Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 506(@200wpm)___ 405(@250wpm)___ 337(@300wpm)
“Watching people get scared exactly like you planned, performing burlesque. Both make me feel like a god.”
As Jamie said this, the waiter arrived with the food. He slid steaming plates in front of them with a “Bon appetit” and a slight bow. Jamie declined another glass of wine.
“What did you get?” Edgar asked.
“Lobster ravioli. Wanna try?”
“Sure. Do you want to try…?” Edgar realized with horror that he had no idea what he’d ordered.
“Blackened Cajun redfish with polenta,” Jamie offered, raising an eyebrow.
Just tell them the truth and don’t be weird, Edgar instructed himself.
“I, um, I was so nervous earlier that I guess I didn’t pay attention to what I was ordering,” he admitted and was rewarded with a soft smile.
Jamie put a hand on Edgar’s. A gentle, comforting pressure that demanded nothing. “I was nervous too,” they confessed. “I thought you were wishing you were anywhere but here. You seemed really distracted.”
And damn, there was that hint of vulnerability that tugged at Edgar’s heart. He hated that he’d made Jamie—lovely Jamie—feel that way.
“No. Definitely not. I…was just anxious. I’m having a really good time.”
Jamie held out a forkful of lobster ravioli for Edgar. The pasta was fresh, the lobster buttery, and the crispy breadcrumbs on top added the perfect amount of crunch.
“Damn. That’s really good.”
“You sound surprised.”
Edgar tried to remember the last time he’d been on a dinner date. (He couldn’t.) The last time he’d shared bites of food with anyone. (Allie finishing his pancakes when he went to the bathroom didn’t count.) The last time anyone wanted to get to know him. (Nothing came to mind.)
“Just hungry, I guess.”
He made Jamie a bite and passed it to them.
“Yum. Spicy.”
Edgar tried his own food. It was indeed spicy. Sweat broke out at his hairline. Damn. He would never have ordered this on a date if he’d been paying attention.
“It’s good,” he said, wondering which was grosser: wiping off sweat at the table with his napkin or allowing it to eventually drip down his face.
He compromised on subtly blotting at his forehead with his napkin and cleared his throat.
“Sorry. I’m…” He downed half his water and cleared his throat again.
“Are you okay?” Jamie asked, tone suggesting they were ready to spring into action at any moment if his answer was no.
“Yeah, fine,” he croaked. “Just a little spicier than I imagined.”
Jamie’s expression was part suspicion and part… Could that be tenderness?
They reached over and swapped the dinner plates, taking the fish for themself.
“You don’t have to do that,” Edgar protested. “You ordered what you wanted. It’s not your fault I’m an enormous spice baby.”
Jamie grinned at spice baby and gestured that Edgar should eat.
“That’s really nice of you,” he said, mortified. They ate in silence for a minute, and Edgar collected himself. There had been something he wanted to know. “Truth or dare?” he asked.
“Truth.”
“Why did you ask me on a date? I know I was awkward when we met.”
“All three times we met,” Jamie teased. They buttered a piece of bread slowly. “I don’t mind awkward.”
They seemed to choose their words carefully.
“I thought you were hot when I saw you at the club,” they said slowly. “I saw you standing at the bar, and you looked so…remote, I guess. Like you were in another dimension, peeking through into this one.”
Edgar felt a pang of sadness at the confirmation that he seemed as isolated as he felt.
“And I guess I wondered what was going on in your dimension and whether you might come far enough into this one to connect.” Jamie’s expression was warm. “But honestly? I knew I wanted to ask you out when I saw you with the cats. You treated them with such dignity and care. I…hoped that was how you’d treat me if we were ever together.”
Edgar could see that it had cost Jamie something to admit this.
“Anyway, I had to get you in a noncat environment so I wouldn’t be distracted by how fucking cute it is to see a big muscular Superman guy cuddling a bunch of damn kittens.”
Edgar choked on his bite of ravioli. “Superman?”
“That’s the part that stuck with you about what I said?”
“Sorry, I just… No one’s ever referred to me that way before.”
“Why did you accept?”
“Because I thought you were lovely,” Edgar said without thinking. “At the show, when I first saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. And you were captivating onstage. I, um, I was really sorry I couldn’t stick around after to talk to you more.”
Jamie’s blue eyes went soft, and it gave Edgar the courage to continue.
“I would, you know.”
“Would what?” Jamie asked.
“Treat you with dignity and care. I mean. If we. You know.”
“Yeah?” Jamie asked.
They reached their hand across the table, palm up, and Edgar took it. Rough fingertips and soft palms, like sand and velvet. What would it would be like to have someone to hold hands with while he walked through the streets? Someone to squeeze his shoulders after a hard day?