“It’s good. Promise.” She stared at my chin as she said it, her own chin tilted up as though daring me to question her. But the quiver in her voice betrayed her.
“Welcome. Table for two?” The hostess’ tone was much too cheery for the way my mood had plummeted.
Shit. We weren’t ready to make that decision. “One minute, please.”
I turned to Juliette, leaned in so only she could hear, and tried not to be distracted by her sweet, exotic scent—coconut and some other kind of fruit. “Whatever you want is okay. Want to do something else?”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. She wasn’t fine. But what could I do? I wasn’t about to make a scene. I wasn’t going to call her out on her obvious lie. Hopefully, she’d be comfortable once we were seated and it was only the two of us again.
I turned back to the hostess. “Yes, please.”
Juliette followed stiffly behind the hostess as she led us through the crowded restaurant. The hostess stopped at a table for two, and Juliette nearly ran into her. I carefully reached out and grasped her shoulder to steady her, but she stiffened further at my touch.
Dammit. What the hell changed in the last few minutes?
I stepped back and pulled out her chair. She dropped into the seat, and I hesitated, unsure what to do. She looked back at me, a fake smile sullying her beautiful mouth. I tried to push her chair in, desperate to make her comfortable, literally and figuratively, but she looked at my hands on the back of her seat and up at me, her stiff posture not granting permission for that, so I took my seat across from her.
I pretended to study the menu, offering her semi-privacy as she spent an inordinate amount of time and effort arranging her napkin on her lap. Long, awkward moments passed, and she still hadn’t looked up, nor had she pushed her chair in.
I didn’t know what the hell was happening, but she couldn’t hide her discomfort, and that was the last thing I wanted. I couldn’t think of anything I’d said or done in the short time since she’d walked from Nolan’s holding my hand and practically skipping in her eagerness. But something had obviously happened.
“I should’ve asked earlier. Please tell me you like Italian food?”
“Yes!” Her shout drew the attention of the family at the next table. Her face flushed a deep red. “I like it,” she continued in a near whisper. “It’s my favorite.”
I knew that’s what she said, but it sounded more likeitsmafvrite—one slurred sound, no spaces, no distinct words.
“It’s my favorite, too. I make a mean lasagna,” I said with what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
She hummed a sound of acknowledgment as she looked around the restaurant, obviously avoiding looking at me. She adjusted her carefully arranged napkin, dropped it on the floor, quickly picked it up, and placed it on her lap again. All with her chair still away from the table.
“Hey, Juliette?” I didn’t want to end our time together like this, but I had to offer.
She looked up and leaned forward, her arms raised like she was planning to lean her elbows on the table, unaware of how far her chair was from the table. That was awkward, I suppose, but not enough to explain what happened next. She didn’t pull her chair in, nor did she settle in where she was. She didn’t look at me, laugh at herself, or show any voluntary reaction. She just froze, her eyes wide in her suddenly pale face.
“I hafta go bathroom,” she mumbled, still not looking at me, then popped out of her seat and rushed back towards the entrance.
She was so freaked out, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she continued right out the door. But she pulled up short halfway across the restaurant and scanned the room.
Was there someone here she didn’t want to see? An ex, maybe. She was looking around everywhere except in my direction. I followed her gaze, hoping to spot him. My hands fisted. If someone was bothering her, I’d teach him a lesson he wouldn’t forget any time soon. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone though, and the only people watching her were those at the table she’d stopped next to, who were eying her with open curiosity.
Her eyes caught the restroom sign on the opposite side of the restaurant. Her shoulders dropped before she rolled them back, lifted her chin, and all but marched back across the restaurant. She passed our table, without even a sidelong glance in my direction, and nearly tripped over the leg of a chair. She caught herself just in time, then continued to the bathroom without slowing.
I didn’t understand what had her acting so spooked, but a part of me admired her determination in the face of...something. The other part was just confused.
If I hadn’t been with her the whole time, I might’ve thought she got drunk on the way to dinner. Hell, maybe she snuck something, because I didn’t know how else to explain the sudden personality change.
How was this the same girl who’d laughed and jumped and cheered just for making contact with a ball? Who threw her arms around my neck and pressed her curves against my body when I helped her sink a ball, and smiled like she’d won the damn World Series when she pocketed two balls? We’d spoken forhours with no problem, but now she couldn’t string two words together?
The waiter came, and I asked for a few more minutes. I looked around again, searching for anyone that appeared overly interested in our table or the ladies’ room, but no one did. The only people around were talking boisterously among themselves or eating food that looked delicious and smelled even better. I hoped when Juliette returned, enjoying the food might help her relax. I checked my watch for the third time. How long should I wait before checking on her?
Finally, she returned, that fake smile plastered on her face, the golden rays that glimmered in her brown eyes now replaced with a dull flatness I hated.
She sat, and this time immediately pulled her chair in.
“Hey, you okay?”