I toss my head back and laugh. Was it so long ago I was mimicking him the same way poolside at my father’s house? Then we were at odds, fighting our attraction, denying our chemistry, the tension just as thick. When we were apart, it seemed like an eternity ago, but when he’s this close, it doesn’t feel that way.
“Tu m’as manqué, mon trésor.” I’ve missed you, my treasure. The sincerity in his tone combined with the look in his eyes has my heart galloping, and visions swirling of the days he barely made it out of his Jag in my father’s driveway before I was in his arms and our lips were colliding. A collection of days and weeks when our time was stolen, a time where we freed ourselves to openly love each other without uttering the words. A plate shatters behind me, breaking our spell.
“Did you just teach my son some sort of French curse?”
Without answering, patience thinning, Tobias grabs the loaded plate from her table. “I’ll get this taken care of.”
She eyes me suspiciously as he walks past. “That English seems to come and go so conveniently.”
“Funny how that works,” I agree, sauntering off and following Tobias through the double doors, zeroed in on his ass when I notice the label on his jeans. “Wranglers?” I can’t help my laugh. “Planning on riding bulls anytime soon?”
“This is all they had in my size,” he explains in defense as he heads into the kitchen. “Not much to choose from around here.”
“You can’t do that,” I change the subject.
“Why should we let all that French you learned go to waste?”
“Not funny.”
“I disagree,” he says icily, dumping the contents of the woman’s plate into a box.
“You didn’t have to help, you know.”
He cocks his head. “You know damn well I’m not irritated because I’m helping. I wanted to.”
“Well, you don’t have to play dirty to talk to me.”
“You sure about that? Because we haven’t had a real conversation since I got here.”
“And now is not the time.”
“When would be a good time?”
My silence only angers him further as he grabs a plastic bag and shoves the box inside.
“I’m adjusting, Tobias, and I’m thankful for the help, but need I remind you, you’re a billionaire, not a busboy.”
“And you’re a millionaire, not a waitress. What the hell does that matter? I’m whatever you need me to be.” He studies me for a second before closing his eyes and placing his hands on the metal countertop, seeming to muster up some patience. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, full of disappointment. “I’ll be out of your way when I finish up with the tables.” He gathers the bag, and without another word, walks through the double doors.
“Condom or a knife?” Marissa nudges me, sidling up to me at the counter, my focus on Tobias, who’s drawing with a little girl in the reading nook while he chats with her grandmother. We got a secondary rush after the kids left, a rarity. Despite our conversation, Tobias stayed to help us out, bussing tables without a word while running circles around Marissa and me.
“What?”
“Condom or knife. The ex-dilemma. When they first come back, you don’t know whether to fuck them or kill them, am I right?”
“Nailed it,” I chuckle, clearing the counter of some plates. “If you only knew.” Which she doesn’t and most definitely never will. That’s the crux of being in a relationship with a man like Tobias.
Restless, I spent last night in my garden planting spring bulbs as he typed away on his keyboard in one of my patio chairs. Every so often, I would catch him staring at me, and I would return it. After I showered and dressed for bed, I found him waiting there for me. When I clicked off the light, he wordlessly pulled me into his chest. I knew he was there to help me combat whatever dream my imagination would muster up. I hadn’t dreamlessly slept since he’d arrived.