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“A little strange,” Sebastian admits. “Jason and I are friendly, but not close. I’ve only met his wife once, at the wedding, and I haven’t made it down to DC yet to meet Juliet. Based on the pictures she’s beautiful, and fond of bows.”
I smile. “Gotta love a good bow.”
“You like kids?”
“I do. I certainly hope for some of my own someday,” I say, thinking of Lily and the heartache of her fertility struggles. “Though lately I’ve made the decision to do a little less hoping and a little more acting.”
He holds my gaze questioningly, and I twist my fork in the air as I chew, trying to figure out how to describe it.
“It’s been brought to my attention recently,” I say, setting my fork down, “by myself, that I’ve been living in a bit of a fantasy world.”
“Fantasy as in the fairies you like to paint, or fantasy as in… you know.” He makes a playful hubba-hubba motion with his eyebrows that seems both completely unlike him, yet somehow perfectly natural, reminding me how many layers this man seems to have.
“More like the castle-and-white-knight variety. Except the knight’s a musician with tattoos and a little belly.”
He blinks. “You lost me.”
I find myself telling him everything. Not about Sir and him declining to want to move our relationship beyond what it is now. That’s too private—too fresh. Too painful.
But I tell Sebastian all about my penchant for fairy tales. My tendency to focus on what could be rather than what is. My hesitancy to really, truly throw myself into the things that matter the most out of fear they won’t live up to what I’ve built up in my mind.
“It’s a real problem,” I finish with a sigh.
“I don’t know that it’s a bad thing to know what you want,” he says thoughtfully.
“No. But I’m learning it’s a bad thing when you’re so focused on what you think you want that you don’t see what’s right in front of you,” I reply slowly.
Sebastian’s fork freezes for just a fraction of a second, his fingers seeming to tighten on the utensil, his eyes flicking up to mine. The second our gazes clash, it’s like that first day on the sidewalk all over again, all crackle and butterflies and Frank Sinatra.
“I know the feeling,” he says quietly, still holding my gaze.
My stomach turns over on itself, and because these sort of feelings—these real-life feelings—are so very new to me I look quickly back down at my plate.
When I look up again, he’s gone back to eating his steak, though there’s a quiet tension between us now. Not uncomfortable. Just… knowing.
The server comes to clear away our plates with promises to bring the dessert menu, and Sebastian wipes his mouth, then drops the napkin into his lap, leaning forward, forearms on the table. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Where are you at with the other guy? Mr. Complicated.”
It’s the one thing I wish he wouldn’t have asked, and I feel a little of my lightness dim, some of my buzzy happiness fade away as I think of Sir. Of the way he still makes me feel.
“Actually, let me ask it another way,” Sebastian says, his gaze intent. “What makes it complicated? Is he married? Is it a long-distance thing?”
I scrunch up my face and peer at him out of one squinted eye. “Promise you won’t laugh?”
He nods.
“I haven’t met him.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the laugh, but true to his word, he doesn’t. He doesn’t even crack a smile.
“How’d that come about?” His voice seems different. Cautious.
Probably because he realizes he’s having dinner with a lunatic.
“Oh, you know,” I say, waving my hand. “The usual way. I posted naked pictures of myself online then asked if any men wanted to chat.”
He rewards me with a smile, some of his tension easing. “Damn. I’m visiting the wrong websites, apparently.”
I smile back, because flirtatious Sebastian is extremely likable. No. All parts of Sebastian are likable.
The server brings us dessert menus, and we both set the menus to the side and order coffee.
“Through a dating app,” I say. “One where you get to know each other based on conversation, not appearances. The complicated bit is that I was on there for real—to meet someone. He was there quite by accident and wasn’t romantically available.”
The server brings over two cups and fills them with coffee, then sets sugar and cream on the table. Sebastian pushes them both toward me as though knowing exactly how I like my coffee.
“So what happened?” Sebastian asks.
I shrug. “I don’t really know. He replied to my initial message, explaining his situation. I replied to that. He replied to that. Neither of us ever quit replying.”
I’m braced to see amusement or judgment on his face, but instead he looks intent. “And you developed feelings for him.”
