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We end up at a family-owned Italian place with glossy grey walls and several golden and bronze statues lining the walk from the hostess table to where we’re seated by a window. A grand piano sits in the corner of the room collecting dust.
“Do you know how to play?” Tyler asks when he sees me looking at it.
I shake my head. “Not a clue.”
His sly little smile turns suspicious so I narrow my eyebrows at him. “Do you play?”
He breaks a breadstick in half and takes a bite. “Mhm.”
I sit back in my chair. “Really…I find it hard to believe that a country cowboy like you would know how to play a classy instrument.”
He swallows and points the rest of the breadstick at me. “You know you don’t have to add the word country in front of cowboy. I think cowboy is a country enough word all by itself, ya know?”
I roll my eyes and he continues. “I mean, I don’t go around calling you a city girl Houstonian.”
“Oh please, I’m not that much of a city girl.”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Is your face not plastered all over every street sign in Houston?”
I shrug. “Not anymore. I bet Maggie had every real estate billboard replaced the second she heard I had her daughter.”
He grabs another breadstick and I take one too, just for something to do with my hands instead of twisting my fingers around each other. “I’m guessing there’s a story there,” he says a little tentatively.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing dramatic,” I say with a wave of my hand as I bite into the breadstick which is really, really good. “I just had a nervous breakdown and quit my job, packed up my shit and tried to leave town without anyone knowing but then my niece showed up, pregnant, and wanted to come with me. So I took her and then told Maggie, her mom, a few days later.”
“Only a city girl Houstonian would think that’s not dramatic.”
I shrug. “Miranda’s just barely a legal age but I’m starting to feel that she’s much better off in my care than in her mother’s.”
With his elbows on the table, he brings his fingers up to his lips. “I wasn’t talking about Miranda.”
With a sudden realization, and remembering why he even asked me on this date, I draw in a deep breath of air and let it out in a long, annoyed sigh. “Fiiiine. What would you like to know?”
“Hey we’re just friends here. It’s not like we’re on a real date and need to hold back bits about ourselves so we can stay mysterious and desirable or anything.”
“Riiiiight.”
Tyler laughs. “Nervous breakdown, eh?”
The waitress brings our food and I’m grateful for her interruption, but the bitch is so great at her job, she has our plates in front of us and our drinks refilled quicker than it takes for Tyler to forget that he asked me a question. I swirl fettuccine around my fork and consider making up some silly story about a mental breakdown that’s not a big deal; something he can chalk up to me being an emotional girl and never ask about it again.
But the problem with that is that I’m a pathetic liar, especially when put on the spot. Plus—ugh, hell—it might actually benefit me to talk about this with someone. I don’t exactly have a best friend anymore to discuss my problems with and Miranda has her own crap to worry about and doesn’t need to have my emotional baggage unloaded on her.
I swallow, set down my fork and look at Tyler from across the table. He hasn’t touched his food and he’s staring right at me. “I’ll tell you,” I say, taking another deep breath. “But I’m going to need more time than it takes to eat dinner.”
Chapter 15
After dinner, Tyler asks for a few breadsticks to go and ignores my judgmental look when I jokingly call him a fatty. Then he takes us to a park that’s on the river and I realize why he wanted the bread. Ducks are everywhere. The moment Tyler tears off a piece of his breadstick and tosses it into the air, dozens of ducks waddle over, quacking with excitement.
He hands me the bag and I tear off a piece of bread and toss it to the duck closest to me. This is fun. This is something I would only think of doing as a child. The parks in Houston have signs everywhere that demand that you don’t feed the ducks or other wild animals. Tyler chose the perfect spot for me to let down my emotional walls and tell him all about my nervous breakdown.
He listens as we sit on a park bench and I tell him about Grandpa’s huge influence on my life and my rise to real estate success. He offers an apology when I tell him about Grandpa’s illness and death. It isn’t until I finish my story that he reaches out an arm and lightly squeezes my shoulder.
“You did the right thing coming here. The country will heal all heartache.”
“Hell, I think just not having an internet connection to check Facebook has helped me a lot,” I say with a laugh to lighten the mood.
Tyler shakes his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I don’t understand Facebook.”
