I duck my head, giving Malik a sheepish smile. “Well, totally missed that. My bad.”
Malik waves me off. “It’s all good.”
“And look at the time,” Cage announces, glancing down at his watch. “We’ve got to get going if we’re going to make our reservations.”
Our beers are almost empty, so Cage and I down the remainder in our glasses. Cage points at the pitcher, giving Malik a pointed look. “Finish that off.”
Malik gives him a mock salute.
We say our goodbyes, Anna telling me she hopes we can hang out again. I’m relieved I didn’t make a total ass of myself by painting her and Malik together the way I did. Truthfully, I tell her I would love that.
Cage made reservations at an Italian restaurant on Market Square, and it’s only a three-block walk. It’s freezing outside, so we walk briskly, arms hooked together.
“They’re great,” I say. “Wish we had more time so I could get to know them a bit better. All they wanted to talk about was me.”
“Well, you are the most singularly interesting woman I’ve ever been with. Can you blame them?”
Laughing, I give him a tiny bump with my body. “Flatterer.”
“Truthteller,” he replies.
We reach the restaurant, check our coats, and settle into a small table near the window. Cage orders us a bottle of red, and we take a few minutes to peruse the menu. I decide to hell with sensibility, deciding I’m going for the fettuccine alfredo. Cage promises to share his seafood linguine with me if I give him a bite of mine.
With all that settled and a lovely wine in our hands, we can finally concentrate on each other.
“How was your day?” I ask.
“Busy but boring,” he replies. That seems to be the standard answer when I ask. I feel bad because he clearly doesn’t like what he’s doing since he never seems to want to talk about it. I respect that boundary, though.
“What about you?” he asks. “How many women did you save today?”
I laugh because he often asks that exact question. He makes me out to be a superhero. Truth is, I can never do enough for the victims I serve.
But I did have something good happen today. “I placed a mother and two small kids in a shelter. It was a bad situation. Dad’s an alcoholic. While he doesn’t abuse the kids, he doesn’t hide his nasty side from them. In fact, he forces them to watch when he hits their mom.”
“I don’t fucking get men like that,” Cage grumbles. “If I so much as looked at a lady wrong, my dad would have whooped my ass growing up.”
“Well, sometimes it’s more than just the environment they were raised in. Sometimes, there are mental health issues. In this case, alcoholism is a severe complicating factor. At any rate, the husband is unemployed, so it was hard for her to break free. I’d been talking to her in quick but secret phone calls for a few weeks. She finally managed to get herself and the kids out today, and now they’re hidden away and safe.”
“You’re an angel, Jaime,” Cage says quietly, and his tone touches me deeply.
“Not really. Just doing my job.”
“Saving people,” he corrects.
It embarrasses me as much as it pleases me to have his admiration. I’ve never dated someone who cared what I did for a living. Makes me extra sad I can’t have these same discussions with Cage about his career path or what he might want to do outside of car sales.
“I can’t believe we’re not going to see each other for almost a week,” Cage goes on to say, jerking me out of my thoughts.
“I know,” I reply glumly. He’ll spend the weekend in North Carolina, on to San Francisco for a few days, then back here to Pittsburgh a week from tomorrow.
Cage looks down at his wineglass, appearing to ponder something. He seems unsure of himself for a moment, but shakes it off when his gaze comes up with a gleam in his eyes. “Hey… would you like to come on one of my trips with me? I mean… I’ll be working either at the trade show or conference during the day, but we’d have the evenings together.”
I’m stunned at the invitation. I know we’ve been getting closer, but him inviting me on a trip is a big deal. A work trip, where I might meet some of his coworkers and learn more about that side of him.
“When are they again?” I ask, trying to will my pulse to slow.
“The San Francisco trip is going to be this coming up Sunday and back on Wednesday. The Vegas trip happens more over a weekend the following week… a Friday to Sunday.”
“The Vegas trip would be easier,” I offer. Plus, I’ve never been and have always wanted to visit Sin City. “I’ll see if I can get that Friday off since it’s a bit short notice.”