Broken Hearts (Light in the Dark 5)

I hadn’t realized it before, but I am. “Yeah, I could eat,” I admit.

“There’s a place around the corner up here.” He points through the shaded leaves to an area I can’t see but he must know.

I nod. “Lead the way.”

He picks up his pace and we turn the corner and head toward the building.

When we step inside I gasp. “Owen, there’s no way I can afford this. Can we even get in here? It looks busy.”

“They know my dad—I can get a table, trust me.”

He walks up the hostess and drops his last name, casually mentioning his father, and I try not to roll my eyes.

“Yes, sir, right this way.” She grabs two leather-bound menus and leads us to a far corner of the restaurant. It feels more private and intimate and it instantly makes me wary.

Owen pulls out a chair for me and I flash him a grateful smile.

He takes the seat across from me and the hostess hands us our menus.

I open mine and blanch at the prices. “Owen,” I hiss. “Are you crazy?”

“Don’t worry about it, I got it.”

For some reason, those three words, I got it, makes me want to throttle him.

I straighten my shoulders and force myself to look at the menu. I’m hungry and it looks like we won’t be going anywhere else.

“It’s fine, Nova. Stop fretting,” Owen warns, like my worry is a tangible thing.

“I’m sorry, but two-hundred dollars for a steak is insane.”

“Welcome to New York City.” He chuckles and adjusts his watch on his arm. “The food here is amazing, you’re going to love it, relax and enjoy yourself.”

That’s easier said than done, I want to tell him, but I keep my mouth shut.

I figure it’s best not to rock the boat.

I finally settle on a pasta dish and close my menu so the prices can no longer make me nauseous.

When our waiter comes we both order—and Owen gets the two-hundred dollar steak, of course—and the waiter fills the glasses on the table with ice water.

I sip mine gratefully, not realizing how thirsty I was as well as hungry. I’ve become all too good at ignoring my needs.

“How are things going with your photography?” Owen asks, his long fingers tapping against the table, almost like he’s nervous.

“Okay, I guess. I’ve kind of dropped the ball on it the last few months.” I hang my head in shame. The last time I turned my phone on I had twelve missed calls from Joel and finally a text shaming me for leaving him high and dry. I deserved everything he said and he was right. What I did was wrong. I’m not denying it.

“Do you ever feel lost?” I ask Owen suddenly. “But you know you’re not? It’s almost like you’ve stopped but the trail is still right there in front of you, but you can’t get your feet to move.”

He contemplates my words. “Yes, once.”

“When?” I probe.

“When I couldn’t see you,” he admits. “I missed you so much and I knew you felt abandoned by me, and it hurt me too.”

“But you never tried to talk to me. You could’ve done something.”

“You know my parents—and yours too. Something would’ve gotten back to mine and it wouldn’t have been good for me.”