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But whatever her mother was saying, it caused unease in the younger woman. Her eyes grew wider, and her throat bobbed with a hard swallow.
It wasn’t any of my business, but her reaction . . . I didn’t like it. Different emotions played out on her face, and each left me more unsettled. Confusion was replaced with distrust, and then it morphed into something that looked a hell of a lot like panic.
Abruptly, she stiffened to sit upright in her chair.
“No.” This word from her was loud and angry.
“I know you’re upset, but be reasonable,” her mom said, matching her daughter’s volume. “If you still want to go when it’s all done, that’s fine. But get your degree first. Being a cook is a job, not a career, and you’re too smart to have to work nights and weekends.”
Charlotte was oblivious to the tension one table over. “I think I’m going to try the lavender lemon martini,” she said in a bright voice. There wasn’t a server at our table; she was talking to me like I wanted to know.
“Sounds great,” I lied, shifting my focus back to the Novaks.
“Are you kidding?” Sydney’s tone was a mixture of shock and betrayal. “We had a deal. I held up my end of the bargain.”
Her mom’s expression was skeptical. “Maybe we suggested you give it another year to see how you feel, but we didn’t make any promises. There was no ‘bargain.’” She straightened her shoulders and tipped her head down, using the same posture my mom used whenever she lectured me. “You might think you want this right now, but tomorrow that could change, and then what? We’re talking about your future here.”
Sydney opened her mouth to say something, but suddenly a thought sidelined her. She glared at her mother with accusatory eyes. “Is this why you insisted we go out tonight? You knew how I was going to react.” She sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh, my god. Did you pick this place because you hoped I’d stay quiet?”
Mrs. Novak ignored her daughter’s question. “I know you’re disappointed, but your father and I just want what’s best for you. Once you have your degree, if you still want to try culinary school, we’ll be happy to help you. We just need to know you have an education to fall back on in case things don’t work out.”
Movement temporarily drew my attention back to the woman in front of me. Charlotte had crossed her arms and leaned on the table, staring at me expectantly like I’d missed something.
“Sorry,” I said automatically.
“I asked what you were going to get to drink.”
“Uh . . . haven’t decided yet.” I peered down at the narrow list of drinks but couldn’t focus on any of the writing. Even without looking at her, Sydney held my attention. The friction that radiated from her toward her mother was like a bomb ready to explode.
And then I made the terrible mistake of lifting my gaze to glance at her.
Jesus. She looked . . . shattered.
Her world was collapsing inward, and it had a gravity I couldn’t escape from. Her eyes turned blurry, clouded with disappointment and outrage, and her gaze reeled around wildly, searching for something.
When she discovered me, she latched on and blinked away some of the chaos, sharpening her focus. I had the weird sensation that staring at me was just barely keeping her afloat. I was a piece of wreckage that happened to drift by, and she had no better alternative to grab on to.
My heart thudded in my chest as her gaze intensified.
I’d spent the last year thinking she had infected me with her kiss—but I’d been wrong. It had most likely happened during that powerful stare we’d given each other across the pool. It was the same one she was giving me now.
As if she didn’t just want me to notice her, but to truly see her.
I didn’t understand what exactly had happened between her and her mother, but it was clear something had broken Sydney’s heart, and beneath the table, I balled my hand into a fist. Partly because I was angry on her behalf, and partly because of the way she continued to look at me.
It was fucking inescapable.
The longer her greedy eyes trapped mine, the deeper into them I wanted to go, until the restaurant and everyone inside it faded away.
Time slowed, suspending as we were gripped in the connection of our gazes. The hairs on my arms prickled with awareness, making my pulse climb. The sensation was disorienting but fascinating, and I wanted—
“Preston,” a pointed voice said.
I tore my gaze from Sydney, finding a disgruntled-looking Charlotte with a male server standing beside her at the table. He’d taken her drink order and was ready for mine, but with the connection severed, it released Sydney. She pushed back from the table and jumped to her feet, darting away.
“Sydney,” her mother cried, “come back here.”
It didn’t slow her down as she fled toward the exit.
