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I think that’s what he’s worried about, until he asks, “Why didn’t you tell her anything else?”
The easy—understandable—answer would be that I didn’t want to explain why I was spending time with my soon-to-be-ex-husband. I don’thavean explanation. “I didn’t want to.”
“Did you tell her about Crew?”
I nod.
Oliver looks away, the dimming light illuminating his strong profile. And I realize he misunderstood.
I step closer, savoring his body heat. Any warmth from the sun is rapidly fading. “That’s not what I—”
“We should get to dinner.”
Oliver starts walking toward the exit. After a brief pause, I follow.
I should be relieved he didn’t give me a chance to explain. To bare myself more than I already have. To admit he means something to me.
But I’m not.
CHAPTERTWENTY
OLIVER
I’ve seen enough photos of the interior of Blackbird plastered on social media to know what to expect when we step inside. This is the hottest restaurant in the city right now. You have to plan months in advance to get a reservation. Or have the right last name.
Hannah’s eyes are wide as she looks around the narrow space. It’s dimly lit and romantic, the brick walls covered with dripping greenery and wire baskets filled with wine.
“Good evening. What name is your reservation under?” the hostess asks once we reach her.
“Kensington.”
Shock flashes across her face before she looks down. I don’t have a reservation, and I watch the woman realize it.
I don’t relish throwing my last name around. Requesting special treatment makes me uncomfortable. Makes others act awed. Most peopleonlyknow me as a Kensington, and I’ve tried to carve out a separate identity. The difference tonight is, I want to impress Hannah.
“Let me get your table ready,” the hostess says, then scurries off.
Hannah turns toward me, tightening the belt on her coat. We dropped hands when we got in the cab to come here, and I miss touching her.
“You don’t have a reservation.”
I raise one eyebrow at her. “I don’t need one.”
Her head tilts, studying me. “Are you trying to impress me?”
Yes, is the accurate answer.“I know it’s not a car, but…”
She laughs a little, then looks away to survey the restaurant. “Have you been here before?”
“No, but it’s—”
“Oliver!”
I squint toward the back of the restaurant, where the light is even scarcer.
Asher appears suddenly, stepping around the hostess stand and smiling widely. “I thought that was you! But I didn’t think this is where you’d—” He stops talking abruptly, as soon as he sees Hannah.
“Hello, Asher.”
