She studies me for another beat, clearly unconvinced, thensteps closer. When she does, I catch the hint of magnolias again, and it undoes me, but only for a second.
She pauses with one foot inside the car, then looks back up at me, smiling despite herself. “Okay,” she says. “Thank you. But just so we’re clear, we’re getting Thai food and talking about the workshop. This is a business dinner and I’ll be paying for it. Got it?”
I laugh, because she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself as much as me. “Yeah,” I say. “That’s the plan.”
She slips into the seat, and I close the door gently, lingering for half a second longer than necessary before walking back around to the driver’s side.
The drive is easy. Not quiet, but not forced either. We talk about traffic, about how many plants she managed to save today versus how many she suspects are beyond help, about Theo’s latest obsession, which currently involves facts I didn’t know existed and now apparently need to learn. Every stoplight feels shorter than it should.
The restaurant comes into view, all warm lights and steady movement behind the windows. I pull into a spot out front, turn off the car, and quickly unbuckle so I can open her door, too.
She arches a brow as I help her out of the car. “You’re really committing to this, huh?”
“What?” I ask innocently. “The door thing?”
“The whole gentleman act.”
“I don’t know,” I say, following her to the front door of the restaurant and then holding it open. “I think it’s less of an act and more of a lifestyle.”
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling as she steps inside. “You’re too much.”
“I try my best,” I agree.
We’re seated at a small table near the window, close enough that our knees nearly touch when we sit. She tucks her bag under the chair and glances at me like she’s bracing herself.
“Okay,” she says, pulling the menu toward her. “Workshop. Goals. Logistics.”
“Right,” I say, nodding solemnly. “No fun allowed, but first, let’s order.”
She snorts before she can stop herself. “Stop it. We can have fun.”
“Give it a minute,” I say with faux protestation. “We haven’t even ordered yet.”
The server comes over, and we order without much fuss. Pad Thai for me. Curry for her. She asks a quick question about spice levels, decisive and polite, like she’s done this a hundred times. Once the menus are gone, Juliette exhales and straightens a little in her chair.
“Okay,” she says. “So, the workshop.”
And we’re off.
She starts talking through logistics, what time I need to arrive on Wednesday, and what she wants me to do. I listen, nodding, asking a question here and there, letting her set the pace. This is clearly the part she’s been thinking about all day, while I’m happy to stare at her and do nothing else really.
“Are you even listening to me?”
The restaurant comes back into focus and I realize that, huh, I have been staring at her. And pretty much not listening at all.
“Of course I am,” I lie, taking a sip of water to cover. “I’m going to wow your workshop attendees with whatever you tell me to do.”
“Honestly.” She shakes her head and tosses herself into the back of her seat. “Is it me? Do I wear a sign that says ‘if you’re masculine, don’t listen to me’?”
“Hey, hold on,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “I’m only kidding. I mean, okay yes. I did check out for a second, but I’m here. And I am listening.”
She narrows her eyes, watching me as she taps the table, tracing the floral pattern on its cloth as if it has all of life's clues printed on it. It takes a second, but pretty soon she shimmiesher whole body and looks at me with a smile plastered on her face.
“Sorry. I’m realizing how much crap and trauma I’ve held on to the last few years, and it’s really an issue.”
“Come again?”
“Ever since my marriage dissolved, I stopped trusting. I got defensive.” She shrugs and laughs out loud. “Wow. It’s so easy to say that to you.”
