Page 65 of A Thousand Second Chances

“This is hardly a first date. And I’d say we already know each other pretty well.”

“I guess.” More fiddling. His silverware clinks as they rub together. “What else do people talk about on dates?”

“How the hell shouldIknow? It’s not like I’ve been on any.”

He looks up sharply, his hands stilling. “Really?”

Suddenly embarrassed, I glance away. “I, uh, wasn’t in a rush after my mom passed. For obvious reasons. And we didn’t go on many proper dates ourselves.”

None, really, unless you counted secret hookups or movie nights in one of our rooms. Going on dates typically requires being out in public with each other, and that’s a line we’d rarely wanted to cross for fear of discovery. When wedidgo out, it had almost always been with mutual friends to serve as a buffer.

My answer seems to upset him, though I’m not sure why. “Me neither,” he says. “I mean, I’ve had a fair number of hook-ups since we broke up. That was one of the best perks of being out. But dates or romance?” He shakes his head.

My turn to frown. “Why not?”

He shrugs, not looking at me. “Never felt like it, I guess.”

I nod, deciding not to press him further. Especially since I’m not sure I want to know the answer. The thought of him with anyone else leaves an uncomfortable pit in my stomach.

Another silence descends, and I’m not sure how to break it. I make a few half-hearted attempts at small talk, but none of it goes anywhere. It all feels soartificial. Forced. Nothing like the easy camaraderie we’ve been slowly cultivating during our mutual adventures.

If you’re watching this, universe, then I’m sorry. Hopefully, you’ll at least give us points for effort.

The food is about the only bright spot. As one would expect in a place without prices on the menu, it’s heavenly, the fish so fresh it practically melts in your mouth. Neither of us order anything to drink other than pop, though I’m tempted to, if only to take some of the edge off. When our waiter asks if we’d like dessert to share, we shake our heads in unison. Maybe Chris is as eager to escape this farce as I am.

Because that’s what this feels like at this point—a farce. A charade. Like we’re acting out parts in some play we don’t particularly enjoy. My stomach roils with disappointment as our server arrives with the check, putting us out of our misery. Had I really been looking forward to this all day? Actually entertained the idea that this could work? I guess whatever chemistry I’d thought Chris and I had exists solely in my head.

I reach for the check at the same instant as Chris. Our fingers tangle over the thin scrap of paper, and I yank my hand back as if burned. Chris does the same. “I got it,” I say right as Chris says, “Dinner’s on me.”

We blink at each other for a moment before Chris reddens slightly. “This whole thing was my idea. The least I can do is foot the bill.”

He grabs for the check again, but I’m faster, snatching it before he can. I slide out my credit card and stick it in the holster. “It’s fine,” I say. “Dad put some extra money in my account to cover expenses like this during the trip. I don’t mind.” I look up to find Chris glaring at me.

“Yeah, well, maybeIdo,” he grits out. “Just because you’re a Wentworth doesn’t mean the rest of us plebs can’t afford to pay our own way.”

I blink, too taken aback to reply. Money’s always been a bit of a sore spot between us—I know how hard his parents had to work to make ends meet. But where the hell didthatcome from?

Slowly, I retrieve my card and pass the bill across the table to him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Chris shoves his own card into the pocket. “It’s fine.”

It’s so clearlynotfine that I almost laugh, barely catching myself in time. In his current mood, I doubt Chris would’ve appreciated the humor. Instead, I ask, “Is everything okay?”

For an instant, he tenses further. Then, he sags in his seat and huffs out a sigh. He reaches up to rub his eyes. “Yeah. I’m a bit on edge, I guess. The last couple hours haven’t exactly been relaxing.”

This time, Idolaugh, and Chris lowers his hand to give me a small grin.

“Right?” I say, shaking my head. “I mean, we’ve spent the better part of two weeks together, and it hasn’t felt this awkward since—”

“Since I told you to piss off and leave me alone?” Chris nods, leaning forward. “I know! I thought a place like this would, I dunno, be romantic or some shit. But…”

He shrugs, and I supply, “But instead, it felt forced.”

“Exactly!” He sighs again, playing with the card tray until our server takes it. “Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Even if the universewasshipping us, I doubt this was the romantic reunion it had in mind.”

“Definitely not.” I grin at him across the table. “I thought you were literally going to punch me over the bill.”

“I might’ve gotten a bit carried away,” he admits sheepishly, hiding his face behind his glass while he takes a sip of water.