And then Oliver did something that surprised me, and I’m sure even surprised a few of our secret onlookers.
He reached out and grabbed my hand in his. It was a simple act of affection and connection, but it did make my shoulders stiffen for a moment. I wasn’t used to public displays like this. My previous boyfriends grew up like me, during a time where so much as a glance between two guys could get them beat up or worse. It didn’t help that Oliver and I appeared to have an age difference between us, which made me more self-conscious than usual. Normally, I wasn’t much of a blusher.
I felt heat flare up under my cheeks, a blush taking hold.
I felt on edge.
But as we stood by the hostess podium waiting for her to lead us to a table, a laughing troupe of gay men wearing designer budgie smugglers strutted past us toward the gay club down the street, reminding me that we were on South Beach and the “judgmental” stares might as well have just been people checking us out.
The tension in my shoulders disappeared slightly.
“Ever been here?” Oliver asked as the hostess gathered our menus and walked us in.
“Never,” I said, looking around. The restaurant was called Canary Birds and was a modern blast of color and design. It was a new spot and had everyone talking about it pretty much right from opening day. The walls were a luxe navy blue with golden trim. The tables were all sitting on top of ornate ivory birdcages while the cutlery handles were all shaped like feathers, and the food was said to be just as eclectic.
It was very Oliver, and it was very exciting.
The hostess walked us through the restaurant, leading us to a table in a secluded corner. Chances were they wanted to hide the two paint-crusted men away from the rest of the very well-dressed diners. It was fine by me. Privacy with Oliver was exactly what I wanted.
As we took our seats, I couldn’t help but notice that some diners nearby still threw curious glances our way.
It was an interesting feeling. Again, my instinct was to feel as if they were staring for other reasons besides our rainbow-covered clothes. As if the done-up and tight-lipped crowd were glancing at us because of the clear difference in age between me and Oliver. Normally I didn’t think twice about my age, but I’d also never dated someone younger than me by three years, at most. This was new territory, and that brought with it an entirely new set of paranoia.
“Want some wine?” Oliver asked, pulling me out of my thoughts once again.
“Red?”
“Pinot noir?”
I smiled. “We’re meant to be.”
With drinks ordered, we settled in, both of us staring at the other across the table like schoolboys out on their first date. I cracked first, looking down at the napkin on my lap, a goofy grin on my face and an odd kind of warmth surrounding my heart, the rest of the restaurant slowly disappearing around us.
12Oliver Brightly
The restaurant was a boogie affair. There were glittering chandeliers and newborn baby–sized candles and golden utensils that ended in crazy-looking feathers. This place was always booked, but I’d managed to pull a string and get us some last-minute reservations. I was over the moon when Beckham said he didn’t want to reschedule, but honestly, I wasn’t sure if I even could reschedule. I offered it only because I was worried Beckham was upset with the paint drying on his clothes; maybe he needed time to clean up. But, as I was quickly coming to learn, Beckham rolled with the flow exactly like me. So what if our shirts were crusty and there were still a few random splotches of color on our arms and face? We were still going to make our reservation, and we would still have a freakin’ blast. That was the kind of man I wanted by my side. I’d gotten a taste of the ones who were always uptight or too into themselves to see much of anything else. Those guys would have called tonight quits and probably ghosted me the next day.
“So you’re allergic to cats but still worked hard to be a vet?” Beckham asked, picking up on the casual fact I’d tossed out about myself.
“And I own two cats, too.” I pursed my lips and nodded. “I’ve got a lifetime subscription for antihistamine meds, don’t worry. I also vacuum like once every thirty minutes.”
“That’s dedication,” Beckham said, taking a sip of his wine. It was our fourth glass. I already figured I’d be leaving my car parked overnight and Ubering, so the wine kept flowing even after we were done with our main course.
“It’s a sadistic form of self-torture, but I can’t complain all that much. I love what I do and I love my cats, even if I can’t cuddle with them as much as I want to.”
“How’d you come around to owning them? Or did you find out you were allergic once you had them?”
“Oh no, I knew I was allergic when Mason and Jar made me their permanent human concierge.” I grabbed the stem of the oversized wineglass and lifted it to my lips. “They were, uhm, Derrick’s cats. His parents live across the country, and, well, they didn’t really talk to him anyway. So I took them. Didn’t want to risk putting them in a shelter.”
Beckham’s eyebrows rose. “Mason and Jar are in good hands. Exactly what Derrick would want.”
“Yeah. He probably wouldn’t want to see how fat Jar’s getting, but I can’t help it. He practically rams down the cabinet door with body slams at around four o’clock every morning. I call it hisbitching witchinghour.”
Beckham’s laugh lifted my spirits. I took another gulp of the wine, my fingers already tingling, same as my lips.
“And what made you want to be a vet?”
“I wanted to be a vet for as long as I could remember. I loved animals, always. I begged my parents for all kinds of pets. When they wouldn’t get them for me, I’d sneak out with Jonah, and we’d end up getting our grandpa to take us to the pet store and he’d buy us what we wanted. My parents made us return the iguana, ball python, and any reptile basically. But we got to keep the hamsters and rabbits.”