My phone chimes in my pocket. There’s a new text message. It’s from a number I don’t recognize.
Guess who
I’ll give you a hint
It’s your neighborhood-spidey Nick
I stare at the message. Christian’s friend Nick? I haven’t heard from him since that night at the rooftop bar. How did he even get my number? Christian must have given it to him. I know I should probably block his number, too. But for some reason, I don’t.
I’m not sure why I’m doing this, but I text him back instead.
hey!
what have you been up to?
Nick responds almost instantly.
waiting around for the chance to see you again
Let’s grab a drink tonight
I hesitate. Then I send him another text.
where did you have in mind?
Nick sends me another text, along with a location ping. He wants to meet at a restaurant in Lincoln Park. The place is called Charles Tuesday. I think about Haru for a moment. He would disapprove of the decision I’m about to make. But he’s not around anymore. So it doesn’t matter. I put the location into my phone and head to the train station.
Twenty
Piano Sonata No. 11is playing as I enter the restaurant. Theplace looks like where you’d host the after-party for the Met Gala. Chandeliers hang from an arched ceiling, illuminating the velvet furniture around the room. A woman in a cocktail dress directs me to the back, where Nick is already sitting at the bar. He waves me over as he rises to pull out my chair, kissing me on each cheek. “Sit yourself right here,” he says, squeezing my shoulder affectionately. “I assume you want something fancy to drink.”
I smile at him. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
The bartender doesn’t bother to check my ID. Something I noticed when I was around Christian was that you can get away with a lot of things when you have the pedigree. Nick is another example of this. He smiles warmly, taking a sip from his glass. His blond hair is brushed to one side, curling softly at the edges.
“You have to try this,” he says.
“What is it?”
“A French martini. My drink of choice lately.”
I take a small sip, tasting notes of raspberry. “Oh, it’s pretty good.”
“That’s a Michelin star, coming fromyou,” Nick whispers. He nods at the bartender, ordering a second one.
A server brings out a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Tuna tartare and cucumber bites.
“Ordered these just for you,” Nick says, resting an arm on the bar. “You like salmon, right? I remember you telling me.”
“Yeah, I do.”
He smiles again, taking another sip of his cocktail. “Well, what have you been doing these days? I need to know every detail, starting with your love life.”
I shake my head. “There’s no love life.”
“I find that hard to believe, looking like you.”
I can’t help smiling at this. The bartender returns, setting down the drink that Nick ordered for me. Nick holds up his glass and says, “Cheers to our reunion.”
