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Theo finishes up his portion of the intro, and everyone is seated by the time the first course of pear salad with balsamic and walnuts is brought out.
He’s quiet as we sit at one of the tables in the front. I give my table decorations a cursory glance, satisfied with the ribbon-tied flatware, layers of patterned fabric napkins, and evergreen cuttings.
I press my glass to my lips and take a sip, both because I’m parched from all my running around and to give me something to do in the silence. We’re sitting with a mix of committee members and industry elites from various corners of Colorado. There are a few different, quiet conversations going on with a backdrop of quartet music. Theo’s not paying much attention to any of it.
Finally, I pipe up. “You’re quiet tonight,” I say to Theo. “Which is new.” I laugh and instead of joining in like he usually does, his brow smashes down.
“I’ve got a lot on my mind. The firm, you know? Plus, I was thinking about how gorgeous you look in that dress,” he says, his voice dark like gravel. He lifts his glass a smidge before taking a drink. But then he looks away, out over the crowd, unseeing.
“Thanks,” I say quietly. I want to ask him what’s wrong, but now is not the time or place.
I chat politely with the others. The rest of our table makes up for the quiet, which is good, because by the time the dessert course comes around, I’m fed up with his aloofness. We should be enjoying this impeccably delicious meal—the fruits of our labors. But he’s distant. Which causes me to be even more hyperaware of everything he’s doing.
And makes me wonder what he’s upset about.
Just as the servers are bringing in the cheesecake with three small, pourable sauces on each plate—a rich chocolate ganache, a lemon and strawberry swirl, and a decadent pumpkin crème—Theo taps his butter knife on his glass.
“I wanted to let you know that Aria here actually baked these cheesecakes herself,” he announces to the rest of the table. “And she made these sauces, too.”
Our tablemates nod their approval and begin to eat. I don’t want to stare at everyone while they’re trying my dessert, so I instead turn to Theo and whisper, “Thanks.”
He glances at me, for the first time since the salad course, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I had to give credit where credit is due.” He takes his fork, procures the tip of the slice and stows it to the side. Then, he scoops up another bite and dunks it in the chocolate ganache. He twists his mouth to one side in an attempt at a grin and then takes the bite.
I’m giddy as he closes his eyes while he chews. He’s loving it, and I realize I love being the cause of his joy.
I really and truly care for him. I think I’m falling for him. Which is . . . not what I expected.
And might only be a byproduct of his distance tonight. Isn’t that always what happens? We don’t seem to care as much about the guy until he stops showering us with attention and then suddenly we’re in love?
Which is messed up.
Ifeelmessed up . . . discombobulated. And I’ve been feeling that way since finding out that Rob’s getting married.
No, since Theo started coming around all the time.
But when seen through the lens of Theo coming around? I mean “messed up” in the best way possible.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, frustrated at all the places my mind can go in such a short amount of time. I have to be real with myself and admit that my feelings for Theo are strong, not because of his distance tonight. They’re strong because of who he is, the person he is, and the way I feel when I’m around him.
My heart does a little skipping thing as Theo rotates his body towards me.
“That was a big sigh.” His voice is chipper, but still, there’s a mask over it, a careful covering. We have to talk about the kiss, about everything.
But not here.
“These shoes may be spectacular, but they pinch my toes,” I say.
He glances down at my feet. “Slip ‘em off. I won’t tell anyone.”
A light touch of desire pulses through me as I do it, without a second thought. It seems strange, but there’s something a touch intimate about sliding off my shoes under our table and only he knows.
It doesn’t make any sense. But since when have my feelings for Theo made sense?
I check myself.
They actually do. Of course they make sense. Theo is a good, good man. He’s trustworthy and kind, funny, and thoughtful.
Of course my feelings make sense.
