Frowning, he hands me the phone, and I swiftly jump out of his lap.
“I actually find him very gentlemanly compared to most of the perverts who’ve written to me,” I sniff. The hangover has me extra emotional. “And just because some of us find it more difficult than others to meet someone, it doesn’t mean you have to go making fun.”
Jay leans across the table, taking my hand in his. “Hey, I was only joking around.” His thumb rubs over the inside of my wrist, and I pull away. The contact makes me feel too much.
“Whatever. You were being mean, and you know it.”
“That wasn’t my intention, but I’m sorry all the same. God, you’re too fucking cute, aren’t you?” His voice is low, making something stir deep in my belly.
“Stop trying to console me with fake compliments.”
“You’re cute, Matilda. Real fucking cute. Now, can we backtrack a second? Who says I don’t find it just as difficult to meet people as you do?”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, come on. I doubt you’ve ever gone through a dry spell in your life.”
“Just because women approach me a lot doesn’t mean I always go for them. We all find it hard to meet someone who fits us. If you hadn’t guessed from my occupation, I’m not exactly normal.”
I stare at him, surprised by how he just opened up. He’s getting serious now, and it’s making me feel weird. I want to go and give him a hug and make friends, but I don’t have the courage. Instead, I glance at my watch and make like I need to go get ready.
“Okay, well, I’m sorry for insinuating that you have it easy, Jay. Thanks for breakfast. I’m going to take a shower.”
I leave the room, and I can feel his eyes on me the entire time.
Selecting an outfit for my date is harder than I anticipated. I try to call Michelle for advice, but her phone goes straight to voicemail. I suppose she’s probably trying to sleep last night off. So I’m on my own. It’s times like this that I could do with a female parent.
I settle on a pleated pastel blue skirt that reaches past my knees and a white short-sleeved blouse that buttons up to the neck. The look is very fifties preppy, and I finish it off with a pair of white and navy boat shoes. I blow-dry my hair, curling the ends and putting it up in a high ponytail. I’m feeling confident that I look good. I just hope that Owen is impressed.
When I come downstairs, Jay and Dad are in the living room, chatting. I step inside, and their conversation quietens.
“Where are you off to, chicken?” Dad asks, smiling, his legs crossed as he lounges back in his armchair.
Scratching at my arm nervously, I answer, “I have a date.”
“A date? Well, isn’t that just wonderful. You look very pretty.”
I give him a small grin. “Thanks, Dad.”
Jay’s been staring at me silently the whole time. I hitch my bag up on my shoulder and turn to leave.
“I’ll walk you out,” he says then, hopping up from his seat and following me out. I walk to the door and step outside before turning to face him. He places his hands on my shoulders and looks down at me, studying my face.
“Don’t be nervous. The douche chef is lucky you’re giving him the time of day. Tell yourself that. Repeat it in your head over and over. Be the confident Matilda who’s hiding in there somewhere, the one who never stopped smiling,” he tells me, his voice a little strained.
I take a deep breath, and his words actually do make me feel more confident, like I can handle this. “I’ll try. Thanks, Jay.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, then runs his hands over the fabric of my top and teases, “Look at this fucking outfit, so angelic, puts me in a mood to do some corrupting.”
I look at him, my mouth hanging open. He leans down and places the softest, most feather-light kiss to my cheek. I put my hand to it as I walk away, heading for the bus stop. God, how I wish it was him I was going to lunch with instead of Owen. Not that there’s anything wrong with Owen. I’m sure he’s not a douche, as Jay puts it. It just seems like all men pale in comparison to the illusionist under my roof.
When I get to the restaurant, a stylish bistro, I hesitate outside for about five minutes. My heart is pounding way too fast, and my hands are shaking. I breathe in and out, needing another pep talk from Jay. He’s not here, though, and I have to go inside sooner or later. I’m definitely not going to allow myself to chicken out and leave.
When I finally walk in, I spot Owen sitting at a table for two outside on the terrace. Every step feels like a mile as I walk toward him and he lifts his eyes to mine. He stands when I reach the table, coming and giving me a kiss on the cheek. I’m disappointed that it doesn’t give me butterflies like Jay’s kiss did.