“I wonder if that’s what it’s like for royalty?” I muse, spearing one of the fried green tomatoes and placing it on my plate.
“If it is, that’s probably why they always look so pissed,” he answers, and I giggle.
We talk about random things as we devour our appetizer, and when our meals arrive, we pick food off each other’s plate without permission. Once we finish, we agree to share the chocolate molten lava cake and vanilla bean ice cream for dessert.
“Oh my God,” I whisper as warm chocolate and cold ice cream meet my tongue.
“That good?” Gareth asks, and I look up at him, about to make a joke, but the look in his eyes is so hot I feel it sizzle against my skin, making my toes curl.
“It’s good,” I whisper with nothing else to say. He nods, not even lifting his spoon to take a bite. Instead, he lifts his chin to someone over my shoulder, and a moment later, Simon appears.
“Can we get the check?”
“Mack insisted your meal be on the house this evening,” Simon replies, and Gareth’s jaw ticks.
Reading his expression, I reach for his hand and he looks at me. “You can always leave a tip.”
“Are you finished?” he asks. Even though I wouldn’t mind having another bite of cake, the shortness of his tone tells me I shouldn’t, so I nod. “Let’s go.” He stands then offers me his hand to help me from my seat, and I take it. I turn to grab my bag from the table as he tosses two hundred-dollar bills down, and my eyes widen.
Feeling a little awkward about what’s happened the last couple of minutes, I look at Simon and smile. “Thank you.”
The older man pulls his eyes off the money waiting for him and grins at me. “Come back soon.”
I make a non-committal sound as warmth and pressure are applied to my lower back to lead me away. When we reach the parking lot and stop at the passenger door of his SUV, I look up at Gareth and break the silence. “I think a two-hundred-dollar tip was overkill.”
“That was our first date. If I couldn’t afford to take you there, I wouldn’t have.” The angry tone in his voice surprises me.
“Okay.” My brows draw together in confusion.
“I have two boys I’m raising on my own, and everyone who knows me knows that my ex walked out and left me with bills, a mortgage, and two boys to take care of.”
I shake my head, unsure of the point he’s trying to make. “And?”
“And I don’t like people feeling sorry for me,” he growls.
Realization slams against me, making my temper flare, and I turn to face him fully. “You think your friend Mack offered dinner on the house because he felt sorry for you?” I know my voice is full of disbelief. He doesn’t respond with more than a twitch of his jaw. “My dad owns a construction business; he’s always getting free stuff from the people he works for. It’s the way of the world. When you help someone, they want you to know they appreciate you, and if they are able to give you something to show it, they do.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it? Why? Because you’re a single father whose ex left him?” I laugh without humor. “Maybe instead of feeling thankful the next time I get a gift card from one of my students’ parents, I should be offended that they think I’m a poor teacher who can’t get a cup of coffee from Starbucks without their help.”
“Again, that’s different.”
“Is it, or is your ego so big that you can’t accept a gesture of gratitude without thinking someone is doing something for you, not out of kindness but pity?”
He looks away.
I sigh, wondering how we got to this point, when tonight was going so well. Feeling disappointed and frustrated, I turn to open the door.
“You’re right,” he says, surprising me, and I stop to look at him over my shoulder.
“About which part?”
“All of it. When my ex left, I had to depend on people to help me out, and it ate at me every time I had to ask someone for a favor.”
“You’re lucky you even had people you could lean on,” I reply quietly.
“You’re right.”
“I know I am.”
“Fuck,” he clips, tipping his head back toward the sky. “I shouldn’t have given that guy two hundred dollars.”
“You really shouldn’t have,” I agree, turning to face him.
“Especially after he kept fucking interrupting us.”
The statement erases the tension between us, and I throw my head back and laugh. Once I have myself under control, I wipe the tears from my face.
“He was our waiter. It was his job to deliver food and check on us.”
“He was annoying.” His fingers curl around the side of my neck and he dips his head toward mine. “Are we good?”