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The rest of dinner isn’t bad. That’s almost worse.
The steak is excellent. Kell loves the potatoes. He asks one question about the sauce and none about the silverware. When the server tells us the chocolate cake is the best dessert on the menu, he orders it solely on her recommendation, then informs her after the first bite that she was right. She grins as though he’s personally complimented her cooking.
He gives me half because he remembers chocolate is my weakness. He doesn’t mention it or wait for me to notice. He just slides half the cake onto my plate.
I’ve spent half the evening noticing what he doesn’t know and nearly missed how much he already knows about me.
We talk. I laugh. Nothing disastrous happens. Kell doesn’t embarrass himself or me.
I’m embarrassed anyway. By the time we leave, I’m exhausted from monitoring an evening that never actually required monitoring.
The drive home is quiet at first. Kell seems content with the music playing softly while I drive, and I use the silence to construct an explanation I can live with. Bellafonte belonged to another part of my life. Going back was bound to stir up memories. Of course I compared tonight with all the nights Dave and I spent there. Anyone would.
It doesn’t have to mean anything about Kell. Eventually he shifts in the passenger seat. “You didn’t have fun.”
“I had fun.”
“No.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. “It was a nice dinner.”
“That isn’t what I said.”
I keep driving, annoyed that he won’t accept the easier answer. “It was strange being back. Dave and I went there for years, and I haven’t been there since he died.”
“I know.”
“That’s going to come with feelings, Kell.”
“I know that too.”
He doesn’t sound offended or defensive. He accepts what I’ve said and leaves me with it.
After another stretch of road, I add, “I’m glad we went.” Kell is quiet for long enough that the words begin to feel flimsy even to me.
“You like that restaurant,” he says.
“I do.”
His next words are just as calm.
“But you didn’t like being there with me.”
For a moment, I can’t think of anything to say that isn’t either cruel or true.
“That’s not what I said.”
“No.”
I swallow and keep my attention on the road. “I liked being there with you.”
The lie comes out almost smoothly. Kell doesn’t challenge it. He doesn’t ask me to explain or give me another chance to make it convincing.
For the rest of the drive home, he lets me keep it.
I know he doesn’t believe me.
Chapter Nineteen
