I freeze, the question landing like ice in my veins. For a second, I doubt everything—the eye contact that felt like electricity, the moments that stretched too long, the subtle flirtation that made my skin prickle. Maybe I imagined it all, read too much into nothing.
"I, uh... Ted."
I lean back, crossing my legs as I pick up the menu again, the laminated pages a shield against his gaze. The words blur together into meaningless shapes.
The waitress arrives, her voice bright. "What can I get you started with today?" she asks.
I order a salad at random, not having spent a single moment actually reading the menu. Vince orders the same thing, the simple mirroring easing the tension knotting in my stomach, a small anchor in this sea of uncertainty.
"So, you have a date with Ted tonight," Vince says after the waitress leaves, his voice cutting through the silence that settled between us.
"Yeah. We're having dinner at a steakhouse nearby. He seems nice, but honestly, I'm apprehensive. None of the guys I've met through these apps have been anywhere near normal. Everyone uses these apps, but I don't understand why. Do they actually work for anyone?"
Vince laughs, the sound warm and genuine as he sets his sunglasses on the table with a soft click. "I don't use them anymore. I hate the whole premise. Half the fun of dating is finding someone you have sparks with during your regular day-to-day. How do you sense a connection through an app? Butwhat do I know, I'm trapped in a broken marriage, so clearly I'm an expert."
I sip my water, the cool liquid a welcome distraction as I debate whether I should probe after his comment last night. I go for it.
"What do you mean trapped?"
Vince's fingers rake through his hair, tousling the perfectly styled strands into disarray. He stares past me, at the sun-dappled wall behind our table, as if the answer to my question might be written there. "I'm separated," he says, his voice lower now, stripped of its usual teasing edge. "But my wife... she won't sign the papers."
He lets out a breath that sounds heavier than it should, his shoulders slumping almost imperceptibly. "I'm trying to be civil about it. I won't force her hand." His gaze finally returns to mine, and for the first time, I see something like exhaustion clouding those light brown eyes. "It's been years now, though. Years." A faint, humorless smile touches his lips. "If you wanted to have lunch with me just to hear my entire failed marriage story, Andy, you're going to need more than an hour."
I don't know what to say. Vince's carefree persona hides a lot more baggage than I expected. "Are you seeing anyone?"
"Yeah," he says, smiling. "Her name's Samantha. She's amazing. I met her on set last year, she's one of the writers. Hilarious. Smart. I'm lucky to have her. Maybe she'll stop by one day, and you'll get to meet her."
Of course he has a girlfriend. How could a guy like Vince be single? I don't need him to describe her. I already know she has to be gorgeous, the kind of stunning that stops people in their tracks.
Vince leans forward, his elbows resting on the table as he lowers his voice. "And before you ask—I wasn't seeing Sambefore I tried to divorce my wife. I wasn't seeing anyone at all back then. That wasn't the reason."
"I wasn't going to ask that," I reply, raising an eyebrow.
"But you were damn well going to think it," Vince says, pointing at me with a knowing smirk that makes my stomach flip.
I laugh nervously, the sound catching in my throat. "Maybe. When did you start dating her?"
"About six months ago."
I hesitate but can't stop myself. "When do I get to hear the full story?"
Vince laughs, leaning his elbow on the table. "Andy. For fuck's sake. Did you ask me to lunch just for gossip?"
I sit up straight, shaking my head. "No! I swear. I'm just curious. Honestly, it's none of my business. Forget I asked, that was rude of me." A small, nervous laugh escapes my lips, and I mutter under my breath, "I don't even know why you came to lunch with me."
Vince leans back, smiling as he studies me. I avoid his gaze, focusing on the condensation pooling on my glass, my finger tracing random patterns through the droplets.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks.
"What?"
"You just said you don't know why I came to lunch with you."
"I like you, but... we're not the same. You know what I mean?"
My finger continues tracing the droplets, and I catch a glimpse of the waitress walking toward us with our food just as Vince finally replies.
"Andy, I'll tell you what. What time do you run?"
