But why did that just stop?
Why does he seem so off since this morning?
He leads me into the restaurant with a gentle hand on my back.
A waiter comes by instantly to check on us and take our order, running down a long list of specials that include the season’s finest oysters and the best coq au vin outside of France.
Once the man leaves, I reach across the table and touch his huge hand with mine.
“Ethan?”
“Yeah?” His eyes are brighter now, like he’s finally coming back into himself.
“I was just wondering… you’ve been sorta quiet all evening. Did something happen?”
He squeezes my fingers, wearing a shadow of a smile.
“I’m fine, Pages. Just drained from the heat and the meetings, I guess. It’s so much legwork making sure this deal with Daley’s viable and really benefits Blackthorn Holdings. He’s also been damnably picky about who he talks to. Daley likes to blow off my team. He only talks to me.”
That would be annoying, but his face hints at more.
It’s a half lie, I think, and something curls up in my chest defensively.
Is he having second thoughts about us?
Does he think he revealed too much and now he’s in retreat?
“I’m glad you had a nicer day than me with your books,” he says, giving me another smile that doesn’t touch his eyes. “As usual, you’re more enticing than anything on the menu, woman. I love the white.”
No lie detected in the compliment.
I blush shamelessly.
The waiter returns with our drinks a few minutes later, wonderful cocktails with oversized ice cubes and strong citrusy lime notes that fade as the ice melts. I’ve never been a smoker, but the experience is what I imagine smoking a good cigar must be like.
My earlier high from browsing bookshops fades as we sip our drinks and devour our appetizers, oysters and a nice spread of croquettes.
Despite the divine food, I’m left with a growing hollowness in my belly that has nothing to do with hunger.
We make casual conversation through the starter course.
Although Ethan tries a few times, he’s still withdrawn, somewhere deep inside himself with whatever his real worries are.
Sad.
I feel like I’m going crazy for overthinking it. But every time he looks at me like he doesn’t reallyseeme, I feel my heart slip further into the abyss.
It’s like he’s made a private decision not to invest in me anymore.
Did I do something wrong on the flight here? Or dragging him through the bookstores?
Was that it?
Was I too clingy?
Probably not, judging by the way he laughed and gave me good-spirited crap about it.
But I keep replaying everything I’ve done for the past week, trying to piece together what’s causing this hairline crack in our easy living.
