“I’ll have the jerked chicken please,” I told her, handing her my menu. She wrote it down on a slip of paper and turned expectantly towards Jack.
“The special please,” he said handing her the menu. He smiled up at her before asking, “Can I borrow your pen and paper?”
The waitress frowned for a moment, surprised by his request, but she shrugged and gave him the next blank page from her small notebook and the pen. He thanked her and she smiled and went to place our order.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he began scribbling on the paper. He finished quickly and handed me the now full page and the pen.
I, Emma LaRue, hereby swear never to reveal any part of this conversation with Jack Saunders to anyone without his direct, written permission.
The words were hard to read in his messy handwriting, but I understood the message.
“With handwriting like that, you should have been a doctor,” I said as I examined the words. “I want to clarify the conditions first. It only applies to things said at this table and you have to sign the same promise on the back of this paper.”
Jack grinned and nodded. I bent over the tiny paper and signed it, then turned it over and duplicated the words on the other side before handing it to Jack. He signed it with a flourish and stuck the paper in his pocket.
“I wish I didn’t have to run my father’s company. I wish I could get out of his shadow and be successful in my own right,” he said slowly, his eyes glued to my face, waiting to see my reaction.
“Do you want to tell me what your father’s company does?” I asked, feeling a little confused.
“If you don’t know, then I don’t want to tell you,” he said with a smile. “It is too refreshing to not have to talk business.”
“Okay. You want to get away from your father. That isn’t much of a secret,” I said, unimpressed.
“It would be if you knew him... Alright, I’ll give you a better secret.” He paused, thinking about it for a moment. Suddenly, his eyes lowered, shame crossing his face. “When I was fourteen, I stole a car,” he said. He smiled when I raised my eyebrows at him. “My father and I were at the country club and we were arguing. I wanted to get away from him so badly I stole a car from the valet.”
“What happened after that?” I asked, intrigued.
“I crashed it. Four blocks away I ran it into a lamp post. My father was furious, but instead of punishing me or turning me in to the police, he paid the owner of the car and made the whole thing disappear. To this day we still haven’t spoken about it,” he said. He picked up his water glass and took a sip, his eyes watching me to see what I was going to say.
“So you’re a car thief? And you didn’t get in any trouble? Why didn’t he make you pay for the car?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“Because, to my father, the image of the perfect son was what he wanted. The car didn’t fit with that image, so he made it disappear. I wish my father had made me pay for it or had me experience some sort of punishment, but he didn’t. He used his money to make everything all better. It’s the story of my life with him,” he said. He seemed surprised at his own words. His eyes lifted back up, piercing into me. “Your turn.”
I thought for a moment. “It’s no stealing a car, but it’s something I don’t tell anyone. Ever.” I frowned. This wasn't something I enjoyed telling people. I knew I could tell Jack though. It was like we had no secrets between us and I could tell him anything without fear. I knew instinctively that he would never laugh at me or judge me the w
ay everyone else in my life did. There was a sense of safety I had never felt with anyone else that made me want to tell him everything about me. “I was bulimic in high school. Everyone thought I looked great, and it was so hard to stop when I finally had people asking if I had lost weight.”
“Why did you stop?”
“My dad is a dentist. He saw the acid damage on my teeth and told my mom. They never looked at me quite the same again after that,” I said, my voice cracking. I tried to hide it with a sip of water. “I still struggle with it, you know? My mom and sister are these perfect thin stick people, and I'm not. I don’t like the way I look. I don’t like the way my clothes fit, but no matter what I do, it isn’t enough. I know that people look at me and the extra weight is all they see. I lost boyfriend because of it. He said he didn't want to be with a 'fat chick'. I am terrified that I am going to end up alone because of it.” I was shaking a little by the time I stopped talking.
“I don’t see how that is possible. Your boyfriend was an idiot. You are beautiful,” Jack said, his eyes catching mine. He made sure I could see the truth in them as he continued. “I would date you if I met you in real life.” His face held a heat that made my insides start to tingle. My heart skipped a beat and I could feel my knees spread under the table. He thought I was beautiful.
“Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”
“I mean every word.”
“No one has ever called me beautiful. Other than my dad, but that doesn’t count.”
“Then they are all idiots. Except your dad, because you are beautiful.”
His eyes glowed caramel in the candlelight, full of honest appreciation. The heat in his eyes told me that he found me more than beautiful.
“What are you afraid of?” I asked quickly, changing the subject. The blush on my cheeks was threatening to light the table on fire.
“Spiders,” he answered nonchalantly.
“Spiders. That doesn’t count,” I said, giggling. He smiled at me and shrugged as though he were trying to take off an invisible weight.