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“Which is?”
I swallow, wondering how much to reveal. How brave to be.
I like you. I like you very much.
But the expression on his face is so cold that I take the safe route. “I’m grateful. For the fresh start your company’s afforded me. And for the chance to pursue a career in art.”
Something that looks a bit like disappointment flits across his face at my response. “I see. Well. You’re welcome. And I appreciate the apology. And, for my part, I regret my high-handedness. Coming by your apartment was an invasion of privacy. Giving your information to Hugh without asking you first presumed to know too much about your… wants.”
“But you presumed correctly. And I didn’t mind you coming by my apartment.”
His head snaps up, but other than that, he neither moves nor speaks. After a long moment, I force a smile that feels brittle with disappointment.
What had I expected? That he would swoop me into his arms and tell me he fell madly in love with me the moment he met me, that the other woman doesn’t matter to him anymore?
“Thanks for seeing me on short notice. Have a nice evening, Mr. Andrews.”
I walk back to the door, blinking back tears.
“Gracie.” His voice is rough.
I turn.
He’s standing, his expression both cautious and hopeful. “Do you have plans for dinner tonight?”
Twenty-Three
“That’s fantastic news,” Sebastian says, refilling both our glasses with the bottle of zinfandel he’s ordered to go with the steaks.
I’d expected him to suggest a fancy restaurant, one of those with big glass windows and high ceilings and stuffy waiters.
Instead, he’s led me to a hole-in-the-wall steakhouse with wood walls, dark lighting, and the enthusiastic buzz of people having a good time. We’re seated in the back corner, enjoying delicious steaks and even more delicious mashed potatoes.
Most pleasurable of all though? The company. I can’t remember the last time I’ve enjoyed a meal so much… ever.
“So, what happens now?” he asks, picking up his knife and fork, but studying me instead of cutting into his meat. “I know Hugh personally, but I don’t know much about his art world.”
“He wants to do a gallery opening,” I say, taking a sip of water. “He hung one of my pieces already—just to generate buzz, but he’s saving the rest, wants to do a whole thing with champagne and cocktail dresses.” I laugh a little breathlessly at the sheer excitement of it all. “A gallery opening. I still can’t believe it.”
I sit back in my chair and smile sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve been hogging the conversation. I haven’t even really told my family any of this, but I’m glad you’re the first to know.”
He smiles. In fact, he looks rather pleased. “Do you think your brother will come back to town for it?”
“I’ll invite him, definitely,” I say. “But he lives in New Hampshire—about a six-hour drive—and I’d hate to have to ask him to make it twice in a month.”
“The opening’s happening that soon?” Sebastian says around a bite of steak.
I shrug. “Hugh said two weekends from now.”
Sebastian nods, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to invite him. But I hold back, knowing that if he makes some polite excuse, it’ll sting, and I want to hold on to this night.
I take a bite of steak. “So, this is none of my business, but your parents were so lovely, and I keep thinking about them. How did they take the news that you and Genevieve broke up? Your mother must be disappointed.”
Okay, fine. My motivations aren’t totally pure. I know he said he and Genevieve were over for good, but it can’t hurt to check…
He shrugs. “My mom was a bit disappointed. Genevieve is like a daughter to her though, and that doesn’t change just because Gen won’t be her daughter-in-law. Also, it’s helped everyone that Genevieve is pregnant.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Wow.”
Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask…
He smiles. “The father is an anonymous donor.”
“Hmm.” I take a prim little sip of wine. “Well, good for her.”
“It is. She’s happy. My mom’s happy about getting a sort of second grandbaby.”
“Second? You have a sibling?”
“Stepbrother,” he says, picking up his wineglass. “Gary married my mom when I was seven. He has a son—Jason—from a previous marriage who lived with his mom in DC. Jason and his wife had their first baby last summer.”
“Oh! I didn’t realize Gary wasn’t your biological father.”
“He may as well have been. He adopted me. Raised me.”
Something in the back of my mind flickers, telling me that this information is important somehow, but then he pours more wine, and the thought flits away.
“What’s it like? Being an uncle?” I ask, scooping up the mashed potatoes. They’ve mixed in bits of fried onions, and it elevates the dish to a whole new level of delicious. I make a note to tell Keva about them.
