“Are you still planning to tell me why you took off the other morning?” I ask quietly. Old Serena never would’ve dared ask that question. She would’ve accepted what little crumbs of attention were given to her. I squirm in my seat, uncomfortable that I asked, but needing to know.
He lets out a long, slow breath and stares at our intertwined hands.
“I like you a lot, Serena.” He lifts his gaze, meeting my eyes.
“I like you too. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be risking my job to see you outside of work.”
His upper lip curls as if that’s an inconvenient fact he’d forgotten. “Now that I’ve had time to think it over, it was stupid.”
I wait quietly for him to continue. What was stupid? Asking me out? Leaving me the other morning? Or something that has nothing to do with me?
“Inside, hanging onto your sanity is a challenge sometimes,” he begins in a distant tone. “Long hours. Day in. Day out. It never ends. Nothing to look forward to.”
Unsure of what to say, I squeeze his hands, hoping he’ll continue.
He sighs. “You let your mind wander but not too much or you might not get it back.” He flashes a pained smile. “But when you’re not busy trying to survive, you try to focus on the future. Reflect on your mistakes. Think about how to become a better person when you get out.”
“Sure. That makes sense.”
“I was married when I was sentenced.”
Shit, shit, shit. His words land on me like a pile of bricks.
I withdraw my hands, resting them under the table in my lap. He doesn’t react to my withdrawal.
“We’re divorced, Serena. I wouldn’t lie about that.” He taps the side of his head. “But one of those things I held onto while I was planning my future was getting back together with her.”
“And?”
“I met you.”
Huh? I lean in and tilt my head. “I feel like you skipped some key pieces of information.”
He shifts his jaw from side to side. “I didn’t go see her right away. But having you show up to the clubhouse the other night, when all I’d been doing was thinking about you, lit a fire under my ass.”
“To go see…your ex-wife?” I say slowly.
He plows through my sarcasm. “I wanted to be sure…before I started anything with you.”
I can’t decide if what he did was honorable. I appreciate his honesty but the feeling that I’m some sort of consolation prize creeps into my mind. “And?” I prompt.
“Nothing. She’s remarried. Has a kid. A nice house in the suburbs.” He waves his hand dismissively but I sense the hurt underneath his words.
“Here’s your avocado fries!” Our waitress appears at the side of our table and plops a plate piled high with Parmesan-crusted avocado pieces and chipotle dipping sauce in the middle of the table, then sets down our drinks. “The rest of your order will be out in a few minutes.”
Ignoring or not noticing the tension at our table, she stands there beaming at us, waiting for further instructions.
“Thank you,” Grayson says without taking his eyes off me.
She spins on her heel, her high ponytail swishing as she bounces away.
I take a second to collect my thoughts.
“So, if she hadn’t been married, you wouldn’t be here with me right now?” I’ve been second to last my whole life. Never anyone’s priority. Why does it still surprise me? “Is that what you’re trying to explain?”
“She forgot me a long time ago.”
“That’s not what I asked.” Dammit. I might have made a heap of mistakes, but I’m trying to learn from at least some of them. “I don’t want to be a rebound or a transition in someone’s life.”
“Is that what you think this is?” He doesn’t say it like a challenge—more like he’s genuinely questioning it himself.
“You tell me.” I dip one of the fries into the creamy sauce and take a big bite. That’ll stop me from saying anything else.
He sighs and glances down at his plate. “I don’t know. I probably have no business with you. You’re too damn young. You have a career. I’m still trying to adjust and figure my shit out. I’m an ex-con with not a lot to offer you.”
I swallow and take a long sip of my water. “But?”
A confident, bordering on cocky smile curls his lips. “Obviously, I’m very bad at doing the right thing.”
I snort and almost choke on my water. “I’m familiar with the concept.”
“I can’t picture you doing anything wrong.”
“You need a better imagination, then.” I push the plate of fries closer to him. “Try one?”
He studies them for a long time before picking one up, dipping it in the sauce, and taking a bite.
“Here ya go!” Our waitress returns and sets our dinners in front of each of us.
I slide the fries to the side to make room and ask for another water before she skips off again.