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A thought occurs to me as I stand.
Maybe it’s because I’m so aware of being recognized at any moment….
What would happen if I dated a woman who’d used my charity’s services? Is there some sort of conflict of interest there? As an older man who’s helped her financially, would she feel like sheowesme?
Would I be taking advantage? Do I need to stop this now?
My head is spinning with all these unanswered questions. Then, suddenly she’s standing in front of me, the woman who’s rightfully mine.
She looks up with that hard-to-read smile on her face, sassiness battling with shyness.
“So,” she says, brushing hair from her forehead. “How many times have you been recognized so far?”
I grin tightly. “None yet.”
“Does that bother you?”
I chuckle at her tone, the tightness in my face going. It’s like she’s always on the edge of being her true self or wanting to be a little more daring.
It’s the way she throws her comments out there, then turns away slightly as if wanting to take it back.
But notallthe way.
She’s fascinating to me, every single part.
“No,” I tell her. “I prefer it like that.”
“That’s odd for a man in your position.”
“A man in my position?” I ask as we sit.
I wish we weren’t at a booth, but a table, just so I could pull her chair out for her. It makes me irrationally angry for a second that there isn’t a chair. It would be a clear sign, to her, of how badly I want and need her…or some subtle hint, at least.
Something.
“A celebrity,” she says.
“Lots of celebrities don’t like being mobbed.”
“But not… I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to keep saying sorry,” I tell her.
I find myself thinking of the last time we met when she said sorry without any need. It hurts me far more than it should, down deep, the place I thought died when Anna did.
It hurts like a punch right to the fucking gut.
You don’t have to apologize unless you’ve done something wrong. And there’s very little wrong you could do to me that seems wrong.
As long as she never cheats on me and we’re always dedicated to each other, nothing could break us apart. Nothing could come close because she’ll know I always feel the same for her…total dedication.
“What were you going to say?” I ask, looking around for a waiter.
“You have to go to the counter,” Lucy says. “Or you can order through an app. Shall we?”
She takes out her phone. I sit back, relieved I don’t have to walk through the restaurant again.
“Sure. So….”
