Ireland sidled over and whispered, “Thank you. I know you made him bring me along.”
I managed a smile for her. “Nobody can make Gideon do anything he doesn’t want to.”
“You could.” She tossed her head, throwing her sleek waist-length black hair over her shoulder. “You didn’t see him watching you dance with your dad. His eyes got all shiny. I thought he was going to cry. And on the way up here, in the elevator, he tried to play it off, but I could totally tell he was nervous.”
I stared down at the can of enchilada sauce in my hands, feeling my heart break a little more.
“You’re mad at him, aren’t you?” Ireland asked.
I cleared my throat. “Some people are just better off as friends.”
“But you said you love him.”
“That’s not always enough.” I turned around to reach the can opener and found Gideon standing at the other end of the island, staring at me. I froze.
A muscle in his jaw twitched before he unclenched it. “Would you like a beer?” he asked gruffly.
I nodded. I could’ve used a shot, too. Maybe a few.
“Want a glass?”
“No.”
He looked at Ireland. “You thirsty? There’s soda, water, milk.”
“How about one of those beers?” she shot back, flashing a winsome smile.
“Try again,” he said wryly.
I watched Ireland, noting how she sparkled when Gideon focused on her. I couldn’t believe he didn’t see how she loved him. Maybe right now it was based on superficial things, but it was there and it would grow with a little encouragement. I hoped he’d work on that.
When Gideon handed me the chilled beer, his fingers brushed mine. He held on for a minute, looking into my eyes. I knew he was thinking about the other night.
It seemed like a dream now, as if his visit never really happened. I could almost believe that I’d made it up in a desperate delusion, so hungry for his touch and his love that I couldn’t go another minute without giving my mind relief from the madness of wanting and craving. If it weren’t for the lingering soreness deep inside me, I wouldn’t know what was real and what was nothing but false hope.
I pulled the beer out of his grasp and turned away. I didn’t want to say we were done and over, but it was certain now that we needed a break from each other. Gideon needed to figure out what he was doing, what he was looking for, and whether I had any meaningful place in his life. Because this roller-coaster ride we were on was going to break me, and I couldn’t let that happen. I wouldn’t.
“Can I help with anything?” he asked.
I answered without looking at him, because doing so was too painful. “Can you see if we can get Cary out here? He’s got a wheelchair.”
“All right.”
He left the room, and I could suddenly breathe deeply again.
Ireland hurried over. “What happened to Cary?”
“I’ll tell you about it while we set the table.”
*
I was surprised I could eat. I think I was too fascinated by the silent showdown between my dad and Gideon to notice that I was stuffing food into my mouth. At one end of the table, Cary was charming Ireland into peals of laughter that kept making me smile. At the other end, my dad sat at the head of the table, with Gideon on his left and me on his right.
They were talking. The conversation had opened with baseball, as I’d expected, then migrated into golf. On the surface, both men seemed relaxed, but the air around them was highly charged. I noticed that Gideon wasn’t wearing his expensive watch. He’d planned carefully to appear as “normal” as possible.
But nothing Gideon did on the outside could change who he was on the inside. It was impossible to hide what he was—a dominant male, a captain of industry, a man of privilege. It was in every gesture he made, every word he spoke, every look he gave.