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Now I feel like shit.
“So glad you could make it tonight,” he says, taking a sip of his water, glancing over my shoulder to the door.
“Thank you for inviting me,” I reply, offering him a smile. I grab my menu and give it a look, even though I already know what I’m going to order. It’s what I order every time I eat here.
“I’m a little surprised you said yes, actually,” he says without looking up from his menu.
“Really?” I ask, setting my menu down on my place setting.
“Totally. You’re way out of my league,” he adds with a wink and a grin. “And I’m a few years older. I wasn’t sure if age mattered.”
“How much older?” I ask, curiously. I knew Skyler was a bit older than my thirty-two years, but the way he says it makes me a bit more concerned.
“Well, I have kids,” he says in way of answer, taking another drink of his water, so I do the same. “That are in college.”
I choke. “College?” I gasp, trying to get the water down my throat and not have it fly across the table and onto Skyler’s shirt. “And that would make you…”
“Fifty-three.”
“Wow,” I say aloud, even though I don’t really mean to. “You don’t look nearly old enough to have a kid in college.” Yet, now that he says it, I can totally see his age in the gentle wrinkles around his eyes and the subtle graying around the temples and mustache.
“Two, actually. Well, in college. One still in high school.”
Huh. Age is just a number right?
“So, three kids, then?”
“Yep. How about you?” he asks, glancing at the door over my shoulder once more.
“Oh, no kids for me yet,” I answer, glancing back down at my menu.
After we order, the conversation quickly turns to his ex-wife. “She even took the door knobs off the doors. I tell ya, when she cleaned out the house, she wiped it clean.”
“Really?” I mean, what else do you say?
Fortunately, our food arrives quickly, and I’m able to distract myself from the small critter on his face by shoveling my food into my mouth. I’ve always been a big eater, something that didn’t bode well for me while in New York.
“It must be good,” Skyler says, taking a small bite of his taco…with a fork.
“So good. I love this place,” I answer.
“My wife never ate like that,” he says, pointing at my plate…with his fork. “She had salads everywhere we went.”
“Oh,” I reply, glancing down at my half-eaten enchilada with extra sour cream and guacamole.
“But you have a hearty appetite. I can appreciate that,” he says, taking another bite of his taco…with his fork. “No wonder you have to work out so much.”
I stop my own fork halfway to my mouth and glance across the table. Did he really just comment about my gym activities and eating habits?
“My wife used to cook tacos on Tuesdays. She called it Taco Tuesday,” he adds casually, still eating his taco…yep, you guessed it. “She loves Mexican food. Loves this place.”
But what really caught my attention was that multiple times this evening, he referred to her as his wife. Not his ex-wife.
“She’s in travel. Runs the agency uptown by the coffee shop. Travel Pros. Ever been there?” he asks, looking over at me with curiosity before returning his eyes to the front door. I can’t get over the fact he’s barely asked anything about me – but I practically know all about his former life with his ex.
“No, I haven’t. How long ago did you say you divorced?” I ask, setting my fork down on my plate.
“Three months. Well, she left me three months ago. It’s not final yet. I had been hoping for reconciliation, but I caught her on a date last weekend with the lawyer across the street from her office. They were eating here, actually.” He glances around the room and a thought hits me. Did he bring me here in hopes of running into his ex and making her jealous?
