“I’m here to have lunch with Mr. Cromwell.” Holy sautéed mushrooms, is that really my voice? All sassy, proper, and prim, talking to the hostess, who is dressed entirely in black from head to toe and is wearing a black lace mask. So that’s real. I always wondered.
“Oh, yes. Miss Grayson?”
Okay, yeah, so Toren is here already, like I figured. I knew he’d beat me here, and I didn’t dawdle. He has this crazy skill where he’s always early no matter how early anyone else tries to be. I swear, it’s a talent. He’ll always beat everyone by a minute, at the very least. It’s like he plans it down to a science.
I nod, realizing the hostess is looking at me, waiting for a response. It’s kind of hard to tell, given that the mask covers half her face, but I think she’s waiting.
“Right this way.”
I follow her tall, lithe figure through the restaurant. As I walk behind the hostess, I spot a table with a family of four—a big man who fills out his flowered shirt to overflowing, a tiny wife, and two teenage kids. The big man snatches the lobster off his plate, puts it on the table, and pounds it with his fist, cracking it nicely.
I have to say, I’m impressed. That’s a crazier skill than being early.
It’s impossible to miss Toren’s broad form in one of the middle tables. He’s seated with his back to the door, meaning he wasn’t watching for me, and he trusted me to come. Or it could be that he doesn’t care, and this is just him acknowledging a fact. Maybe he’ll offer me money and tell me to have a good life. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Good gravy. The last thing I need is more stomach spins. Why, why, why did I suggest lobster? I’ve never had it before. Not once. Now I think it’s going to be ruined for life. The whole place smells like the underbelly of the ocean mingled with half a truckload of garlic, and all washed in golden butter.
When I slide into the seat opposite Toren at the table, I refuse to let those broad shoulders, the expensive suit he has on, and his built, huge, manly, muscly, athletic build get to me. The fact that he’s probably a good head taller than any man in the place and could rock any billboard or magazine cover anywhere on the planet isn’t relevant. Well, to me. And nope, the stares of two of the female servers walking around with masks on their faces, the double-take of one male server with a particularly large mask, and the interest of at least three old ladies and two younger women who are sitting at the tables surrounding us, don’t bother me one bit.
He can attract all the attention he wants like he always did. It never bothered me. I was secure in his love. Until that went to pot, but hmmm, there’s no use living in the past.
When I pull up my chair, I mean to do it gracefully, but Toren is so big that our knees nearly collide under the table. Apparently, there isn’t a table in existence—at least in a restaurant that needs to conserve space—built to accommodate men the size of a mountain, including all the trees, goats, and tumbling rocks that live on them. I’m also not on the shorter side. At five-nine, I have to angle my knees away quickly to avoid touching Toren. Still, his body heat is all hot under the table, and my panties feel strangely damp. It must be the hot weather. I’m probably a sweaty mess. It’s also likely since my breasts feel heavy, and my thighs are tingling. Humidity. It can do strange things to a person.
Toren has a menu on the table, a glass of sparkling water, and a grim expression on his face. I think he’s trying to go for nonchalance, or maybe this is his poker face. It kind of looks like constipation, which makes me want to giggle, so I grab my menu and duck my head. I wonder what you can get here other than lobster, lobster, and more lobster.
I realize I’m just avoiding the conversation we need to have. When I look around, I also notice that the servers would rather stare at Toren and appreciate him from afar for as long as possible, which buys me some time.
I drop the menu and study the once love of my life.
When I look at him now, I see my son.
It throws me for a second, so all I can do is stare at him while I refocus. Get it together. You can do this. He’s earned a good telling off, so you have nothing to be ashamed of. Be brave and fight back. Standing up for yourself doesn’t mean you can’t be scared, but just don’t let him see it.