The cheery music drifts through the interior of Pano, a bubbly little beat that’s more annoying than welcoming. My mood is a wavy line, tossing over the boundaries of anticipation of what Grant has to say and a quiver of foreboding that this is going to be a mess. That I shouldn’t be here. That, although I want answers, I don’t want to be here.
I follow a casually dressed server about the same age as me, her long hair twisted into some intricate up-do, through the winding tables.
The restaurant is laid back, a very California ambiance flowing easily throughout. I might be a touch overdressed, but I feel good and I’d rather be overdressed when meeting Grant than under. If this is the last time I see him, and by all means that’s the point, I want him to remember me at my best so he can miss me as much as I missed him.
Skimming the room, I look for him. I automatically look for a door leading into a private room, but then it occurs to me yet again that I’m not here to see Fenton. I’m here to see Grant.
Tossing my shoulders back and weaving through the last few tables to the back, I spot my ex-boyfriend sitting at a table.
He sees me and jumps up, jostling the tableware.
“Hey, babe!” He leans in to kiss me, but I pull back. A sheepish grin touches his lips and he nods, his ruffled hair moving with his head.
“Hey.” I pull my own chair out and sit, tucking my purse onto the chair beside me. Grant sits, folding his hands on the table in front of him. We look at each other like we’re complete strangers, and in a lot of ways, we are. The man sitting in front of me is the same man that I used to know. But the twinkle in his eye is different. The smell of his cologne not the same. He’s a lackluster stand-in for the man I used to love, even though he looks . . . better. His watch is fancier, his haircut trendier. It’s a very peculiar situation and one I don’t have time to think much about because he starts talking.
He chatters away about some dirt bike race he saw earlier in the week, one of the things he loves more than anything. My mind drifts away, not at all engaged in his words and realizing that he knows I couldn’t care less, and still—he doesn’t care.
I’m not sure if I thought things would be different between us at some point in the future, maybe when Brady comes home and this is all sorted out. But they won’t be. Some things will always be the same, and while Grant and I had some chemistry, he doesn’t inspire me. He doesn’t make me want to be a better person. He doesn’t put me before himself and he never has.
Like a hammer hitting a nail, pounding it into a wooden plank in one fell swoop, it occurs to me that I will never love him again.
And I’m not sure I ever did.
A server steps up and we order drinks. She scurries away and returns before we can get a conversation started. Whatever I anticipated, it wasn’t this awkwardness like we’d never conversed before.
We place our orders and I wait for the server to leave once again before I try to push this conversation to the finish line.
“So . . .” I say, giving him a chance to lead the conversation. Instead, he sits there like a little boy and doesn’t speak. I groan. “Grant, you’re going to need to start talking.”
“I know, I know.” He fumbles with his silverware and then takes a hasty sip of water. “It’s just . . . I don’t know where to start.”
“I’d just appreciate you starting. Really.”
He plays with his fork, moving it from one side of his plate to the other.
“Grant,” I groan, considering just getting up and leaving. “I showed up here so you could talk. Start talking.”
He stills and looks up at me. “I’ve missed you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Babe, you do. Think back to all the time we spent together.”
“First of all, don’t ‘babe’ me. Got it?”
Nodding, he watches me carefully. He’s surprised by this new me, this more forward, confident version I’ve just taken on recently. He’s not comfortable with it, his hand going to his scalp and tugging on his hair.
“Second of all, you cheated on me. That’s unforgivable.”
“You never let me have a chance to explain.”
“No, I did. I gave you a chance and you didn’t take it. You just stretched out beside her and looked at me,” I spit, my blood boiling. “Go to hell, Grant.”
“But I wasn’t fucking her, Brynne.”
“I. Don’t. Care. Not anymore.”
“Well, I do care. I went overseas on two tours with Mandla to save money so we could start a life together—”
“We weren’t together the second one, asshat.”
He rolls his eyes, but it’s not a confident gesture. It’s a move that lets me know he’s grasping at straws. “But I was still thinking we’d get back together. Brady wanted us to.”
“Don’t you even bring him into this,” I glare. “It was him that told me to drop you because you were acting erratically.”
“I’ll never believe that.” He folds his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair. “That’s not what he said to me. He said he wanted us to fix things, to get back to the way they were.”
“Well,” I chirp, “The first step in that is getting Brady home because nothing can go back to the way it was until that happens. So why don’t you be a fucking man for the first time in your life and tell me what really happened that night?”
His mouth drops open, not used to me talking to him like this. His vulnerability only sets me on fire, makes me more determined to show him I’m not the naïve little girl he once knew.
“I’ve told you everything,” he notes evenly. “Brady left his bodyguard and ran into the street. There was nothing we could do.”
“And you want me to believe that?”
He shakes his head. “Yeah. Because it’s the truth.”
I search his eyes, looking for a tick that makes me believe him or not. But he’s such a good, practiced liar that I can’t find anything to go on.
“I really doubt it,” I say. “None of us believes that was the case. You and the other guy—you say you were ordered into that area and the company says you weren’t. Why were you there, Grant?”
“Because they told us to go there! They gave us the coordinates and off we went. Yeah, it seemed odd. But it’s not our place to object. That’s not how these things work. You do as you’re told and don’t question it.”
“That makes no sense.” I watch him fidget in his seat. “If that were the case, there would be some record of it. There’s not. Not according to Mandla’s files.”
He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know, Brynne. But do you really think, really think, I’d have let anything happen to Brady? Fuck, he was my best friend. Not only that, it could’ve been me they grabbed. Why would I put us in that position?” He leans over the table, his eyes boring into mine. “You have to believe me. Think about it. What do I gain from having him gone? Nothing. Just the loss of the best guy I’ve ever known. And the loss of you, the love of my life.”
“Don’t . . .” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t start in on that.”
“But you are. I’ve loved you for so long.”
“You’ve needed me for so long,” I whisper. “Those are two different things.”
An extended silence settles over the table as we both let our words marinate. I wonder if what he’s saying is true. If any of it is true. It’s heartbreaking all around, and I bite my lip to remind myself to be calm.
I’m trying to form words when I sense him. His musk swirls together with the scent of expensive cologne. The air heats and moves around me in a seductive dance, the way it only does when Fenton is around.
I gasp, unmoving. I just wait for him to appear.
He’s dressed in a black suit, a satiny lilac tie hanging down his torso. Fenton’s eyes bore into mine, feeling me out.
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach as I try to ascertain what the hell is happening.
“Everything is good,” Grant says. “Thank you.”
I hear his voice across the table, but it sounds like he’s a million miles away. I’m held captive by a pair of steely grey eyes that display a mixture of tenderness and irritation in their depths.
“Is that true, Miss? Is everything good here?” Fenton asks, ignoring Grant. He keeps a few steps away from me, his hands going straight to his pocket. I wonder if he’s having a hard time not reaching for me.
My hands, too, duck under the table so I don’t make a fool out of myself. They itch to grab him, lace through his silky strands and down his chest.
I nod, afraid to smile, too nervous to frown.
“I’m very glad to hear it,” Fenton replies. “I’d be disappointed if it weren’t. Most people fall in love with our service.”
“It’s been fabulous,” I whisper. “But I think falling in love is a bit of a stretch.”
The words tug a smile on my lips, and I’m immediately rewarded with one on his handsome face. “Everyone defines those things differently.”
“That’s true. Some people don’t believe you can even fall in love at all. What a shame.”
Fenton chuckles, the resonation drowning out Grant’s attempt to break into the conversation. “And some people think it’s about chemistry. How would you define the chemistry this evening?”
I glance at Grant, who’s watching us with an inquisitive eye. “I had fairly high expectations and they fell flat right away. But as the evening has progressed, things seem to be improving. More or less,” I add, just to throw him off.
“We do make a tremendous effort to put your needs over ours.”
“Is that so?” I laugh, my cheeks heating at him putting my needs over his every single time. He reads my thoughts and smirks.
“So, it’s safe to assume that you’re the owner of this fine establishment?” I raise my eyebrows, taunting him. I should’ve made the connection when I heard the name, so similar-sounding to his other restaurants, but I didn’t. Pano is so much more low-key, I didn’t think anything of it. But it’s true—this is his place. Now I can’t stop from wondering how Grant and I ended up here, but it’s no coincidence. It can’t be.
A smirk tickles his lips and he watches me with caution. “I am.”
I ask him a silent question and he shuts me down without a word. Instead, he turns to Grant. “I will take care of your bill this evening since your beautiful dining partner felt the experience tonight didn’t meet her standards.”
“I had a gift card someone gave me yesterday on the Pier. But, yeah, I’ll save it for later. Maybe we can come again, babe.”
Fenton bristles and keeps his eyes on mine. I grin, but don’t correct Grant. It’s far too much fun to watch Fenton’s reaction.
“If you don’t mind calling in a customer satisfaction survey at the end of your night, we’d really appreciate it,” Fenton says directly to me.
“Oh, I’d give this place five stars,” Grant gushes.
“What about you?” Fenton asks.
I shrug. “I’d give it four. Maybe five, but it’s lacking a few details that would really put it over the top. A few notes aren’t rounded out, if you know what I mean.”
He grins. “Please call us when you leave and tell us how we can improve your experience.”
My head shakes side to side in disbelief. Cheeky fucker.
He laughs, nods to Grant, and moseys his way back through the restaurant until he disappears out of sight.