“So, you want to play a game?” he said.
“What kind of game?” The mind reeled.
“I say something and you say the first thing that comes to your mind. Then you can turn it around on me.”
“Okay.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin and took a sip of water.
“What was the first thing that came to your mind when you saw me?” he asked.
“Crap.”
“As in, ‘Oh crap, that is one hot guy?’”
“More like, ‘Oh crap, that is not a girl.’”
“Fair enough. What was the second thing you thought when you saw me?”
“Trouble.”
He laughed loudly, startling the other diners.
“Is it my turn?” I said.
“Go ahead,” he said, leaning back as if to prepare himself.
“First thing you thought when you saw me?”
“I had three simultaneous thoughts. One —” He held one finger up. “— stunning, two —” Another finger. “— this can’t be real, and three, that I really, really hoped I was going to get to share a room with you so I could stare at you all the time.
“You were only supposed to use one word.”
“Missy, one word can’t describe you.” I’d say the same about him.
“Okay, how about this. What’s the first thing you think when you wake up?”
“You.”
I rolled my eyes.
“What about you?” he said.
“First thing I think is, ‘Oh crap, I have to get up.’ The second is, ‘I hope Hunter’s blanket is pulled up.’”
“Liar.”
I blushed. Sometimes it was a lie.
“What did you think when you woke up that morning when we were together?” he asked.
“Safe,” I said without thinking.
“Me too. And warm.”
“You do get pretty hot when you sleep. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Missy, I’m always hot,” he said, leaning back farther and smiling.
“Whatever. Okay, how about when I punched you?”
“First was, ‘Ow, she has quite a right hook,’ and second was, ‘That’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.’”
“Really?”
“Missy, nothing is sexier than a woman who can take care of herself. As far as I’m concerned, the 1950s are over. Although, you would look damn cute in a poodle skirt and saddle shoes. But I like you better when you can show your knees and speak without being spoken to. Not that you would have followed those rules anyway.”
“Damn right. I would have been a horrible housewife.”
“Yeah, I can’t see you saying, ‘How was your day, dear?’ and handing me my pipe and slippers.”
“I’d probably chuck them at you.”
“Probably.”
“And then I’d have to punish you,” he said with a wicked smile.
“Would you toss me outside on my ass?” His smile fell.
“I am so sorry about that.” He stared down at his empty plate. I still had some pasta left, but I’d done it on purpose so I could bring some home with me. I never left a restaurant without a doggie bag.
“I know. I just… I’m scared that you’re going to be sweet and nice now and everything will be fine and then I’ll do something and it will happen again. I’ve… I’ve seen how abusive relationships work, and I don’t want that.”
“I would never, ever want you to be afraid of me. Ever.”
“Then make sure it doesn’t happen. Because if it does, I’m gone, and you’ll probably be missing one or more appendages.”
“That’s my girl,” he said. I put my fork down and the waiter came to ask us if we wanted desert. “Want to share something?”
“Do you have red velvet cake?” I said.
“Of course,” the waiter said, as if this was a ridiculous question. How dare I assume that they didn’t have red velvet cake. The nerve.
“Bring two forks, please,” Hunter said. The waiter nodded. “You want to keep playing?”
“Why not?”
“Okay, how about the first thing you thought when you saw me in human sex?” A woman who had been eavesdropping from the next table nearly choked on her filet mignon. That was what she got for listening in.
“Honestly? Oh, fuck,” I whispered the last part so the woman wouldn’t actually choke. I didn’t want to be responsible for that. “You?”
“Score.”
“Ass.”
The cake came and it was glorious, with tons of cream and chocolate drizzle and it was almost too pretty to eat. Almost.
“Ladies first,” Hunter said when we each went at it with our forks. Damn right.
I nearly had a cakegasm at the table. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I moaned.
“Sweet Christ.” I opened my eyes to find Hunter watching me with the strangest expression on his face. “What? It’s really good; you should try some,” I said, pushing the plate at him. It was a testament to how embarrassed I was about the cakegasm that I was even sharing at all.
“I swear, if there weren’t a table between us, I would be kissing you right now. And none too gently.”
I put my fork down and swallowed so I wouldn’t choke.
“You didn’t seem to mind about the recliner,” I said.
“True. But there wasn’t an audience, and that’s a very ugly recliner. This is a very nice table. Also there is glass and sharp things I wouldn’t want hurting you.”
“Good point. Please, have some.”
“If you’re going to make that noise and that face again, I don’t know if I can let you have any more.”
“I’ll be good. I swear.”
“You’re not good. That’s the problem.”
“You’re right. I’m not,” I said, giving him my own smirk. “I do try, though.”
“Cruel. That’s the word to describe you right now.”
“Just have some cake.”
He picked up the fork and took a bite.
“Damn. That is good.” He had another bite and then I had to fight him for the rest of it. I was able to refrain from any further public displays of cake affection.
“I told you.”
“That is some mighty fine cake,” he said with a southern accent. My jaw may have dropped a little. “What? You know I’m half-Texan. I can whip it out every now and then. I tried to get rid of it, but it comes out every now and then, especially when I spend time with my family.”
“Do you have more family in Texas?”
“My dad’s family relocated there from New York when he was a kid. I don’t see them much.”
The waiter came to take our cake plate, and I sat back in my chair. I was satiated.
“Would you excuse me?” I raised an eyebrow at his overt politeness. “I’m being a gentleman, don’t ruin it.”
“Yes, you may be excused, Mr. Zaccadelli.”
“Thank you, Miss Caldwell. I will return momentarily.” He got up and left the restaurant. What the what?
“Are you ready for the check?” The waiter was back.
“Um, sure.” He looked at Hunter’s empty seat with disapproval as if he’d run away and left me.
“He’ll be right back,” I felt the need to say.
“Of course.” He soooo didn’t believe me.
I spent the next thirty seconds staring at the door, praying that Hunter would walk through it. He finally did, and he had something with him. His guitar.
What the hell was he up to?
He didn’t come back to the table, but went right to the guy who was playing the piano, interrupting him in the middle of a song. Hunter leaned in to speak to piano man, who, to his credit, kept playing. Hunter gestured with his hands like he did when he really wanted to get his point across. Piano man nodded and then Hunter said something that made him smile.
He finished his song with a flourish and got up. The entire restaurant turned toward that spot. Piano man waved at a waiter and quickly explained the situation. Waiter went and got a stool and moved the mic away from the piano. I could see where this was going.
Hunter sat down on the stool and pulled his guitar out, settling it so he could play. Everyone watched in fascination.
“Hello, everyone. I’m sorry to disturb your dinner. I’ll only take a few moments of your time.” He adjusted the strap, and I could tell he was nervous. His knee was going a mile a minute. “I just wanted to play a little song for my girl, Taylor, over there. She agreed to come here with me tonight, even after I wasn’t very nice to her. This is part of my apology. I hope you like it.”
Everyone stared at me, and I felt like I was under a spotlight roughly the luminosity of the sun. I wasn’t a big blusher, but I did right then.
He started the song, and I recognized it immediately as Fix You by Coldplay. It was an older song, but one that I’d always loved. I’d never told him that I did and I wondered if he’d picked it for that, or he’d picked it on his own. It didn’t matter.
His voice wrapped around the song, and I could tell he’d sung it a hundred times. I sat back and watched him. He’d started out looking at the guitar, but soon he looked up to find my eyes. The lyrics were perfect for both of us.
We were both broken, trying to become unbroken. Maybe we just needed a little help. Not to fix each other, but to help us fix ourselves.
The chatter in the restaurant ceased as Hunter sang about lights guiding you home. The woman who had been eavesdropping wiped at her eyes with her napkin.
“I will try, to fix you.” He ended the song and the room was silent for half a second. Then there was a smattering of applause that built until Hunter was required to get up and take a bow.
“I’m sorry, Missy. Thank you for listening,” he said into the mic before coming back to our table. He sat down slowly, as if waiting for me to yell at him.
“Well?” he said after I didn’t respond.
“I don’t really know what to say.”
“You’ve never been at a loss for words in your life. Let me have it. You hated it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
I could feel everyone else listening to us.
“Oh, honey, forgive him! My husband would never do something that romantic,” the eavesdropper said. Her husband looked sheepish. I waited for someone else to give their opinion, but no one else came forward.
“I’m not one for public displays, but I think I can make an exception for that. How did you know I loved that song?” I said.
“I didn’t. Lucky guess.”
“The luckiest.” I got up from my seat and went to his, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. It was perfect.”
“It wasn’t, but it means the world that you think so. I meant it. I know we’re both screwed up, but even screwed up people should be able to be happy.”
“I think so, too.” I gave him another kiss, lingering for a moment so I could breathe him in. He snaked his arms around my waist, and I put my head on his for a second. There it was, our bubble, sealing around us again.