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That I wasn’t just something he could play with.
That The Scarlet Letter was more than my business.
That I was a person who had a heart and feelings and who could be hurt.
“I used to come here as a kid,” I said softly, still staring at the playground. One of the old swings creaked lightly as it swung seemingly by itself, but my eyes followed the young girl who’d just left it and was running toward her father’s open arms.
Something tugged at my heart. Something strong and heavy.
I knew it well: it was grief.
“Really?” Damien’s voice was just as quiet as mine.
I nodded. “Before my mom died. The last time I came here was the morning before…” I trailed off. She was shot. The morning before someone shot her.
It was obvious I’d left the sentence unfinished, but to my relief, he glossed over it. “What made you come back today?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I didn’t really think about it. All I knew was that I wanted to show you that some things like lunch meetings are agreed between two people, not dictated by one.”
“Fair enough.” He fisted the wrapper into a ball. “I’m sorry. I keep forgetting that you’re…” Now, he’d trailed off.
I wasn’t going to let it go.
I turned my face until I was looking at his strong profile. At his thick brow and slightly-bumped nose and squared jaw. At the two-inch-long scar that glinted iridescently in the sunlight. “That I’m not the people you’re used to associating with? That I’m not the pushover you’d prefer me to be? That I’m not the woman who’d sit and let you order dinner for her just to get the date over with?”
“Simply, yes. Although I’m glad you’re not a pushover.”
“Why? Because you’d be bored of me by now?”
His answer was a slow, slight smile as he turned and met my eyes. “Maybe, I would be. Maybe I’d have no reason to spend time with you if you were a pushover. I’d own your bar right now if you weren’t you.”
“You don’t sound annoyed by that.”
“How can I be? You love The Scarlet Letter. I think you’re wrong for not selling to me, but at this point, my last hope is to keep bugging you enough until you give in just to make me leave you alone.”
Despite my best effort, a laugh bubbled out of me. “I suppose I can appreciate your honesty.”
That slight smile grew wider, reaching his eyes, and he nudged me with his elbow. “You’re not laughing for no reason.”
“Fine!” I let the laugh go and shoved him back. “Your honesty is, for once, refreshing. At least I know I need to get a lawyer on retainer to prepare a case for a restraining order.”
“Fuck. I shouldn’t have told you my plans, should I?”
“No way. I need a heads up. How else will I know who’s throwing stones at my bedroom window?”
“You even know my next idea.”
“I’ve watched a lot of movies.” I shrugged a shoulder, grinning. “And for the record, yes. How you felt when I ordered for you was how I felt when you picked Barny’s without asking me. The presumptuous acts are rude and unappreciated.”
He rubbed his fingers along the stubble on his jaw. “For what it’s worth, that was a damn good sandwich.”
“And I didn’t really care that you picked Barny’s.”
“But the principle is, it sucks,” he finished the dual line of thought. “All right, all right. Next time, you can pick, as an apology.”
“You assume I’ll eat with you again.”
“You will.” Damien stood and offered me his hand. I raised an eyebrow but took it. He pulled me up and with a smirk, said, “Otherwise I’ll keep throwing stones at your window until you agree.”
I burst out laughing, stepping back from him. “I’m tempted to try that just to see if you will. I’d like to see you work out my bedroom window, first.”
“I have my ways.”
“Which are?”
He shrugged, adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Throw stones at every window until I get a response.”
Don’t smile again. Don’t smile again.
Damn it.
I smiled.
“Apparently, you’ve seen your own fair share of movies,” I said.
“Only the ones where the guy always gets the girl.”
“Ah, now it makes sense. You’re talking about porn.”
He blinked at me. Then, a chuckle escaped his full, smiling lips. “Not really, but it’s not wrong. Do you have to go back to work yet?”
“What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “One-thirty-five.”
“I have a little time. Why?” I tucked my purse against my side, righting the strap on my shoulder, and looked up at him.
He motioned to the park before crossing his arms over his chest. “I want to show you something. Come back to the bar.”
I narrowed my eyes. What was it? Did I trust him enough?
“You’ll be back before you know it. It’s only a couple minutes away. Please?”
