Unforgiven(29)

 
 
There’s a knock at the door, but before I make it over to open it, it flies open, and Jonah lets himself in. Carrying a square, pink box, he sets it on the kitchen island and gives me a little whistle.
“You look stunning, Lindsay,” he remarks as my cheeks redden. I threw on a dark gray silk tank dress and paired it with large, yellow jewelry. It’s different, but fun for summer. I paired it with a pair of open-toe, tall-wedged shoes.
“Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.” I laugh. Again, I notice Jonah looks older than twenty-four, although his hair is still wild, but he’s styled it and he’s wearing a pair of tan dress pants and white pressed dress shirt, the sleeves rolled neatly.
“What’s in the box?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation away from how I look. I spent an hour on my make-up, trying to bury the dark circles beneath my eyes under a layer of concealer. My hair is becoming dry and lifeless, so I spent another twenty minutes trying to blow it out so that it had some body. Arizona is sucking the life out of every part of me.
“Cupcakes.” He smiles.
“Cupcakes?”
“Yeah. There is this bakery that makes the most amazing cupcakes. I thought maybe, after dinner, we could come back here and have cupcakes.”
“Pretty bold of you, Mr. Murphy.” He blushes, rocking back on the heels of his feet; a sign of nervousness. I can’t help but laugh a little. He’s cute in a boyish way, and handsome in a grown-up way. He’s stuck somewhere in the middle.
“Ready?” he asks as I reach for my purse.
“Yep, let me just go grab my phone,” I say, remembering I left it charging on my nightstand in the bedroom. I turn on a lamp that sits on one of the end tables as I make my way to the bedroom to get my phone, shutting off other overhead lights as I go.
I unplug my phone and toss the charger into my nightstand, noticing the pill bottle I stashed away earlier. Just one, the devil that sits on my shoulder taunts me. It’ll help with your nerves. So, for good measure, I take two. I take one last look at myself in the full-length mirror and take a deep breath. “Let’s do this,” I whisper to myself.
“So, where are we going?” I ask as I find Jonah waiting by the front door.
“I made reservations at a new restaurant a few miles away. I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard great things.” He offers his arm for me to hold on to, and I accept it.
The conversation is light and carefree as we drive the few miles to the restaurant. Jonah taps the leather-encased steering wheel of his Audi A8 as Dave Matthews sings through the speakers. I settle into the rich leather seats and watch Jonah navigate with ease the busy downtown Phoenix streets.
The restaurant is quiet and dim and we’re at a small table that sits along floor-to-ceiling windows and overlooks a small outdoor patio seating area. It’s too hot, so no one is seated outside, even though misters blow cool water throughout the patio area. There are only a few other people in the restaurant, so we’re seated in a back corner away from others.
“Wine?” Jonah asks as he scans the wine list.
“Sure. White okay with you?”
“Pinot Grigio?”
“Perfect,” I tell him as I go back to scanning the menu. I don’t have much of an appetite and the pills I took before I left are kicking in. I’m finally starting to feel really good, less anxious. The waiter arrives, setting down a basket of breads and two glasses of ice water. While Jonah orders our wine, I sip from the glass of ice water that was just delivered in hopes of quelling my dry mouth.
“Have you decided on dinner?” the waiter asks and Jonah looks at me. I nod and order first.
“I’ll take the wedge salad please,” I tell the waiter and close the menu. Jonah shoots me a strange look and shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything before ordering himself the filet mignon. He flashes a genuine smile as the waiter leaves us alone. There is a moment of silence while Jonah just looks at me—studies me, as I study him in return. His eyes are telling; there is something he wants to say, but he’s not going to.
“What?” I finally ask him.
“Nothing. I just like looking at you.” He pulls a dinner roll from the breadbasket and sets it on the small plate in front of him.
“There’s not much to look at,” I mumble under my breath and take a sip of my water.
“Why so much self-hatred?” he asks as he pulls apart the bread. “I mean, from the moment I met you, Lindsay, you’re just so…” He pauses as he chooses the right word. “You’re so angry,” he says quietly. “From the outside, you have it all. You’re stunning. You have a new job, a kick-ass condo—”