Page 17 of ClickBack

“You skate?”

“I was good.”

“Was?”

“I’ve already beaten you at one thing today. Let me eat.”

He leans back, laughing. I watch his dimples appear and disappear while the women find the next song. I like him at this table. I like that he is interested in a shoe box and willing to be reprimanded about sauce. None of it cancels out the way I’ve been looking at his mouth. It gives me more reasons to do it.

Our plates empty. Miss Lorna takes them and leaves the mac and cheese because Jarrett is still working on it. I should be deciding how to say goodnight. Instead, I ask for another fork and steal a bite.

He watches me. “Thought you were done.”

“I was misinformed.”

“Happens.”

I set the fork down. “Do you do this often?”

“Feed women mac and cheese?”

“Take somebody you just met to dinner.”

“Not much.” He considers the answer before continuing. “Usually things are more straightforward.”

“Straight to your place.”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m not offended. I asked.”

“You disappointed?”

I look at the nearly empty dish between us. “No. I’m trying to be as honest as you are.”

He leaves me room to do that. I look down at the fork beside my plate, buying a little time, although he has given me no reason to be afraid of saying what I want. Maybe that is what has me hesitating. If I say it plainly and he wants it, too, I will have to get up from this table and be the woman who said it. I look at his hands resting beside the dish. I have been wondering about them since he picked up Zion’s ball. I’m tired of pretending the question I’m trying to answer is whether I want to go home.

“I’m not looking for a relationship tonight,” I say.

“Neither am I.”

“And I don’t need a promise to make it all right that I might want something else.”

His expression changes just enough to make me glad I said it. “What do you want, Giselle?”

I hold his attention rather than answering immediately. For once, I enjoy being the person who can keep someone waiting.

“I’m still deciding how much to tell you.”

He laughs softly. “Take your time.”

Miss Lorna arrives with the check and the brisk assurance of a woman whose chairs will soon be on her tables. Jarrett pays. I thank her for dinner, and she tells me to come back without waiting for him to remember where she is.

“I might,” I say.

“See?” she tells Jarrett. “Some people know how to answer.”

Outside, the air has cooled. Graves’s SUV sits at the far end of the lot. Jarrett lifts a hand, and Graves returns the gesture before pulling away.