I watch her, my thoughts turning over slowly.“So you’re saying you like dating me?”
“Yes.” She leans in, kisses my cheek. “Also, I made dinner plans for us. Cristiano and Katya want to meet us at Honey Road. You up for it?”
I smile. “Absolutely.”
Honey Road is a Mediterranean restaurant that serves small plates and cocktails in what they call a comfy tavern setting.
Since I’ve never been to a tavern, I can’t say if they’ve nailed the vibe, but the space feels warm and lived-in—brick walls washed in soft amber light, and worn wooden tables scattered beneath pendant lamps.
Today has a late-summer energy, so the doors are propped open to let in the breeze from Church Street, the air carrying a faint trace of fresh basil from the planters outside.
As Mia and I make our way toward the corner table where Cristiano and Katya are already seated, I catch sight of the spread in front of them: silky hummus drizzled with emerald-green olive oil, smoky baba ghanoush with pomegranate seeds glistening like jewels, and a basket of warm, blistered pita that makes my mouth water before I’ve even sat down.
Katya waves her menu in the air like a sword. “Oh, look, it’s Mia and her wayward ex.”
Mia glares at her in mock disapproval. “We discussed this. You said you’d behave.”
“I’m on my best behavior,” Katya responds.
Cristiano and I shake hands. We’ve seen each other inthe past, but we haven’t spent much time together. I know Mia is hoping that we’ll become friends.
I slide into a chair next to Mia, feeling slightly gauche.
It’s just been Mia and me for the past many weeks, with some crisp words from Katya here and there.
I only see Huxley when I go to the gym at his hotel. I’ve not had the energy to deal with other friends who are well-meaning but don’t know the ins and outs of my family and my situation with Mia.
Cristiano raises his glass. “To Katya, who’s on her best behavior.”
Katya snorts. “I’m just afraid of Mia,” she jokes.
“Everyone should be,” Cristiano teases.
I look at Mia like the precious prize she is, and add, “I certainly am.”
It’s a damn good meal.
Plates keep arriving like little treasures—grilled halloumi drizzled with thyme honey, lamb meatballs swimming in spiced tomato sauce, roasted cauliflower tossed with golden raisins and tahini.
We pass each dish around, forks dipping and swapping without hesitation, clinking glasses between bites.
The conversation meanders—work, gossip, travel plans—sliding easily from nothing to everything, the kind of rhythm that makes you forget about time.
“So, how does it feel to be an unemployed bum?” Katya asks me.
I raise my glass of Albariño. “Feels damn good. Idon’t think I can ever go back to working that many hours again.”
Mia puts her hand on my thigh and squeezes. We’ve talked about how I’ve had to learn to relax over the past few weeks. It took some effort. But I’ve nailed it now, and absolutely love it.
“He’s working on a proposal for the non-profit we talked about.” Mia picks up a triangle of pita bread.
Cristiano nods. “The resource center you want to start to support foster families?”
I’m a little surprised Mia has already talked to Cristiano about it—or maybe I’m not. It’s clear she set this dinner up so we could get to know each other better and talk about the non-profit. She worries that without something to focus on, I’ll lose my mind. Truth be told, I’d worried about that, too. But what I’ve discovered is that I like the slower pace of life. I like lingering over my coffee for an hour while I read the paper. I like working out without checking stocks or emails between sets.
I absolutelylovenot wearing a fucking suit. I like wearing jeans or linen pants, and a T-shirt. I like not having to tie a noose around my neck every morning. I especially like not feeling acid in my stomach when I go to bed because I’m worried about what the next workday will bring and how much of a shitshow it’ll be.
“Yes. I’m just doing recon work right now, trying to see what others have done, and learn from them.”
