“How is Anna Collins?” I ask, keen to get the conversation back onto safe topics, somewhere I can divert attention away from throat muscles and blue eyes.
“Improving. Lunavax seems to be doing what they say it will.” He pauses. Twisting his knife between his forefinger and thumb. “But we know these things don’t always last. It’s still a trial.”
“True.”
Our conversation moves on from specific cases to the retreat. Progress reports, staffing issues, and the current media noise. It feels more like a board meeting than a private dinner, though business is why I invited him, to thank him for the funding. That’s what I told myself.
Perhaps it’s just become what it should be.
His napkin drops from his lap as he finishes his meal. He leans down to pick it up.
When he reappears, he smirks, just a little.
“Antonia,” he says. “Are we allowed to talk about something that isn’t Opengate?”
I straighten my own napkin on my lap.
“There isn’t much else.”
His fingers pinch the stem of his glass, and he swirls the remainder before taking a final drink, so that all that’s left are pale red streaks.
“That can’t be true,” he says.
“I work. Sleep. And eat out on Fridays.” I wince because it’s too revealing, but he leans forward, seemingly interested.
“Every Friday?”
“More or less.”
“Here?” he asks.
That makes me stumble. I don’t want to admit how predictable I am outside the business yet. “In this area.”
“So you’re local?”
“You could say that.” He doesn’t press any further. “So, tell me about you.”
The bottle is almost empty. Ben pours the leftovers into our glasses. Warmth is growing in my chest. A soft feeling between my ears. Not drunk, but relaxed.
“Well, I have four kids.”
My eyes bug a little. He snorts.
“Yes, four. You don’t need to say anything. I know it’s a lot. Two grown daughters. Two sons. You saw Liam at Christmas.” I nod. The graveyard. I remember. “We were visiting his mum.”
“Bex?”
“Yes. She was the other kid’s step-mum, but important to all of them.”
Silence. I’m not sure what to say. My grief is neatly packaged away; he has traditions and reminders. I’m not sure what’s worse.
“Savannah is in medical school in Edinburgh. Rose travels the world from job to job, living her best life. Ollie and Liam are both soccer mad.” He shrugs. “We make it work.”
“Sounds like it,” I murmur, not sure what else to say.
“Liam insisted I wear this.” He pulls on the pocket of his shirt. It’s only then I notice the tiny pale blue palm trees covering it. “He said it makes me less dad-like.”
I laugh then. Properly. For the first time in a long time. And I enjoy it—the last of my nerves floating away.