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“But you’re not.”
He just shrugs. “I’m happy enough. I have a great job. I like my work.”
“You’re very successful in your professional life.”
“Yeah. It’s just my private one that sucks.” He rolls his eyes.
I finish off my drink. I’ve had several glasses of mulled wine, the G&T, and now a martini, and I’m starting to feel loose and relaxed. While he pours me another, I study him, thinking how gorgeous he is. I wonder how many girls he’s been with since Shaz. He hasn’t talked about dating since he broke up with her, even though it’s obviously been more than two years. I study him with a frown, puzzled. “Why aren’t you dating anyone else?”
He doesn’t reply. Instead, he finishes off the whisky in the glass, then leans forward to pour himself another measure. I watch as he picks up the box of chocolates, takes off the wrapping, and opens it up. “Go on,” he says, “I know you want one.”
I examine them. “If you’re trying to distract me, it’s not going to work.”
He just sighs.
“I’m guessing you don’t want one,” I say, choosing a caramel truffle.
“That’s correct.”
“You’re the only person I know who doesn’t like chocolate.”
“I’m sweet enough.”
“Sweet isn’t the word I’d use to describe you,” I say with feeling.
“What word would you use?”
Tasty? Gorgeous? Mouthwatering?
He takes the lid off the Pringles, peels back the seal, extracts a pile, and takes a bite out of it as he waits for me to answer.
“Monster,” I choose. “Nobody eats Pringles like that.”
“Life’s too short to eat one at a time.”
I nibble the caramel truffle, enjoying the flow of soft caramel onto my tongue. “If life’s too short, why aren’t you on Tinder, dating a different girl every night?”
“Because I’d be a withered husk if I did that. I’m not twenty-one anymore.”
I giggle. “All right, not every night, but once a week, say. You’re young, single, and gorgeous. Every woman would swipe right on you. You’d be able to pick and choose.”
He shudders. “I can’t think of anything more horrific. Companionship is based on having common interests. You can’t tell that from three keywords on a bio.”
I eat the other half of the truffle, amused. “Companionship? You’re practically Victorian, Henry. I’m talking about sex.”
He leans back and sighs. Finally, his gaze rises to meet mine.
My heart skips a beat. “There is someone,” I whisper.
He doesn’t reply. He just sips his whisky, his gaze meeting mine over the rim of the glass.
I’m shocked at the way I feel at that revelation—as if I’ve been punched in the stomach.
“Who is she?” I ask.
He looks into his drink and sighs again.
“Have you told her how you feel?” I ask.
