He stared at his plate. “I’ll remember that.”
Continuing with their meal, they ate in silence. Lance glanced at the clock on the wall. His limbs tingled as he attempted to relax. Was it the fact that she was sitting across from him? At least they were trying to patch things up.
“So how’s Andrea?” Chantelle asked.
“I haven’t talked to her today. I’ll call her later.”
“Is she nice?”
“What?”
“Tell me more about her. There’s this stereotype that celebrities are rude. They have this sense of entitlement because they made it in their careers that and everyone else is beneath them. What’s Andrea like?”
Lance scratched his chin. He couldn’t say. The times he spent with Andrea in public, she was generous with her fans. She took selfies when asked and gave out autographs. In restaurants, she was gracious to the waiters. She tipped well and gave smiles to admirers on the street. Was that for show? Did he know her as well as he thought he did?
“From what I’ve seen, yes. Andrea doesn’t mind showing kindness to her friends.” Lance swallowed another piece of the steak, tasting the mushrooms he had sautéed.
“I was hoping you would say that.”
“What about you?”
She took a sip from her glass of ginger ale. “What about me?”
“Anyone back in Chicago?” He couldn’t help it.
Chantelle shook her head. “No, I’ve been focused on my writing.”
“All work and no play, huh?” Lance didn’t know why he coaxed. A part of him didn’t care, but the other knew he would always be connected to her. Despite what happened, he wanted Chantelle happy.
She dabbed the corners of her mouth with a napkin. “There was someone a while back, but…”
“But what?”
She pointed to her face. “All he saw was this.”
Lance leaned back in his chair. “What happened?”
Chantelle rolled her eyes as if annoyed to think about it. “We dated for about six months, but he didn’t want to get to know the real me. At parties, he would show me off like a trophy wife. He was studying to be a doctor. He was in his last year of residency and he thought having me on his arm would gain attention. It did, but I’m not a trophy.”
“No, you’re not.” He leaned forward. “Chantelle, you’re gorgeous, but you’re not conceited. You don’t flaunt yourself to make people feel insecure. You inspire them and let them know beauty is only skin deep. Your heart’s pure. That’s what makes you beautiful.”
Her gaze softened towards him. Her lips parted, but she only took another sip from her glass of ginger ale. Chantelle placed her palms on the table and met his gaze. “Thank you, Lance.”
“You’re welcome. I meant it too.” He wiped his hands clean on his napkin. He scooted his chair back and stood to his feet. “Are you finished?”
“I can help with cleaning up.” She offered.
“No, you’re a guest,” he said.
She shook her head. “You cooked, so I can at least help with the dishes.”
Lance paced backwards and threw a towel at her. Chantelle caught it without batting an eye.
She smirked. “You wash. I dry?”
“You’re on.”
She helped him clear the table of the dishes, and then they stood next to each other at the sink. He had rolled his sleeves and passed the clean dishes to her. She dried them with the towel and placed them in the dish rack.