Hearing this is a relief, and I’m glad that, even with how angry he was, he had the presence of mind to keep himself safe. “So…is he…? How bad is it?”
“He won’t tell me much, I’m afraid. How are you?”
That’s all it takes to force the tears from my eyes, and I quickly excuse myself before I draw the attention of all of the other patrons. I move to the back of the restaurant and hang out by the washrooms. “I feel awful. I never meant for him to find out this way, Carla.” I’m bawling and my lungs start to burn as I enter the beginning stages of hyperventilation.
“I know you didn’t, sweetie. Had I known he was heading down when he was, I’d have called you. He didn’t even tell me.”
“No,” I tell her, sniffling and shaking my head. “This isn’t your fault. It’s ours. We should have just told him when all of this began. Keeping it from him was stupid…we just thought…” I growl in frustration. “I don’t know what we were thinking, if I’m being honest. I guess I thought that if we could tell him in our own time and in our own way that he might not react the way he did.”
Carla tells me she understands, and that she’s tried to talk some sense into him, but that he’s still trying to process everything. “I’ll keep talking to him, Amy. I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “For everything. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry we dragged you into our mess. It wasn’t fair of us.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Okay,” I reply, hanging up the phone and slipping it back in my pocket. I step into the washroom to clean up. After blowing my nose, I use the pads of my fingers to wipe the tears from beneath my eyes and grimace at how red and puffy they look. I give myself a couple more minutes when there’s a light knock at the door. It doesn’t surprise me when it opens a crack and Owen pops his head in.
“You all right?” he asks as I step out into the hall.
I nod, though it’s definitely forced. “Yeah…or, I will be, I think. He’s home,” I tell him. “Apparently he stayed at a hotel last night and drove back today.”
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Owen tells me.
“Yup. He’s still pissed, though.”
“Not surprising.” Owen pauses, offering me a comforting smile. “You still want to stay and eat? We could always grab something to go? Talk a little more back at the apartment?”
I take a deep, calming breath. “No. Let’s stay. This is our first official date, and I don’t want to spoil it.”
Chuckling, Owen wraps his arms around me, kissing the top of my head. “Sweetheart, there’s no way you could ruin tonight.”
We head back to our table and order our food. I’m surprised at how hungry I am, and I polish off my burger and fries in what has to be some kind of record. After paying the bill and leaving a decent tip, Owen and I walk back toward the theater where we left the car. Once we pull out onto the street, I turn to look at Owen. “Can we stay at your place tonight?”
Smiling, he reaches across and takes my hand. “We can stay wherever you’d like.”
“Thanks.”
“Should we stop by your place so you can grab a few things?” he inquires, and I nod in response.
After packing an overnight bag and a couple changes of clothes—you know, in case one night turns into three or four—we’re en route for his condo. He parks in the underground parking garage next to Gretchen’s old car, and we take the elevator up to his floor.
I drop my bag off in Owen’s room, and when I come out, he’s waiting for me with two glasses of wine. With a smile, I take one from him and follow him to the living room, where we settle down on the couch. He turns on the TV and puts an episode of Game of Thrones on, then he pulls my feet into his lap and begins to rub them.
He’s scoring more and more brownie points.
I can feel my entire body relax as the wine warms my blood and his fingers massage the pressure points in my feet. It’s the most relaxed I’ve been in the last twenty-four hours, and I have Owen to thank. Even though he’s struggling with the same issue as me, he’s been nothing short of amazing as he tries to keep me as distracted as possible…
I suppose I could return the favor.
Drinking the last of my wine, I set the glass on the coffee table and pull my feet from his hands and move to my knees on the couch and crawl toward him. He looks at me, confused a little at first until I straddle his lap and begin trailing kisses along his jaw. I can feel the conflict in his body language—how he wants to give into the desire, yet he’s holding back out of respect for me.