“Yeah, but who knows, maybe you’ll move down here,” Christian suggests with a serious face. I immediately laugh, assuming he has to be kidding. He isn’t.
“Christian!” I exclaim. “My life’s in New York.”
“And your life could just as easily be down here. Can you imagine watching Olivia grow up?”
“Yeah … I mean … it would be nice, but I’m a city girl. I wouldn’t know how to handle living in Texas.”
“You seem to be doing just fine to me,” he adds, coming to a stop.
I turn and look up; we were at Baxter’s. “They’re closed,” I remind him.
“Are they?” he asks mischievously, walking to the door and pulling it open.
“Oh—aren’t you Mr. Important? You got them to stay open just for us, huh?”
“Not exactly,” he says, leaving me guessing until the last moment.
I enter through the open door, looking around for other patrons. There are none. In fact, there are no waiters either—no staff of any kind. I follow Christian like a stray puppy, completely unsure what to expect.
“Hey man.” I hear a voice from the far side of the room.
“Tito!” Christian exclaims. “This is Paige.”
Christian steps to one side as I extend a hand in greeting. The man has black hair that’s just beginning to gray at his temples, but he seems to still be quite young.
“I see what you mean. She’s gorgeous,” the man says, smiling at me as he shakes my hand.
“Why thank you,” I reply with a tight-lipped grin and a glance at Christian.
“Well, I’ll let you two get to it. Just lock up when you’re done,” Tito says, handing a cluster of keys to Christian. He turns and exits the building without another word. I’m even more perplexed than before.
“All right, what’s going on?” I question, the suspense insufferable.
“Since I can tell it’s killing you, I’ll tell you. I’m going to make you dinner,” he answers, turning and walking into the kitchen.
“What?” I gasp. “You can’t cook.”
“Actually,” he begins, pulling out a large cast iron skillet from under the counter and placing it on top. “I know how to cook quite well.”
“What in the hell is with Texas? Emmie can cook now, and you, too?” I laugh in disbelief.
“I learned before I came to Texas. If you want to stick around as a roadie, you better make yourself useful, and that means learning how to cook. I had a great teacher, though. Mac.”
“Did you just say Mac? What kind of name is Mac?” I ask, amused.
Christian looks at me disapprovingly; he is obviously sensitive about whoever this Mac character is.
“Sorry, was he like the old wise and elderly roadie who taught you the ropes?”
“No,” he replies, pulling out a tray that is overflowing with veggies. “Mac is short for Mackenzie.”
“Oh.” I gulp. That isn’t the response I’d expected. “Was she your girlfriend?” I ask, not sure I want to head down this path.
I see him smile; I want to kick myself for giving him the satisfaction. I tell myself I’m not jealous, no matter what he thinks.
“I think she wanted to be.”
I think about his reply, slightly disgusted by it. “Too ugly for you? I can only imagine what a roadie chick looks like,” I joke, trying to help him understand how shallow he sounds.
He shakes his head, not looking at me, as he continues to prepare the ingredients for what he’s about to make. “No, she was actually quite beautiful.”
I think about this for a moment. Perhaps I misunderstand the implication, “Oh—I see—so she was just a booty call, then?”
“Jesus, you don’t think very much of me, do you?”
“Well, you did admit to being with a lot of women.”
“First of all, I don’t think I ever used the term, ‘a lot.’ And second, Mac was a friend. I didn’t want to do that to her,” Christian explains.
“Do what?” I ask, confused.
“Really? You’re going to make me say it?”
I squint my eyes, still unaware of what he’s saying.
“Fine,” he continues. “I was still hung up on you. I knew Mac and I would never work out, and since we were friends, I didn’t want to put her through that. As long as I was still in love with you, I could never feel the same way she did.”
“Wow, that’s awfully noble of you,” I say sarcastically, trying to diffuse the intensity of his statement.
“It worked out,” he continues, ignoring my quip. “She ended up with some singer. I think his name is Jett.”