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Leaning in, Alex asks with a hint of flirtation, “Would you like something to drink?”
“Yes, sorry. A glass of Pinot Grigio. Please,” I reply directly to the server.
He nods and takes Alex’s order—an Old Fashioned with an extra cherry—then scurries off to retrieve them.
“Is that your usual?”Really, Jaclyn?We’ll likely never share a meal together again after tonight; there’s no reason for small talk.
“Sort of. I don’t drink often, but when I do, that’s what I order. It is a special occasion, after all.” His smile meets his eyes, and they don’t leave mine as he takes a drink of water. I’m staring too long and quickly glance away into the sea of people seated for dinner. “He’s a lucky man.”
My gaze snaps back to him. “Excuse me?”
“He’s a lucky man,” Alex repeats, with a tinge of sadness in his tone. “I’m sure you two will be very?—”
A server appears with our dinner, unfortunately without our drinks. Mine is chicken that’s seen better days, and Alex has the steak Chris requested; although it also appears to be less than desirable and could feed a small toddler at best. Considering how much our families paid for this, I’m genuinely surprised by the quality. Or rather, lack thereof.
Once they are out of earshot, Alex shakes his head with a soft laugh, muttering to himself, “Of course he’d order the steak.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you vegetarian?”
“Hardly.” He places his napkin on his lap with a huff, and slices into the meat with his dull steak knife. “I suppose you don’t follow what your husband supports.”
Of course he had to ruin the evening by turning it into a political pissing match over cattle.
I fold my napkin in half and drape it across my lap. “I’m well aware of what Chris supports. A good wife stands by her husband’s policies and beliefs. Why do you have an issue with him asking for additional tax incentives on the Livestock Health and Wellness Act?” I fork a small piece of broccoli a little too forcefully, and it flies off my plate and onto Alex’s. “Shit.I’m so sorry!”
Mid-chew, he still manages to let out a full laugh. He pierces the broccoli and brings it to his mouth, about to take a bite. After a long pause, he doesn’t and sets it down on his plate, lifting his napkin to wipe the corner of his mouth. “First of all, I love that you said ‘shit.’ But yourhusbandis worried about the price of beef when the farmers and ranchers want to create regulations to ensure the wellbeing of their livestock.”
“I’m aware.” I reach over and take his fork, eating my rogue broccoli off it and setting it back down on his plate.
“You supportthat?”
“I support my husband.”
The server delivers our drinks and Alex thanks him, sliding a bill into the man’s hand. He stammers, “Gratuity is included, sir.”
“I won’t tell, if you won’t.” Alex winks with an adorable smirk. “Keep ‘em coming.”
The man slips away, and I can’t help asking, “Why are you being so difficult?”
“You only get married once.” He shrugs and takes a long sip of his drink. “So, based on your logic, if the two of us were married, you would support the ranchers in creating safe environments for their livestock?”
I take a quick survey of our surroundings to ensure no one could be listening in. “Yes, I would.”
“And if you weren’t married?”
I drink a third of my wine quickly, annoyed to admit, “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I would support the ranchers,” I huff, but quickly adjust my posture and ensure my soft smile is in place in case someone photographs a candid shot. “It doesn’t matter what I want.”
“It matters. Your opinion matters…Youmatter, Jaclyn.” Alex bites his lip and chuckles softly, “It’s a shame we’re not married. I could’ve used your wifely support in committee.”
With my jaw tight, my painted-on smile remains intact as I lift my chin. “Truly a shame,” I reply sarcastically, but my rehearsed smile becomes more real by the second.
A small dimple appears as he continues eating without another word. I’ve lost my appetite, only taking a few bites of my overcooked chicken and under-seasoned vegetables before setting my napkin on the table. Alex cuts off a small piece of his steak that’s perfectly pink in the middle and offers it to me. With a few sets of eyes on me, I reluctantly lean in and take a bite. It’s surprisingly flavorful, though my stomach is still in knots and I don’t think I could eat any more.
“Would you like to finish mine?” he asks. His brows are pinched with genuine concern, and I reply with a shake of my head, taking a sip of my wine. “Are you sure? You’ve barely touched your dinner.”
