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I can only shake my head. What is he saying?
“Ryan had told me so much about you, built you up, shown me pictures. I was just coming out of a rough spell, thought I was ready to move on.” He scoffs, resumes his napkin torture. “But I had some more work to do.” He sits up a little taller. “I wouldn’t have been so upset if I hadn’t seen immediately that you were even better in person than he’d led me to believe. I watched you, in those few moments before you stood up, and I convinced myself it was going to be a great night.”
I wince, slump in my seat. “And I...”
He slides one hand across the table and covers both of mine with his warmth. “You let me know the timing wasn’t quite right. It was arrogant of me to expect you to be interested as instantly as I was.”
“I was.” The words are out before I know they’re coming. His hand freezes on mine, skepticism in his eyes coaxing me to unclasp my hands and meet his palm with my own. It is frightening to expose myself to him, but it’s time to take a leap—and to give him something in return for what he’s offered. The squirming things shrink against the pounding of my heart.
“You had the beard then too.” My eyes wander his jawline, studiously avoiding his mouth though I can see his lips curving up under my perusal. His thumb brushes the back of my knuckles, his jaw clenching as I visually trace its line. “It looks good on you. I don’t know why I was so... I guess I wasn’t ready either.”
“But you didn’t recognize me when we met again.”
“I was an idiot, but you did look pretty different. Glasses, short hair, no beard...” I pause, thinking how much healthier he looked with some weight on him but not wanting to offend him.
His head tips in concession.
Our waitress shows up with the food, and our hands slink apart. Loaded silence reigns as we eat. I miss the warmth of his hand.
My salad is surprisingly good—I guess I was hungry under all that anxiety—but the aroma of his roast beef is torture to my inner carnivore. It’s thin-sliced and piled high on what looks like a sourdough bun, melty cheese overflowing the sides.
My mouth waters around another mouthful of lettuce.
“Want a bite?” He smirks.
“No, I’m good.”
“So you say, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get your attention again until you taste this.” He dunks the layers of his French dip into the steaming bowl of au jus and takes a big bite, chuckling around it as I glare at him. Possibly at his food.
He cuts a thick slice from the untouched half of his sandwich, dips it, and holds it out to me. “Go on,” he says when I hesitate.
The handoff sends shivers up my arm, and I’m hyperaware of his gaze as I bite into the melt-in-your-mouth deliciousness. “Mmmm.”
“Good?”
I nod and finish it off, wiping my mouth of the drippy, savory goodness. “I’ll have to order that next time.” His brows lift, and a flush works its way up my neck. “I mean—”
“I’m game,” he says, holding my eyes.
My flush fades against the possibilities. “Claire ripped me apart after you left that night,” I say.
He frowns around a mouthful, but I shake my head.
“Every word hit its mark. It was a wake-up call. I did everything I could to leave that night behind and not to make the same mistakes again. And I took a step away from dating for a while. I knew my head wasn’t where it needed to be. I had to move past losing Benson.” I gather the dregs of my salad, clear my throat, take the last boring bite, and dispatch it.
I don’t know how Ivy survives without meat. Is she always hungry?
Noah takes my hand again, trails his thumb once across the back of my hand.
I appreciate the anchor, but it still takes several swallows and a lot of blinking before I’m ready to talk again. Four years, and I still have a hard time talking about my brother. But Noah’s empathy eases the pain. “Thanks,” I say.
He gives my hand a little departing squeeze and goes back to eating, though I can feel him watching me.
“I volunteered for a year in Peru,” I say, “came back, looked for my new normal, and searched for who I wanted to be. A big part of who I am now came from the mistakes I made with you that night, so as painful as the memories are, I’m grateful for them.”
His eyes are waiting for mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept your offer of dinner. I’m sorry I was so resentful.”
“Don’t be. I deserved it.”
