Chapter 21. Identity

  The silence feels thick in the air. My heartbeat drowns out the soft sound of talk radio. My thumb traces along the window switch, accidentally pressing it just a little too hard. The window jumps down with an abrupt whir, restlessness is repced by burning embarrassment. Casey’s ugh is light and rexing, even though it’s directed at me.

  Mom's heavy watch sits on my wrist as a reminder, this isn’t you, you’re pying pretend.

  “Just making sure it works.”

  “Yeah? Well thank you, I’m gd to know dads passenger window is in tip top shape.” She replies with a teasing lilt

  A brief silence washes over us, although through the corner of my eye I can tell Casey isn’t exactly uncomfortable with it. Why is she so calm? I pull at the band of the watch, as if it were the reason my heart is hammering, and not the gorgeous woman driving me to the date I asked her on.

  “You look really nice tonight,” oh shit “you always look nice… I just… I like your dress-“

  Casey takes a hard left into the parking lot of a nice Italian restaurant I’d only heard about until now, DiMarco’s. The outside of the restaurant is decorated in string lights that seem to sparkle through the windows, casting tiny shadows across Casey’s soft cheekbones. She gives me a look that tells me she’s waiting for my reaction, I don’t humor her with anything more than a sarcastic gasp.

  “Oh my goodness, DiMarcos?”

  “Oh shut up.” Her tone is almost as sharp as her gre, despite the tiny curl to her lips

  Pushing the gearshift into park, Casey looks to me one st time before stepping out of the car. I have to fight my own eyes not to steal any undue gnces. I push my own door open with a shaky hand and shuffle around to her side of the car and meet her.

  Casey leads the way with a sway to her hips that brings images of fashion week, rather than the pink cd nerd I’m familiar with. My stomps by contrast must look like a baby bird wearing stilts on mars. I can’t help but straighten my back as we get closer to the restaurant, to try and match her grace.

  “I have a reservation under ‘Mrs.Sincir’ for 8:30” she says to the hostess before turning to me with a wink.

  “You made the reservation under my name? Identity fraud isn’t a joke.” I say dryly

  Casey rolls her eyes hard “I didn’t make it under your name, I made it under my future name.” She steps into line behind the hostess, like she didn't just drop that bomb.

  I move to follow and my feet tangle like a web and I stumble over the threshold of the restaurant, nearly sending a decorative candle to the floor. I catch myself, but not before I feel a heat rise to my cheeks. Her future st name.

  Her steps shadow the hostess’ and mine in turn shadow hers. I stand a full head higher than her even when she wears those heels. Her hair bounces as she walks, that dark brown, wavy mess. That damn vanil scent wafts off of her like a spell meant to keep my thoughts hazy. The sounds of quiet conversation and silverware fade into the background when we arrive at our table.

  I jump to pull her chair out for her. I’m not a chivalrous woman, but I want to do it for her. She makes me want to do these things. She sits down with a quiet thanks before I go to my side of the table. A candle burns between us, twinkling off her eyes. My mind rushes to repy my dream of her when my eyes nd on her lips. That damn dream, the one I’ve had every night since the first time.

  “Close your eyes for a second” I say to her in a hushed tone

  She closes her eyes while one eyebrow raises like a question. I slide my hands into hers on the table, squeezing a gentle gasp out of her as I do. Her cheeks tint pink for a moment before she opens her eyes again.

  “Your hands are shaking.”

  “Shut it, I’m trying.” I tease back

  “I know you are. I see it. Thank you.”

  A waiter comes by and sets two gsses of red wine between us, and then he’s gone like a ghost. Is this really what fine dining is like?

  “Interesting service, not quite like Chili’s”

  “Who would’ve guessed that DiMarco’s isn’t like Chili’s. It’s really impressive how you’ve managed to deduce that one.”

  “Years of practice and a stack of Nancy Drew novels have honed my senses to a fine skill that would rival Batman. Impressive doesn’t begin to describe my observational skills.” Warmth fills my chest as our back and forth continues.

  “Oh yeah? Go on then, tell me what you notice about me, detective.” She says it with a challenging wink, as if I won’t go all in on this.

  “When you get frustrated, like when you’re studying, or when I’m being a dumbass. The bridge of your nose scrunches around your gsses. It’s almost the same scrunch you get when you’re being feisty,” I trace a small circle in her palm with my fingers and continue “and you’re just as nervous as I am, I’m just way worse at hiding it.”

  Her teeth tease at the inside of her cheek. She’s trying to think of an out, am I winning? Her head tilts and she looks into my eyes, like she’s waiting for me to continue.

  I pinch at her hand “And you hate when I nerd-out with Brian.”

  Her expression flickers, like something physically hit her. Regret hits me like a comet when I figure out why. The st time I nerded out with Brian was at the mall. I want to yank my hands away, I want to run. I don’t want to be the one that hurts her again.

  “Hey, this ain’t gonna be like that…” my palms feel damp, I know she can feel it too. I’m such a mess right now.

  “I know. I know it’s not. I’m happy you’re here with me.”

  Guilt gnaws at me like a zombie. Sweat drips down my back. Say it. Just say it Brooke. She’s not going to run away. She’s right fucking here, just say it. Please just spit it out.

  “Casey, I like you a lot.” The words come out like a champagne cork, flying across the room while the rest of my insides just want to spill across the table.

  Almost like she’s watching a train barreling toward her in slow motion, her eyes widen cartoonishly. Her jaw scks for a second in attempted speech before an upturn into a smile. Hands squeeze mine, almost painfully so. My heart threatens to explode at the excitement in her eyes.

  “Did you just say it?” The sound of her feet tapping repeatedly under the table draws a few eyes to us “you said it!”

  I nod and my stay glued to Casey as I pull one hand away to snatch my wine gss for a solid gulp of wine. The dry, acidic liquid melts down my gullet, dousing the momentary panic in my chest with a comfortable warmth.

  She’s going to run. Thoughts spike into the sensitive parts of my consciousness as the Sugarplumb fairy loses her shit across from me. She hasn’t run yet, she’s not going to run. Chill the fuck out Brooke.

  She’s going to see me, she’s going to find out the truth. She’s going to know that I’m not what she wants. She deserves better, she deserves good. I’m not good I’m-

  Pain shoots up my arm and I let out a yelp. “What the hell?”

  “What were you thinking about?”

  “What?”

  She pinches my hand again “you were spiraling”

  I nod and fsh her a quick smile, it probably doesn’t meet my eyes.

  Her aggressive posture rexes slightly “I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been stalking you for like a year, I’ve got a lot of time invested here. It isn’t just your skill with a blender, you know.”

  Her foolproof logic forces a snort out of me. A loud, obnoxious snort. One that doesn’t belong in a restaurant that serves bck truffle ice cream. Who would even order mushroom ice cream?

  I jump in my seat when someone starts speaking beside the table, Casey’s hand flies to her mouth to cover her own snort. Without missing a beat, the waiter sets down two ptes in front of us. He starts describing the ingredients and what we’re about to eat and how the cow had a lovely life at a farm in New Zeand. I can’t listen, I don’t want to listen. I want him to leave, to let me enjoy this moment with Casey.

  To my surprise the waiter seems to pick up on our disinterest and politely rushes through the rest of his culinary history lesson, tops off our wine, and scoots.

  Casey leans forward and shields her mouth “The cow's name was Kahukura? Do you think the cow was actually Māori or do they just pick a name at random each day?”

  “I’m not sure, but Kahu-… Kay-… the Māori cow smells delicious.” I pick up my fork, fingers still a little shaky from the confession and the wine. I wonder if the cow was comfortable or if it felt like it didn’t belong.

  Casey drags her teeth across her fork and moans “oh my god, it’s so good.”

  Pure joy erupts across her soft features as she chews. I don’t even want to eat mine, I’m happy enough watching her enjoy it. If I can give her a fraction of that, I’d happily sit through all the cow eulogies in the world.