"Good." She twisted the engagement ring absently. "That's good."
For a moment, an awkward silence hung between them. Then she pushed away from the table. "I'll be right back. Ladies' room," she added before moving with remarkable speed across the restaurant.
He wasn't sure if she was leaving to escape what she'd said, to give him space to ponder, or if she really needed the restroom.
He didn't care.
Right then, he was grateful to have a moment alone.
Because she was right. What she'd said was spot on. Bottom line. End of story.
The not-so-fun toy surprise in the bottom of the cereal box.
He'd been playing a role for years, and she was the first person to ever call him on it.
Which was both a delightful surprise and rather disconcerting.
With a sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair, then pulled out his phone.
He held it for a moment, his finger poised over his contacts. Then he drew in a breath and pulled up Marjorie's name.
It would be so easy, he thought. So simple to make a call and find a woman who didn't see his baggage. Who took money in exchange for sex, and that was it. Clean. Simple. Uncomplicated.
So easy to go back to the way it was before Sugar. A time that seemed years away, not just days.
Easy, he thought again, as he tapped the button.
Not to make the call, but to delete the contact entirely.
Symbolic, maybe, but important.
Because since he'd met her, something had shifted inside him. And no matter what happened with Sugar, he knew that he'd never be able to pay a woman for sex again.
"I have a plan," she said as she returned to the table.
"For world domination?"
"Not exactly." She slid into her seat and looked at him earnestly. "This day was perfect until I went and shoved my foot into my mouth. So I propose we go back to Disneyland and pretend like dinner never happened."
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I'm listening."
"That's it. That's my entire plan. It's pretty much all about turning back the clock so that I don't feel like a bumbling ass. But if you'd rather stay and have dessert than let me off the hook, then you just go right ahead and be evil."
"I don't do evil," he said, his expression totally bland as he signaled the waiter. "Don't you read the trades? I'm that nice actor from Iowa."
"Well, then. I guess we're going back to the park."
By the time they were back on Main Street, it was eleven-fifteen, which left them only forty-five minutes inside the Magic Kingdom, but Lyle figured that would be enough. She was right, after all, just being back inside the gates felt like a second chance.
"This is what I used to think it was like," he said, surprising himself with the admission.
She turned her head, frowning slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I didn't grow up in the best of homes. It was ... challenging." He remembered the cramped rooms. The leering men. The haunted women.
"When I was little, I used to hide in t
he cellar. I'd sneak down after I'd done my chores, and I'd sit on the dirt floor and I'd close my eyes and let myself fall asleep as I fantasized about this perfect place. Where the people were friendly, and everyone was happy, and the streets were clean. Where there weren't needles and condoms in the wastebaskets, and a kid didn't have to plan out when to talk to his mother, because without precise timing, she'd either be drunk or high."