“Tell me about the program,” he suggests.
It’s a safe topic, so I launch into a description of my classes, the internship, even the part time restaurant job I took during college to be sure I was ready to go into this line of work.
“I wasn’t sure if I was cut out for it,” I explain, “I was so shy, that at first I’d pick up the drink napkins and have to psyche myself up into going up to greet each table as it was seated.”
“It got easier, though?”
“Yes. By the end I was used to dealing with customers, and smiling. It was fun to be sure they had the best dining experience.”
“Really?” His natural cynicism is having trouble with my last statement.
“It was also really good for tips,” I admit.
He gives me one of those up and down looks, from under his lashes. “I doubt you had much trouble with tips.” His voice is all low and growly again, and my stomach flips and heat floods my core. I feel the heat rise on my cheeks, and I hope he can’t tell what kind of effect he’s having on me.
I laugh, trying to cover my shyness. “There was a lot more to getting tips than...” I pause but he waits, letting me get more uncomfortable. “Than whatever you’re suggesting.”
“But you have to admit that sexy girls get better tips,” he says.
Did he just call me sexy? Could he be sitting here openly admiring me?
“Well,” I take another sip of lemonade to cover my confusion, and at that moment, Karen comes out of the kitchen with a tray filled with various types of clams.
“Amazing,” Cruise says. “If you don’t love clams by the time this dinner is over, you have no taste buds, Miss Bennett.”
It’s possible that by the time I’m done having lunch with Cruise, I would like anything he wants me to like, but I’m sure he has that effect on most women, and so instead of agreeing, I raise my brows and salute him with my glass of lemonade.
“It looks…interesting.”
“Interesting?” Not all of his outrage is faked. “I waited an entire year, longing for these delicious clams.”
“Why a year?” I ask. “I was under the impression that you were a native of Seascape Bay.”
“Couldn’t get home,” he mutters. “Have you ever really wanted to go home, but you couldn’t?”
I shrug. My parents are a phone call away. To visit all I’d have to do is request that they buy me a plane ticket, but somehow, until I can make my way in the world, I’m not willing to do that.
“I know what it means to be far from home,” I say softly.
“Was college the first time you’d been away home?” he asks.
“Yes. And I was an only child, so I wasn't accustomed to living with other people my age. It was a learning experience.” He gives a smirk as I dive into the story of my first day in the dorms, and how I walked in on my roommate with her boyfriend. “I thought the tie on the door was just some kind of decoration,” I admit.
By the end, he’s laughing along with me.
I take a mushroom stuffed with cheese and diced seafood from the platter, in order to think for a moment. How to reconcile this guy, who seems fascinated by my silly stories, with the psycho who was punching people in the lobby of the hotel last night? It doesn’t seem possible.
“Close your eyes and try this, it’s my favorite,” he says, noticing that I’m mostly ignoring the actual clams.
“I don’t know if I can trust you.” My tone is flirtatious, but the words match my thoughts. Can I trust him? What are we doing here?
“Trust me,” his voice goes low enough that the tremors return to my abdomen. “I only know a few things, food, alcohol—” He clears his throat and I highly suspect that the third thing in his list was something about women.
“Close your eyes.” His voice is soft and commanding.
Despite my better judgment, I do. Closing my eyes, while sitting across from him is an act of trust. Something soft touches my lips. I lean my head back just a bit, giving him access, barely daring to breathe.
“You’re going to have to open up,” he says in his wicked low voice. “You don’t have to be so rigid, this is nothing to be nervous about.”
His calling me out for being nervous makes everything worse, and I press my eyes shut, willing myself not to go completely stiff, but it’s too late. I can feel the blood rushing through my head and my pulse pounds. I grip the side of the table so tight I can feel the rough wood digging into my palms.
“Hey.” His hands are on my shoulders. “Maya?” When he says my name like that, shivers go through my body. “Open your eyes.”
I look up into his concerned blue eyes.
“That was supposed to be fun, not something that made you miserable. Come here.”
He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. Without meaning too, I press my cheek against him. His chest is hard, his body and warm, and instantly, instinctually, I feel myself start to relax.
“What’s going on?”