Another photograph.
But at Sinclair’s, things would start anew.
No longer was she blinded by her obsession over the wrongs he’d committed. She had reached the bottom, dark and unforgiving, when she had tampered with his box and had spent the summer clawing her way back to the surface.
All of that recovery delivered her to this moment. The shaky edge in her step abated. She was poised, confident.
Restrained contentment backlit Dayton’s face as she approached their table. He seemed genuinely happy to see her, as if they were a couple and not a pair of ex-lovers with wildly opposing goals. He rose and placed a hand on her upper arm, craning to kiss her cheek, and she simultaneously loved and loathed how intimately familiar it all felt.
They settled into the booth. Kenna eyed him like he was a puppy who’d pissed all over a brand new rug.
“This isn’t a date. Please don’t treat it like one.”
“Alright.”
A green and black flannel and jeans had replaced his office attire. Hiking boots. Dressing down was his version of dressing up for an evening out. Belatedly, she realized it was the same outfit he’d worn when he had cooked dinner for her.
A glass of water sat before him, sweating.
“No vodka?”
“I’m trying to cut back.”
“Well, I hope thisleads younot into temptationbut I won’t survive the night without a few glasses of wine.”
Dayton drank the water but she surmised it was purely as a means of de-escalation. “You’re being awfully hostile for someone who negotiated the conditions of this dinner.”
“I came here for answers. Cordiality isn’t part of the equation.” Yanking on the elastic, Kenna freed her hair from its messy presentation. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial decibel. “And what was that at the practice the other day? You think because I’m speaking to you again as part of a necessary function to perform our jobs that you’re somehow allowed to kiss me?”
“You had no problem returning the kiss, darling.”
Darling. One word and she was transported to his bed, pinned to the mattress, thunder echoing in her head.
The waiter materialized and reduced them to second-graders squabbling in the middle of an upscale restaurant. Through her embarrassment, Kenna ordered a bottle of red wine.
Perhaps not a wise choice given it was her first outing behind the wheel of a car but the environment in that booth breeded the necessity of alcohol. She didn’t wait for the wine’s arrival to dive into her questions.
She had courage all her own.
“Care to explain your collection of, how should I put this, erotic photographs?”
Not a trace of amusement graced his features.
“Keep your voice down.”
Whether it was fear or shame, the origin of his response did not matter; the fact that she had roused some kind of reaction gave her a sliver of satisfaction.
Saliva, thick and immovable, built up in her throat. Maybe she was in need of the wine. “Who are those girls, Dayton? Patients? Tell me the truth.”
It was painful to beg for a truth she already understood.
“Everyone. All except you and—”
“Charlee, I know,” she reminded softly.
The sight of the wine in the ice bucket being delivered to the table made Kenna ill. She recounted the Skype call with Charlee, the night she had uncovered the remarkable lingering effect Dayton left on the ones he loved; and like a dark curse it was destined to trail the women the rest of their lives.
She did not object when Dayton seized the bottle of malbec and poured her a generous glass. As if she were a sommelier, she swirled the wine, watching intently as it sloshed against the glass while cogitating on what to say.