.
Deacon waited for me to acknowledge what he’d said.
I didn’t know how to do that. We were in a public restaurant, so I couldn’t do what I really wanted to do…which was cry. I cleared my throat, kept the tears confined to my chest, and responded. “Me neither…” But that was a given. Why would I want to be with anyone else after having him? Deacon was one in a million. I was just another face in the crowd.
Deacon’s intensity didn’t change.
I still couldn’t look at him.
“Cleo?”
“Hmm?” I turned my gaze out the window.
“Look at me.”
“Deacon, please…” I kept my voice low, shielded the emotion deep inside me.
“Why are you upset?” he whispered.
The waitress came to the table and placed the appetizer between us before she walked away again.
I’d had my eyes on the street outside, doing my best to seem composed.
His question lingered in the air.
“Because I didn’t think that was the case…” I still couldn’t look at him because it would lead to another moment of catharsis. It would make me want to collapse onto the floor and heave. “When you didn’t come back, I just assumed…” It was just like my divorce, picturing my husband with the woman he preferred over me. But it was a million times worse. “I know I messed up, but I don’t think you truly understand how much I love you…” I loved him in a way I’d never loved my husband. I bent over backward for Deacon in a manner I never did for my ex, even when I got nothing out of it. My love was totally selfless. It made me wonder—if I’d been that way with my husband, would my marriage have survived? Because I would give up everything in a heartbeat for Deacon—but not for my ex-husband.
