“Do you think she’s nearby?” Shelly asked from the other side of the table.
“Who?” I asked, without even thinking. All I could think about was Shelly, and the fact that she’d opened the door looking like she did. Her blond hair was piled on top of her head with little wisps of it framing her face. Her blue eyes sparkled against the blue of her dress, which was sleeveless, showing off arms that weren’t the least bit skinny. Her body was strong and muscular and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to see what it looked like while she was on top of me.
She rolled her eyes. “Megan,” she whispered. She looked around the restaurant, her eyes scanning all the nooks and crannies and corners.
“Probably,” I said. I reached across the table and took her hand in mine. She almost jerked back, but I held firmly to it and she finally relaxed and let me keep it.
“Do you think we’re selling it? The devoted couple bit?”
I turned her hand over and dragged my thumb across her palm. She sucked in a breath.
I was selling the devoted couple bit, because I felt like a devoted couple. And what was fucked up about it was that I knew it was wrong. I knew that Shelly was trouble, and I wanted her anyway. My spending every waking moment with her had a lot to do with it. The more time I spent with her, the more I wanted her. And it wasn’t because I had to pretend to want her. I genuinely wanted her.
The waitress came and brought our menus and some water.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” I asked Shelly.
She shook her head. “I don’t drink.”
“Why not?”
“My mother was an alcoholic.” She shrugged. “I never was able to find the joy in it after watching her destroy herself the way she did.”
“I’ve never heard you talk about your mother before,” I replied, stunned at how much truth she was laying on the table.
“There’s not much to talk about.” She shrugged again, still perusing her menu. She looked up at me and whisper-shouted, “I want to try everything on the menu!”
I grinned and closed my menu, and I took hers from her when the waitress returned. “Then that’s what we’ll do.” I passed the menus to the waitress and said, “Can we get samples of six of your most popular dishes?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir. Would you prefer fish, chicken, or beef?”
I lifted a brow at Shelly. “Surprise us,” she said with a grin.
“How long have you guys been married?” the waitress suddenly asked, her gaze flipping from Shelly to me and back.
“Oh, we’re not—” I began, but Shelly cut me off by saying, “This our first date.”
“Oh!” The waitress stepped back in surprise. “You guys are great together.”
Shelly’s toe kicked mine beneath the table. “I know, right?” she said, and then she smiled as she lowered her head shyly, and one of those wisps of hair that had escaped her coiffure fell across her eyes. She reached up and brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear.
The waitress laughed and promised she’d be right back.
“So, you were talking about your mother,” I said, trying to get the conversation back to where we were before. Every little nugget I was given about Shelly was like a treasure map that led to something bigger, and I wanted to collect all the nuggets.
“No, I really wasn’t,” she said sweetly. Too sweetly.
“She was an alcoholic.”
“And now she’s dead.”
I remembered reading in Lynn’s file that their mother had died of liver failure when they were young.
“You didn’t live with her after the age of six, regardless, right?”
“Right. She drove me to my grandmother’s house and left me. She never came back.”
What was odd was that Shelly didn’t seem at all disturbed by this. I guess she’d had time to deal with it. Or not deal with it, as the case may be. It was hard to decide which.