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“You okay?” I ask him.
He smiles up at me, the mask of the happy go-lucky A-lister returning. “I’m great. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“No reason,” I say. “It’s not something to be ashamed of. I mean, if a person has dyslexia.”
He tightens his jaw. “Yeah, well, that’s easy for you to say. You don’t have it.”
29
So This is What Intimacy Looks Like…
Hudson
Why did I leave that damn script lying round? And who the hell recognizes a font? Seriously, dating non-geniuses is so much easier. My gut churns. This is it. The moment she’ll start to look at me differently. I don’t see it yet, but that’s because I haven’t come right out and admitted it. But as soon as I do, everything will change. She’ll have all sorts of questions about what it’s like for me to try to read and how it’s affected my life and suddenly I’ll go from being someone who’s not quite as smart as her to someone she pities. And there’s no way I can handle that.
We’re both silent while she plates up our food and brings it over to the island. Setting it down, she says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. I was just … totally prying.”
Crap. Now I made her feel bad. “It’s fine. Let’s forget about it, okay?”
She sits next to me. “Sure. Whatever you want. It’s your thing.”
“Thanks. I appreciate that,” I say, picking up my fork and knife and slicing into the bread and egg. “This looks amazing.”
“It’s an old family recipe.”
Taking a bite, I let out an appreciative moan. “So good.”
“Thanks,” she says, taking a bite of red pepper. Her tone is flat and I know she’s not happy with the abrupt change of subject. But she’s just going to have to get over it because like she said, it’s my thing. Not hers. And I don’t want to talk about it.
We eat in silence, and other than the food being fucking delicious, there’s an awkward tension between us now that I wish I could erase. “So, what do you want to do today? I was thinking we could maybe go for a walk. There’s a little coffee shop a few blocks from here that I’ve been meaning to try.”
“Umm, yeah, maybe. I should probably go back home soon. Do some laundry, get back to work.”
“Right, big deadline and all,” I answer in a light tone.
“Exactly,” she says before popping her last bite in her mouth.
“Well maybe you could come back tonight or … tomorrow?”
“Maybe.” Allie gets up and takes her plate and cutlery to the sink.
Fuck. This is going south fast, isn’t it? Clicking my tongue a few times, I say, “Look, it’s not something I tell people, okay? Nobody knows, other than my parents and Gershwyn. Not even my agent.”
“Is that why you’re upset? Because you think I’m going to blab it all over town?” she asks, leaning against the counter and folding her arms.
“No, obviously not. I trust you,” I answer, irritated that she’d even think I’d think that of her.
“So what’s the problem?”
“I already told you, it’s not something I talk about.”
She stares at me intensely, then says, “I thought we were being honest with each other.”
“We are.”
“But not about this.”
I let out a big sigh. “Look, someone like you will never understand what it’s like to be someone … who’s got what I’ve got going on in my brain.”
