Later that night, Joel escorts Cassie back to her apartment. It’s a long walk back to her place from the French restaurant, but the meal was heavy and it’s nice to walk it off. The night is cold, but not frigid, and Cassie’s leather boots crunch in the soft snow with each step.
“How do two people like Lydia and Pete end up together?” Cassie wonders aloud.
“I never thought they were right for each other,” Joel says. “But he was so infatuated with her. I mean, there are a lot of great things about Lydia. She’s smart as hell, successful, and gorgeous. But their personalities just clash.”
“That’s for sure.”
“I feel sorry for Violet,” he sighs. “It’s going to be a messy divorce, and they both love that girl to pieces. I hope they can figure out a way to work it out.”
Cassie looks at Joel, in his black coat and green hat with the scarf wrapped around his neck. Most of the time, she wonders if they have a future together in terms of marriage and children. But for the first time, she wonders what a breakup with Joel would be like. Would he be cruel? She can’t imagine it, but people are different when they’re angry. She’s never seen Joel very angry.
She wonders if she will in the near future. She wonders how he’ll react when and if he learns her secrets. She remembers what Anna said about Joel’s motivations for breaking up with Francesca.
Things she hid from him. That really bothered him.
No, Joel can’t know the truth.
Chapter 37: The Ex
“I’m sorry, but we close in ten minutes.”
The host sounds regretful as he comes to our table to break the news. I startle and look at my watch. Oh my God, it’s nearly midnight. How did we spend so much time talking? I can’t even remember what we’ve been talking about.
And when we weren’t talking, we were staring at each other.
“I didn’t realize how late it is,” I murmur. “I should get home.”
“I’ll take you home,” he says.
“That’s okay. It’s a straight shot on the D train.”
“The train?” His mouth falls open. “At this hour? No way. I’ll drive you home.”
“You don’t have to…”
“Of course I do.” He snorts. “What am I doing paying five hundred dollars a month in garage fees if not to have a car to drive my date home late at night?”
I didn’t want to say it, but I wasn’t thrilled about taking the subway at this hour. But I can’t spare the cost of an Uber back to Bensonhurst. So now that I’ve politely protested once, I’m going to let him drive me home.
Dean pays the check without letting me look at it, then we head back to his sensible green Toyota Camry, which is still parked by the dance studio. I’m glad he doesn’t have a Porsche or Ferrari or some other vanity car, even though I’m sure he could afford it. My feet are feeling better now, and I walk close to him, our shoulders nearly touching. The street is dark and deserted, but I feel absolutely safe with Dean next to me.
“Are you going to take any more dance lessons?” I ask him.
“No,” he says thoughtfully. “I think I’ve humiliated myself enough, haven’t I?”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Liar.”
“You just need a little practice, that’s all.”
He stops short on the street, and I stop too. He’s standing very close to me—as close as he was when we were dancing together. “So now that you’ve seen what I’m bad at…” He raises an eyebrow. “Can I show you what I’m good at?”