Say It's Not Fake

“Do you think you’ll ever go back to it?” Why did the question feel loaded with subtext?

“I don’t know. I don’t want to give it up entirely. I worked too hard. But I also needed a break. Things happened ... and I had to reevaluate what I was doing. I didn’t like the person I had become out there.” My voice was hoarse, and my mouth had become dry.

“Things happened?”

“Isn’t that the turn off for Kirksville,” I said, pointing to the sign just as Kyle drove past it.

“Shit, yeah, it was. Sorry.” He quickly pulled into a turnoff and put his signal on so he could flip around. “Hold on.” And then he put his hand on my thigh, gripping tightly as he did a U-Turn in the road. I slid across the seat and found myself pressed into his side, his fingers still holding on. His breathing seemed to deepen, and my belly flipped and rolled. It would be so easy to turn my head. To nuzzle into his neck. I could smell him. I could feel him. His heat. The searing burn of his hand on my leg. Every cell in my body responded to him.

Once he had corrected the truck, he pulled his hand away. “Sorry ’bout that.” Then I had no choice but to move back to my side of the cab; otherwise, it would have gotten uncomfortable. Even if I wanted to stay where I was, glued to his side like I belonged there.

Get a grip, Whitney.

Thankfully, all talk about my past was forgotten as we pulled up in front of the Greek restaurant Niko’s. “Hang on,” he said, getting out of the truck. He rushed around to my side and opened the door for me, holding out his hand for me to take so I could get down. “Don’t want you falling on your face.” He chuckled, and I laughed too.

He let go of my hand but moved it to the small of my back as he directed me to the front door. Once inside, the hostess greeted us and then led us to a booth tucked into an alcove beneath leafy vines hanging from the ceiling.

“This is nice,” I observed, taking in the mosaic tile and crisp white linens. It was all very bright yet cozy, with candles in tiny lanterns on the table and Greek music playing from the sound system.

“I discovered this place when I was working a job in town. I had been hired to re-landscape the town hall, and Lucky on my crew recommended we come here for lunch. After that, we came every day.” Kyle handed me a menu.

“How many people work for you?” I asked.

“Five right now, used to be six, but Daniel Alder moved to Virginia to take care of his mom who lives there,” he answered, lifting his eyes from the menu to meet mine.

“It looks like you stay pretty busy. Business seems to be doing well.”

Kyle shrugged. “It has its ebbs and flows. We’re busy now because we’re coming into summer. We’re usually slammed up until October, and then it dies off a bit during the winter months naturally. But we have enough regular landscaping jobs to keep us going even in the downtime.”

When the waitress came over, Kyle asked if we should get a bottle of wine.

“Um, I really don’t drink. But you go ahead,” I said hurriedly.

Kyle shook his head. “No, that’s okay. Can we get a bottle of sparkling water for the table? And the Aegean platter for a starter. Do you like shrimp?” he asked me.

“I love shrimp,” I answered with a smile.

Once the waitress went to put in our drink and appetizer order, Kyle gave me a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have assumed you’d want wine. I’d noticed you don’t drink. I should have been more considerate.”

“It’s fine. I mean, I used to drink,” I waved away his apology.

Kyle’s smile turned to a grin. “Yeah, I seem to remember that time you did keg stands at Tucker Baldwin’s field party. You drank the entire football team under the table.”

I groaned. “I also spent the entire next day throwing up my insides. I’ve only had a hangover like that a handful of times in my life, but that one was the first and perhaps the worst.”

Kyle laughed. “You were always a force of nature. You were the best at everything, even keg stands.”

I laughed too. “I don’t know about being the best at everything, but yeah, I could hold my alcohol.”

“What made you give it up? I mean, good for you. I wish I could, but a cold beer after work keeps me sane,” he said with a smirk.

I started to pick at my thumbnail—a nervous habit. “Oh, you know, I just thought it was time. Getting wasted only led to bad decisions, and the party scene in L.A. is hard to keep up with unless you’re willing to leave your liver on deposit.”