Still smiling and chuckling a little, she set her fork down and rested her elbows on the table, staring at her plate thoughtfully. “Can I tell you, I like that you ordered two sandwiches at Capriotti’s. I’ve been thinking about it a lot and I think I need to be more like that. I need to order two sandwiches when I can’t decide which one I want. I can always take leftovers home, so it’s not like it’ll go to waste. There’s no reason I shouldn’t order two sandwiches.”
Her little tirade had me grinning.
Then she asked, “Can I try yours next time?”
“Of course.” I shrugged, my voice lowering in the way I knew would make her blush. “You can have anything you want.”
At the suggestiveness in my tone, her eyes cut to mine. She did blush. She also leaned back in her chair to study me.
“Dan.”
“Yeah?”
“Talk to me about gratitude.”
“Gratitude?” I blinked.
“Why do you hate it when I thank you for helping me?”
Grimacing, I moved my attention to some random point over her shoulder. “So, here’s the thing . . .”
I didn’t know how to start, and that was the God’s honest truth. Things were good up ’til now, even with the talk of Tiny Satan. But this shit? I hated talking about my dad. I hated thinking about him.
But she’d asked. And she deserved an answer.
“I don’t know if you have any experience with something like this, but I don’t like the idea of making the same mistakes as my parents.”
“I might have some experience with that, yes.” She smiled warmly, giving me the impression she didn’t mind the absurdity of my statement, and nodded for me to continue.
I placed my fork next to my plate, wiped my hands on my napkin, crossed my arms, and stared at a crumb of vanilla cake on the table. Tired to my bones all of a sudden, I was too exhausted to explain the whole sordid history of my family.
“Look, gratefulness isn’t a reason for two people to be together. It always ends, and it always ends badly. One person feels worthless, the other person feels bitter and trapped. I need to know the reason you’re giving us a shot doesn’t have anything to do with gratitude.”
She studied me, the movement of her hands snagging my attention. She was twisting the ring on her left finger, the ring I’d given her at the hospital. Seeing her wearing it, realizing that she’d been wearing it all week, improved my mood like not much else could’ve in that moment.
“You don’t want me to be grateful because you don’t want us to start—for things between us to start—with gratitude as a foundation?”
I gave her a small smile, wanting to convey that I wasn’t upset with her. It was the memory of what my father had done that pissed me off.
“Yeah. That’s part of it. But I also don’t want you to be grateful for something I did thinking only of myself.”
“You’re telling me, you married me because you wanted to? You want to be married? To me?”
I tilted my head back and forth, considering how best to answer. “More like, anything that paves the way for you to give me a shot—as long as you weren’t doing it out of gratitude—and anything that kept you from marrying someone else, I’d sign up for.”
“I still don’t understand why this is such a big deal to you. But, Dan, I am grateful. I can’t help that.”
A familiar coldness, frustration snuffed out all my good humor.
Kat reached across the table, her palm up in invitation. “But gratitude has nothing to do with the way I kissed you at the Clerk’s office. When I think about you, when I’ve thought about you over the last two plus years, gratitude was never the first—or the second, or the third—thought in my mind.”
Oh.
Well.
If she’s going to put it like that.
“What was the first thought?”
She huffed a self-conscious laugh, moving to withdraw her hand but I caught it before she could.
“You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.” I dropped my voice again, hoping to see her pink cheeks while I held her hand and gaze captive.
Her stare grew a little hazy. “Lust.”
I grinned, because it was the right answer, and I leaned forward. “And what’s the second?”
She didn’t hesitate. “I didn’t deserve you.”
What the—?
If one of us didn’t deserve the other, I was definitely the undeserving asshole in this scenario. “Why would you think that?”
“Because—”
“Because of the guys you’ve been with? Because, I have to tell you, being with other people doesn’t make you any more or less deserving of happiness. It’s like owning a couch. Why should anyone care if you own a couch?”