Page 67 of Hidden Desires

“Somebody recognized you. One of the junior associates. I guess he saw us together somewhere, and pieced it together.”

Jack’s lips twitch. “Okay, but who cares what some boy thinks? He’s just blowing air.”

I poke at the meat with my fork, reluctant to ruin the taste with gossip. “Well, he said you used to bang his aunt. She’s, like, mid-fifties. Is that true?”

Jack laughs, the sound dry and unbothered. “I plead the fifth, but that’s definitely possible. I’ve been around for a while, sweetheart. I’m not a virgin, and you know that.”

“Ugh.” I take another, more aggressive bite. “Anyway, he spread it all over that we’re dating. People think I’m some kind of sex-crazed gold digger with a thing for DILFs.”

Jack’s expression is unchanging, but the hand on my thigh is warm and steady. “Would you rather they thought you were boring?”

I snort. “I’d rather they didn’t think about me at all. I used to be invisible at that firm.”

He pours more wine. “People who try to live invisible never do. Trust me.”

We eat in silence for a few minutes, the food slowly working its magic on my anxiety. I can feel my shoulders relax, the stress slowly evaporating. Jack finishes his plate, sets it aside, and just looks at me, head cocked.

“You want to talk about it,” he says, not a question.

“About what?”

He shrugs. “About your day. About your mom’s text messages. About the cam site, about the fact that your friends all think you joined a cult. About this dude at work spreading rumors about your dating life.”

“Do you think it’s weird?” I ask suddenly, the question popping out of me like an air bubble. “That we’re living together already?”

Jack is so handsome when he looks at me that it almost hurts. “Eliza, you want to be here. So who gives a shit?”

I drop my fork, food forgotten. “I do want to be here,” I say, softer than I mean to. “But I’m still kind of terrified.”

Jack slides off his stool, comes around the island, and pulls me up from my seat. He just stands there, strong arms wrapped around my waist, and lets me lean in as much or as little as I want. I bury my face in his shirt, breathing in the scent of him—soap, spice, and a little bit of smoke.

He kisses the top of my head, lips gentle. “You’re safe here, Eliza. Nobody gets to judge you in this house.”

I let the words sit in my bones for a minute, then pull back. “What if I want to be judged? What if I like being the deviant?”

Jack grins, a flash of white teeth. “Then I’ll judge you all night, in every room of the house. Every surface, even.”

I giggle. “Oh my god.”

He smirks.

“Exactly. Now wipe your chin, sweetheart. You have pasta sauce everywhere.”

He hands me a napkin and I clean up, suddenly shy. He watches me with a warmth that makes my skin hot, but doesn’t push.

When the plates are cleared and the candles burned low, he disappears to the pantry, then returns with a tiny silver-wrapped box.

“OMG, what’s this?” I ask, eyeing the package. “You didn’t have to, Jack.”

My boyfriend shrugs, hands shoved in his pockets. “I wanted to commemorate you moving in, actually. So your timing is perfect, sweetheart. Open it.”

I glance at him, then at the box, then slowly peel back the wrapping paper. Inside is a keychain—silver, cool in my palm—with a tiny, silver meatball attached. How strange! I turn it over, then see the engraving on the back: “June 14th—The BBQ.”

Oh my god! It’s the day I dropped a meatball onto Jack’s foot at my parents’ barbecue! It was the first day we re-met after he retired from the Air Force, and the day our relationship began. The day I began scheming how to entrap my gorgeous Uncle Jack.

I stare at the keychain, heart pounding, and my vision goes blurry.

“A meatball?” I say, the words barely making it out. “It’s sweet. Or salty, should I say? Or savory?”