Two seconds later, he was smiling at Freya.
I had an uneasy feeling I’d stumbled onto something I wasn’t meant to see.
CHAPTER 15
VIGGO
We dropped Freya off at her apartment soon after the appointment. Dexter and I were starving; she wasn’t. In fact, she wasn’t feeling well at all.
“I’m okay, but my stomach is…off. I’d rather watchHouse Huntersand nibble crackers on my sofa.”
“We can stay with you if you’d like,” Dexter had offered. “Maybe order pizza or?—”
“Oh, no. Please.” Freya put a hand over her mouth and aimed a pleading look at me.
“We’re going,” I assured her, switching to Swedish and adding, “Are you sure you’re okay?” I infused my tone with all the meaning I could muster without having to use more words than necessary in any language.
She nodded. “Ja.”
Twenty minutes later, Dexter and I were perusing a laminated menu at an Italian restaurant with red-and-white checked tablecloths and candles dripping from old Chianti bottles. It was a family-style establishment, yet somehow, the quiet table for two in the corner seemed sort of…romantic.
“We should have gone to a drive-thru for takeout,” I groused, squinting at the selection of entrees.
“I don’t eat takeout. Although if I’m in California, I’ll make an exception for In-N-Out Burger. The caprese looks good and the calamari. Do you like Caesar salad? We could each order something and split. Best of both worlds. But I’m not sharing pasta. I haven’t eaten pasta in way too long. I’m going all out.” He glanced up when I scoffed. “What?”
“You talk a lot.”
“It’s been a day.” True. “I think it’s between the veggie lasagna and the seafood linguini.”
“Veggie lasagna is not going all out. It’s like cheating on a diet by eating sorbet instead of ice cream.” I moved the menu closer to my face. “I’m ordering theOso Bucco. Get all the appetizers you want. I’m hungry, too.”
Dexter studied me over his menu. “You need readers, huh?”
I glared. “No, I do not need readers. It’s dark in here. They put us in the dungeon section.”
“No, they put us in the romantic section. They think we’re on a date.”
“According to you, everyone thinks we’re on a date,” I countered.
He ignored me, tapping the menu decisively and closing it. “I’m having theBolognese, veggies on the side. And wine. I need wine tonight. You?”
“One glass, maybe. I’m driving. Order a bottle, though. It’s a better price, and you can drink the rest.”
A waiter appeared with a basket of bread, olive oil, and balsamic vinaigrette. He took our orders and returned with a bottle of Cabernet. Dexter sniffed the cork, swirled a small pour in his glass, and took a tiny sip before deeming it worthy to consume.
Dexter thanked the waiter, then lifted his wineglass in a toast. “To Freya and healthy heartbeats.”
“Skål.”
He smiled. “Thanks for coming today.”
“It was no problem.”
“Well, I appreciate it. I know it meant a lot to Freya. She seems good. She was a little pale, but morning sickness at night probably does that to you. You know her better, obviously. What do you think?”
“I think you have a motor mouth.”
Dexter lifted his glass with his middle finger front and center. “I know. I can’t help it.”
