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“What?” he says, his dark brows arching dramatically. “Too much?”
I make a gesture with my thumb and forefinger. “A little.”
Charles parks the car and comes around, opening our doors like we’re royalty. He tells James to text him when we’re ready to come home, and I suddenly feel giddy, like I’m a teenager again, playing hooky from school or something, or heading to a party I’ve been forbidden to go to. Or at least, I figure that’s what it feels like to be a normal teen. I never had much of a childhood, and my teenage years were a struggle.
“Where are we going?” I ask as James puts his hand at the small of my back, the warmth of his touch coming through my top, and guides me down the street to our left. The air smells like a mixture of car exhaust, cigarette smoke, and rain coming soon, and it’s more humid than it is in the countryside. All around me are lights and people and the sounds of the city. I can feel their presence in the air, pulsing through me. My ears ring with the vibration of a thousand conversations. I can smell food frying, hear music playing. I can see the soft light pouring from the buildings, casting shadows from all around.
“Just a restaurant I’m a fan of,” James says as his hand falls away. “Hope you like Italian.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“Well, you strike me as a woman of many surprises,” he says. “Now if we could just get you to tell me what they are…”
I give him a coy glance. “Maybe you’ll find out.”
Laila, stop it, I tell myself. Just stop.
He gives me a sexy, crooked smile. “Maybe I will.”
Ugh. What the hell is happening here? He’s flirting with me, and I’m flirting with him, and that’s just a horrible idea all around. I promise myself to have no more than one drink with dinner, because something tells me this man has the power to make me do very regrettable things.
We reach the restaurant, a tiny Italian place, and James holds the door open for me. I step inside and immediately feel transported to the streets of Rome, or so the décor implies. The walls are decorated with photos of the Italian countryside; there’s a display of masks and an ornate vase with an olive tree in it. Along the left side of the restaurant are a few booths; at one of them I recognize Piper and Harrison. Her eyes go wide when she sees me, and she smiles, while Harrison twists in his seat to look as we come over.
“Laila,” Piper says. “I didn’t know you’d be coming.”
She gets out of her seat and comes and gives me a hug. I go stiff and lightly pat her back, surprised at her sudden affection. I only talked with her and Harrison for a little bit when they were visiting Eddie and Monica, but I guess she’s the hugger type. I’m definitely not.
“She’s on her fourth glass of wine,” Harrison says good-naturedly, getting to his feet.
Piper sighs and releases me before reaching over to smack him on the arm. “Hey, I’m not drunk, I’m friendly,” she scolds him, exaggerating the last word.
Harrison gives her a wry smile and then nods at me. “Nice to see you again, Laila. Glad you could join us.”
“Finally convinced her to leave the house,” James says.
I give him a puzzled look. “Finally? This is the first time you’ve invited me.”
“There were others. Perhaps I wasn’t direct enough,” he says.
“James? Not direct? That’s a new one,” Harrison says with a laugh.
James sits down beside him, and I slide into the booth beside Piper.
A waitress who has been hovering nearby pounces on us with the menus, rattling off the specials, but I’m not listening to her. I’m thinking of what James just said. When on earth had he invited me out to town with him? Sure, he did so the first day we really met, but after that…
And then I realize he’s been doing it all this time, and no, he wasn’t direct enough. There was one night when he asked me what I was doing and I said I was going to bed. Another morning I passed him in the halls and he said I ought to go out and enjoy the fresh air. Yet another time after dinner he announced he was heading into town and followed that with an awkwardly long pause, as if waiting for me to say something.
“Miss?” the waitress says to me.
I tear my eyes away from James and blink at her. “Sorry, what?”
“What will you have to drink? Wine with the table or…?”
“We got another bottle of red,” Piper says as she nudges me and nods at the empty bottle in the middle of the table that the waitress is removing. “It’s delicious.”
I give her a quick smile. “Red wine can give me a headache sometimes,” I admit, then tell the waitress I’d like an Aperol Spritz. Trendy, yes, but a drink that’s perfect for the last days of summer.
“Looking forward to going home?” James asks the couple.
