A couple hours go by when there’s a knock at the door, surprising me a little until Dad explains that he invited Julia and Stephen back for dinner tonight. They join us in the living room, and Julia cozies up beside me to check out my new computer.
“How was the rest of your night?” she asks quietly, and I smile at her concern. Julia was sweet to apologize for bringing up my secret boyfriend and unleashing my father’s disapproval.
“Pretty good,” I reply.
“Well, I’m here if you ever want to talk about…you know, girl things.”
Smiling, I rest my head on her shoulder. Her offer is sweet, but something tells me she won’t really welcome a girl-talk session about my choice of beau. Might be a little too squicky, even for Julia. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Later in the afternoon, I head back to the kitchen to start the vegetables and potatoes for dinner. It’s late enough in the day that I don’t feel guilty pouring myself a glass of wine before I get started washing and peeling the vegetables. I’ve just started chopping the carrots after putting the potatoes on the stove when Owen saunters in.
“Your dad sent me in for beer,” he says, explaining himself as though I might mind the pleasant interruption.
Smiling, I set down the knife and wipe my hands on a dishtowel. I step away from the counter, peering out toward the living room to be sure we’re alone before I address him. I still keep my distance as I lean back against the counter I was working on and he remains by the fridge. It’s obvious we still don’t trust ourselves to be too close to one another, but the way his eyes roam the entire length of my body hungrily—lingering on my chest and probably imagining what he knows I’m wearing underneath—tells me what he’d like to be doing right now. And, to be honest, I would like nothing more than that, too.
I shake the image of him sweeping the countertop clear and throwing me onto it from my mind and smile brightly. “You know, for a man who has a problem with me seeing an older man,” I say, keeping my voice low, “he sure has a habit of throwing us together.”
Owen chuckles, cracking one of the beer bottles open and taking a drink. “Huh. You’ve got a point.” He takes a look around the kitchen before focusing on me again. “You need a hand in here?” he offers.
I shake my head, smiling appreciatively. “Thanks, but I think I’ve got it covered.”
Suddenly, Owen’s eyes lift above my head, and I turn around to see Stephen entering the kitchen. Nodding courteously, he smiles at us both. “Amy. Owen.”
“Well,” Owen says, his blue eyes dancing nervously from Stephen to me as he picks up the beer bottles again, “if you don’t need a hand in here, I should take these to the living room.”
“Of course,” I tell him, turning back to my vegetable chopping. “Thanks for offering to help.”
Owen walks past Stephen, who remains in the entryway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes curious. I try not to focus on his presence, but I can feel his eyes on me. My anxiety begins to spike as I’m reminded that this is how he looked at me last night when my dating life was the center of attention, but I try to keep it from my face as I look up at Stephen.
“Hey.” I know it’s super lame, but I’m not sure what else to say.
He smiles again, and there’s something about it that worries me a little. Okay, not a little; it worries me a lot. “How are things going, Amy? It feels like forever since we’ve talked.”
“Uh, good,” I reply. “School’s been keeping me pretty busy.”
“And you’re enjoying your classes?”
I smile, finally feeling at ease again, like I was misreading Stephen’s body language a minute ago. I guess ever since Carla caught me with my legs around Owen and his hands up my dress, I’ve been pretty quick to assume we’re more than a little transparent. “I am. I mean, there are a few classes that are pretty snooze-inducing, but I manage.”
Stephen steps into the kitchen and sits across from me at the island while I continue chopping. There’s a moment of silence between us, and the vibes that suddenly thicken the air in the room make my hands tremble slightly. Does he know? I guess it wouldn’t surprise me if he picked up on something between Owen and me; he’s always been pretty aware—even more so than Julia, sometimes.
Should I bring it up? What if he doesn’t know? Then I’m just ratting myself out and putting him in the same precarious situation as Carla.
Every second that passes has my anxiety rising, and I find it hard to focus on the task of preparing dinner. I don’t think it would be the end of the world if Stephen and Julia knew; I bet we’d feel a little better to be able to tell someone, but is now the best time?