Oh shit.“I guess it is.”
“I definitely want to go there.”
Blair didn’t know how strange it was for him to take her to Maud’s. It somehow signified the merging of two different worlds—his comfort space, his home away from home and… her.
They sat at the bar. When he pulled her stool out, his arms felt a bit off, as if they were only working at 80 percent.
Oh. Oh no. He suddenly realized what was wrong. His body thought this was a date. He’d had this feeling once before, the sensation of his limbs not being fully connected to his brain, in the early days with Emily, his only serious girlfriend.
Once he got Blair situated, he shook out his right arm.
“Everything OK?” she asked, and she looked up at him with her sparkly hazel eyes, her face illuminated by the tea lights on the bar.
“Yes,” he said tersely. Everything was OK.
Everything was not OK.
“How’s your back?”
“Fine,” he said automatically, but it was a lie. It wasn’t as bad as it had been last fall, but the final stretch of work had tweaked it again.
“Hey, Jack.” Oliver appeared and set a dish of spiced nuts in front of them. “Martini?” He glanced at Blair and Jack saw him register who she was.
“Martini would be great, thanks. This is my friend Blair. Blair, this is Oliver, who owns the place.”
They exchanged pleasantries, Blair complimenting Oliver on the beauty of the space and Oliver telling her it was his mother, the place’s namesake, who had the good taste. Jack appreciated that Oliver hadn’t said a word about Blair’s… Blairness.
And Blair’s Blairness was something today. Maybe they should have sat at a table, with some distance between them. They were shoulder to shoulder on their stools, and it felt like he was sitting next to a giant magnet. He had to concentrate on maintaining the six or so inches of space between them.
“Martiniwise, is it a twist day or an olive day?” Oliver asked as he poured the sauvignon blanc Blair had ordered.
“Do you likeboth?” Blair turned to Jack with an outsize reaction. “Most martini people are strictly in one camp or the other.” She turned to Oliver. “I’ve served him a lot of martinis, but always with olives.”
“It’s a seasonal thing for me, I think,” Jack said.
“No, no.” Oliver turned to Blair. “He has a lemon twist when things are going well, when he’s happy. Otherwise it’s an olive.”
“So it’s an olive ninety percent of the time,” Blair said.
“I think it’s probably closer to ninety-five,” Oliver said.
“Hey!” Jack protested. “And I’ll have a twist.” He hated to prove them right, but… he also kind of wanted to prove them right. Hewashappy, mostly due to the fact that Blair was here, and he didn’t mind her knowing.
Chapter 23
Sustained Silent Reading
How are you doing?” Jack asked when they’d ordered food and settled in with their drinks. It was a good question, and Blair wasn’t sure how to answer it. Because she didn’t know how he meant it. On the surface of things, she was great. The restaurant was cozy and warm, and Jack’s historic neighborhood, just across the Mississippi River from the Minneapolis skyline, was charming. She was glad to be here. As she’d told him last fall, a change of scenery could reinvigorate a person.
He repeated the question as he listed toward her and bumped her shoulder with his. “How are you doing?”
“I’m doing OK. I’m happy thatGreen Lightis finally”—she knocked on the table—“happening.”
She was immediately disappointed in herself for treating the question as a mere pleasantry.
She was even more disappointed when he leaned back away so he was properly centered on his own stool. So she tried again. “But… I’m trying to be OK in spite of that or, I don’t know, underneath that.”
She was rewarded when he leaned back over—she didn’t think he was doing it consciously—and rotated so he was half facing her.
