Her brows raise in surprise. “What kind of woman am I?”
“One that’s not easily impressed,” I say. “Orwon over. Which makes it more special when you laugh and smile.”
She almost smiles again before catching herself. “Okay, I’ll admit one thing, Callahan. You’ve got some swag. It’s… it’s hard to resist at times.”
Our steaks arrive—huge ribeyes, thick and juicy and expertly seasoned. The meat is charred on the outside, pink and tender on the inside, accompanied by garlic mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus.
Simone has an appetite for being such a prim and proper princess. She slices into her ribeye and loads some mashed potatoes with it in one bite, closing her eyes briefly as she chews.
I laugh watching her.
Her eyes pop open. “What’s so funny?”
“I didn’t expect you to dig right in like that.”
“You are my husband. I don’t have to pretend to eat like a bird around you like some women do on dates.”
“I prefer you keep it real,” I admit with a half-shrug. “If you want to chug that wine and wipe your plate clean, do it, princess. It’s sorta sexy watching a woman like you eat steak like that.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “Reminds me of a time I couldn’t. When I was a teenager, my parents had me competing in beauty pageants. I was frequently weighed in and stuffed into all sorts of tight evening gowns and swimsuits. I could never really eat what I wanted.” She pauses, cutting another thick piece of steak. “When I turned twenty and was no longer eligible for the teen pageants, I vowed never again. I’ve been enjoying a good succulent ribeye as often as possible since.”
“I’ve never found pageant women attractive. They’re too polished.”
“Seems to be a pattern of yours. You seem to like gritty and real.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I counter. “Why would I want something fake and sanitized? That’s what I respect about you. Even if we damn near strangle each other most of the time. At least you keep it real with me. You don’t pretend to like me like many women would. You let me know you hate my guts.”
She considers this, her expression thoughtful. “I guess… I could say the same. With Heath, he was always on his best behavior. Always so concerned with image and perception. That doesn’t seem to matter at all to you. Which is… a little refreshing.”
I hold her gaze, and for a moment, the noise of the restaurant fades. It’s just me and her, sitting across from each other, actually talking.
Actually connecting for once.
It feels like we’re finally finding some common ground. We’re finally establishing some kind of rapport. Maybe even some ironic fondness for each other.
Judging by how Simone smirks as she diverts her attention back to her steak, she finds it as unexpected as I do.
Yet here we are, enjoying a dinner together. Enjoying each other’s company.
Just the two of us.
We leave the Chophouse with Simone clutching my arm. She accepted it after I offered, and now her hand is tucked into the crook of my elbow as we walk down the sidewalk.
She shudders in the December cold, even with her peacoat on, looking up at me. “Where are we headed now?”
“So I was thinking,” I answer on a mysterious air. “I know you like going to your friend’s art gallery. I figured maybe I could take you to a different one in Manhattan. Since you missed her event last month. As a way to make it up to you. It’s not the same, obviously, but it’s something.”
Simone smiles brightly, her entire face beautifully lit up. “I’d like that.”
We head to a place called The Galleria, which features light installations in the winter. The gallery is sleek and modern, dark but brightly lit all at the same time, with different twinkling lights and installations illuminating otherwise shadowy rooms.
It’s like walking through an immersive and whimsical dream.
Beautiful in an odd Tim Burton sorta way.
Simone clutches my arm the entire time as we move from room to room, admiring the displays. One installation is made entirely of suspended glass orbs filled with LED lights, casting fractured rainbows across the walls. Another is a forest of fiber optic cables that glow and pulse like sentient vines.
I’m not the kinda guy who pays attention to art. I’m not one for pretentious crap most artsy-fartsy people dabble in.