Nathan pulled out his wallet. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Neither was she,” Rachel said, watching him add five more apology dollars to the tip jar. “What about you?”
“Me?”
“Are you nice?”
Something in her voice made him pause. Like she had already decided the answer. Her gaze was a challenge, and he met it for a moment, staring long enough for some of her skepticism to fade. But then her eyes dropped briefly to his mouth, and the moment warmed into something else entirely.
Nathan blinked and said, “I’m just here to get a straw.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Rachel shuffled backward and rubbed her arms as if she’d just noticed the temperature. It made him feel like a jerk. The woman was clearly distressed. He only knew her from pictures, but in those she was flawless. Sleek hair. Perfect makeup. Now there were dark smudges under her eyes. Smears of something white dotted the bottom of her dress. Seeing her this way, puffy-eyed and vulnerable, was like discovering a knight without his armor.
He looked at her bare feet. All she had on was a thin little party dress. “Are you cold?”
She looked down at her clothes and frowned like she hadn’t considered the possibility. He took off his sweatshirt and wrapped it around her shoulders like a cape. Her fingers grazed his knuckles as she took it from him. They were freezing.
Her eyes widened with recognition. “I saw you earlier.”
“Yeah, I saw you too.” Nathan took her cup and poured half of his soda into it. Then he grabbed the whiskey and studied her while he unscrewed the top. “You’re the mayor’s wife.”
Her eyes cooled. She probably thought he was one of those hard-up guys sliding into her DMs or retweeting close-ups of her ass. “And you are?” she asked, shrugging into the sweatshirt.
“Me?” He fell silent and focused on the whiskey, carefully eyeballing shots into each cup. “I’m no one. Nathan.”
“Right. Nate.”
“Nathan.” He pointed to her drink. “You’re good to go.”
Rachel took a sip, gazing at his face. Her eyes were so big and dark, they pulled him in. He stared a beat too long after her soft “Thank you.”
She sat at a nearby table, and he noted her bright red toenails, the matching manicure, and the dewy sheen of her skin. Pampered princess. Not his thing. Which was fine because he was just being nice. Now he could find another place to sit while she got wasted to cope with whatever had brought her out there.
But that was his favorite sweatshirt. And the same nagging voice that wouldn’t let him watch Dillon get his ass kicked in middle school was whispering in his ear. It was wrong to leave her upset and alone.
Nathan approached the table slowly to give her plenty of time to brush him off. Instead, she scooted over to make room. “I probably shouldn’t drink this.”
He sat beside her and leaned forward, elbow to knee. “Probably not.”
She shoved her hand through her hair, and he reached over to pluck some fluff from the strands. She watched it float to the ground. “Do you have a cigarette?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You know those are bad for you, right?”
She wiggled her drink. “You know this isn’t a smoothie, right?”
“I don’t smoke tobacco.”
“That is very specific. Whatever you do smoke, I’ll take it.”
He laughed. She had a good voice. Deeper than he’d imagined. A little hoarse, like maybe that cigarette she wanted wouldn’t be the first. “Whatever’s going on can’t be that bad.”
“Because I’m famous?”
“Well, DC famous. You’re famous adjacent. That’s a good enough reason not to ask strangers if they’re holding.”
“Most of the people I know would refer me to a cannabis consultant who’ll make me fill out a fifty-page questionnaire about my lifestyle and weed goals.” She pasted on a fake smile and spoke with robotic enthusiasm. “Please use this Likert scale to rate how turnt you’d like to be at the end of your experience.”
Nathan laughed, and Rachel watched him with a triumphant grin, like the sound was her prize. It made his face warm. He cleared his throat and looked at the movie screen, pretending to watch the commercials.
“Where’s your date?” she asked.
“I’m not on a date. My friend, Dillon, he—” Nathan stopped, and swallowed the explanation she didn’t ask for. “I don’t know those girls.” He glanced at her bare feet. “Where’s your husband?”
She thumbed her wedding ring, turning it slowly around her finger, and didn’t answer. Marriage trouble—he shouldn’t be surprised. But he couldn’t imagine being married to a woman like Rachel Abbott and not tracking her like a bloodhound if she were this upset. What was it his father used to say? Behind every beautiful woman, there’s a guy dumb enough to think no one else wants to fuck her.
She tucked her hand inside the sweatshirt. “Do you live around here?”
“Yes,” he said, and ran a hand over his hair. He’d cut it shorter than usual and was starting to regret it. It made him feel exposed.
“You’re not much of a talker, are you?”
“I’m a better listener.”
“That’s a dangerous combination.” She focused on the movie screen. A private school commercial started competing with the drive-in’s jazzy elevator music. “Beautiful men aren’t known for their compassion. I dated a lot of them at your age. It’s all I wanted back then, a beautiful boy who gave me butterflies and paid for popcorn at the movies.”
He realized she didn’t mean it as a compliment. You’re too handsome to be worth anything was the implication. But no one had ever called him beautiful before. “So, what do you want now?” he asked, to keep her talking. He liked not being able to predict what she’d say next. The conversation was flowing like a simple painting that went sideways into something beautifully twisted while dragging his brush along for the ride.
“I don’t know.” Her voice was smaller, as if the question had drained her energy. “I haven’t thought about it in a while.”
Nathan forced a smile and pointed to the movie screen. “Well… I’d like movie options that were made in the last decade. This one’s cool and all, but—”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said, in a gentle tone still sharp enough to cut him off. “You don’t have to pretend it’s okay that I can’t answer such a simple question.”
Nathan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. She was chipping at a crack in a dam. He wasn’t sure what he wanted out of life either, which used to feel like freedom, but lately felt more like an excuse for being alone.
Rachel’s stomach growled loudly. She shot up with an embarrassed grimace. “Sorry.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I’m always hungry.” She frowned at her own words. “God, that sounds terrible. I do eat, but it’s all vegetables and protein. Fish. Chicken.” She groaned. “I haven’t had a burger in years.”