Say You'll Remember Me(11)

“I had a date,” he said, sliding me my drink. “It was my friend Chris.”

“And what happened to Chris?”

He picked up his tumbler. “I told him I needed his ticket,” he said, talking into his glass.

“And how did Chris feel about being punted from tonight’s activity?”

“He is a very good friend who knows I wouldn’t ask unless it was a good reason.”

I smiled. I liked being a good reason.

“Want to sit on the top deck?” I asked. “Dry out in the sun?”

“Sure.”

He led me back upstairs and we found a spot outside.

Servers with trays of appetizers were walking around and he got me one of everything and slid them across the table to me like tiny offerings. There was only one stuffed mushroom left and he put it in front of me without even asking.

Then we sat there in silence, sipping our drinks while he gave me what I could only best describe as a contemplative gaze.

I didn’t care. I gazed back.

His black hair was messy now that it was wet. He had to keep raking it back from his forehead in the breeze. A strong angular jaw. The faintest hint of a five-o’clock shadow.

Everyone on this boat knew him. Volunteers and a lot of the guests too. And to his credit they seemed to like him. They’d say hi as they walked by, clearly excited that he was there, even though his body language didn’t match their energy. He’d smile, but it wasn’t anything overly enthusiastic. He wasn’t being rude, just reserved. Not prone to outward displays of emotion. Self-contained.

My late grandfather was like this. Introspective and observant and not at all as intimidating as he appeared—and neither was Xavier.

If Xavier were actually as scary as he looked, these people wouldn’t dare hoot at him while he was shirtless or make it a point to come over and say hello. They were used to him, they liked and respected him, and they knew how he was. He was obviously thoughtful. Kind to animals. Maybe a little grumpy, but he did say he thought most people were assholes, so that would explain that. A bit of a resting bitch face, but it was still an excellent face.

I knew more about him in five minutes of seeing him interact with the people and the dogs on this yacht and watching him watch me than I probably would have gotten small talking with him alone literally anywhere else.

And I liked him. I felt a little flattered that he’d asked me here.

“What was your last girlfriend like?” I asked.

He peered off over the lake. “Carolyn was an acquisitions attorney.”

“And how long did you date?”

“Five, six months?”

I put my straw to my lips while the boat cast off. “Why’d you break up?”

“She didn’t like dogs.”

I choked. “How did you end up dating someone who didn’t like dogs?”

“She was a cat person, so I let it slide.”

“Ah.”

His gaze came back to mine. “Who was your last boyfriend?” he asked.

I twisted my lips thinking about it. “I take that title pretty seriously, so I haven’t had one in a while. The last guy I dated long-term was a semiprofessional baseball player. Oscar.”

“Why’d you break up?”

“He didn’t like mustard.”

He laughed, smiling out over at the passing mansions. The air was warm, but the breeze off the lake made it comfortable. The view from the top deck was spectacular.

This was the perfect thing to do today. If he hadn’t asked me out, I’d just be sitting in my apartment, eating food out of takeout boxes—which honestly sounded kind of nice too. But this…

“Is your mom okay?” he asked, breaking into my thoughts.

I set my drink down and gave a one shoulder shrug. “No. But that’s not what the call was about.”

“What was it about?”

“It was my sister wanting to know if I needed to be rescued from this date.”

“And do you?” he asked.

“If I got rescued from this, I’d want to be rescued from the rescuers.”

He made an amused sound through his nose, and I got another one of those smiles that reached his eyes.

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Twenty-nine. You?”

“Twenty-eight. So do you have any siblings?”

“No.”

“Cousins?”

“No. I have a group of friends that I’m close with,” he said.

“And what do your parents do?” I asked.

He gave me his expressionless look. “I don’t talk to my parents,” he said.

“Oh.” I picked up my drink. “Well, boundaries are important.”

He didn’t react to this.

“What do your parents do?” he asked.

I looked at the ice in my cup. “My dad is a regional manager for a furniture company. My mom…” I paused. How to answer this?

Do I tell him who she used to be? Who she still thinks she is because she can’t remember she’s not anymore? Or do I tell him what she is now?

You know how when someone dies, all anyone cares about is how? Somehow the moment that takes them out is more interesting than decades worth of life and accomplishments and living. I hated it.