Affairs of Steak (21 page)

I stood up. “You’ll let me know?”

“Yeah,” he said.

Just as I got to the door, he said, “Ollie…”

I turned.

Tom played with the pen in his hand. He readjusted himself in his seat. “Are you and Special Agent Gavin…” He spread his hands in question.

I had no idea how to respond to that. Of all the people in the world, Tom deserved a straight answer, but I didn’t have one to give. I hesitated.

“You can tell me it’s none of my business,” he said.

“No, it’s not that.” I searched for the right words. “It’s just…”

He waited.

“The truth is, I don’t know,” I said. I didn’t want to be disloyal to Gav by sharing personal information, but there was precious little to share and this much, I was sure, would be fair game. “He’s a friend.”

Tom stared down at the pen again. “He’s a good man, Ollie.”

“He says the same thing about you.”

Tom gave me a sad smile.

“The thing is…” I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob. “…you’re both right.”

WITH NO WORD FROM TOM, I WAS STILL UNDER Agent Scorroco’s conversation-less guard on the way home. Just as I was about to alight, however, he said, “I won’t be here tomorrow.”

“Day off?” I asked.

“No, ma’am. The Secret Service has eliminated the need for your coverage.”

“This is it, then? I’m done?”

“That’s what I’ve been told, ma’am.”

“Nobody told me.”

“I’m telling you.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you.”

He gave a brief nod and pulled away the moment I shut the passenger door. “Well, wasn’t that fun?” I said aloud. Delighted to be on my own, I grabbed my cell phone and dialed Gav. He answered right away.

“Hey,” I said, “guess what?”

“You no longer require an armed escort to and from work?”

“It’s hard to be mysterious around you.”

He laughed. “What’s up?”

“It’s a Sunday night, I’m free as a bird, and I’d love to cook you dinner. What do you say?”

He hesitated. “Tell you what: Let me
take you
to dinner. Somewhere near your place.”

We agreed to meet at a seafood restaurant about a mile or so from my building. An easy walk on a spring evening. I had about an hour to get ready, so I immediately dashed into the shower. I usually wore my shoulder-length hair in a ponytail to keep it out of my face, but tonight I expended a little effort with the blow dryer and a styling brush to add bounce. When I was finished, I picked up the curling iron and gave myself a critical glance.

I kind of liked the sleek look. It was younger, more fun. Okay, I thought, done with the hair. Next, makeup. Except for mascara, I generally went to the White House each day wearing nothing on my face except moisturizer and sunscreen. Tonight I added a little eyeliner, dusted on some mineral powder and even a little blush. I decided to wear my favorite black pants, a new fuchsia top I’d recently picked up, and silver earrings. A last look in the mirror and I was quite pleased. Best of all, I was done with plenty of time to spare.

I hoped to get to the restaurant before Gav did. He’d offered to pick me up, but I knew he’d be coming from work—possibly running late—and now that I was out from under the watchful eye of the Secret Service, I craved being outdoors by myself. Plus, it wouldn’t be dark for at least another half hour.

I pushed through the restaurant’s revolving doors into the dimly lit bar area. Fairly quiet in here tonight, there were three couples at high tables and a group of men chatting amiably at the bar. I glanced around, but didn’t see Gav.

“Hey,” he said from behind me.

I spun. “You scared me.”

“Good. That’ll teach you to be more observant.” He stepped back. “You look wonderful.”

His words warmed me from my head to my toes. “Thank
you.”

“Come on,” he said, “our table is waiting.”

As we were seated, the hostess handed us menus and told us our waitress would be with us momentarily. “I’m off duty tonight,” Gav said, as he perused the wine list. “Would you like to share a bottle?”

Surprised, I was nonetheless pleased. “Absolutely. What did you have in mind?”

He studied the wine list as I studied him. There were tiny crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes, and the brackets around his mouth had deepened since we’d first met. But he was a very handsome man. Tall, distinguished looking. Smart, too. I felt a little flutter in my heart as I took him in. So serious. Even about picking the right wine.

When he looked up, he didn’t seem surprised to catch me watching. Instead, he smiled, and the flutter in my heart beat a little faster.

“You know wines?” I asked.

“A bit. I have a couple of favorites. I can’t always find them.”

The waitress came by to recite the evening’s specials and ask us about drinks. Gav ordered a vintage that seemed to impress the waitress. She pointed to the wine list. “This one, right?” she asked as though she wanted to make sure.

When the waitress brought it and went through the customary showing, offering, pouring, Gav smiled his approval. “You’re in for a treat,” he said to me.

The moment she left, he lifted his glass. “To…first dates?” he asked. “This is actually our first real date, isn’t it?”

My stomach was now in the midst of full-out flip-flops. “First dates. I like that,” I said as our glasses clinked. “Although I feel as if I’ve known you forever.”

“If anyone would have told me I’d be here, clinking glasses with that little upstart from the kitchen…” He let the thought hang, but he was smiling as he sipped his wine.

I sipped, too. “Oh,” I said as I savored the taste, “that’s wonderful.”

“One of my favorite whites,” he said. “I’m usually more of a red man.”

“I thought you might be.”

“Did you, now?” He placed his glass down and set his elbows on the table. “Are those your superior deductive skills at work?”

“You know it.” I took another sip. “This really is an extraordinary wine.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“What I like,” I said softly, “is being here with you.”

“I want to talk about that,” he said.

I put my glass down.

The waitress took that as a signal. “Are you ready?” she asked.

“I don’t think he is.” I shot a meaningful look at Gav that had nothing to do with ordering food.

“I’ll give you a few minutes, then.”

Gav gave me a shrewd stare. “Still the smart aleck, aren’t you?”

“You bring out the best in me.”

“Do I?” He placed his menu on his lap and leaned forward. “Or…” he hesitated, “am I making things worse?”

“What?” I said too loudly.

He shushed me.

“What can you possibly mean by that?” I asked.

“I’m older than you are.”

“So?” I said, then added, “Not by much.”

“I’ve been single a long time.”

I tried reading the look in his eyes, but I was coming up short. “And you don’t want to give that up?”

He laughed, but it was a sad laugh. “Hardly.”

“It’s me, then.”

“You know it’s not you, Ollie.”

My menu was open in front of me, I leaned forward, too, pressing it to my chest. “That’s exactly the problem.”

I could tell I’d confused him.

I sighed. “Whatever is stopping you from moving forward
should
be about me. If it isn’t, then why not? If you
really wanted to be with me, if you wanted this to be a relationship instead of just a first date, you would.” I leaned back and pretended to read the menu. “It’s that simple.” So attuned to Gav, his mood, whatever he was about to say next, I had no idea whether I was looking at appetizers or entrées.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you.”

I looked up. “When I really want something, nothing can stop me.”

“I know that.”

“But?” I went back to reading the menu. Still not seeing it. “There’s a ‘but’ hanging there. What is it?”

“You scare me.”

That caught my attention. I glanced up. The look on his face said he wasn’t making a joke.

“You are like no one I’ve ever known before. Willing to stick your neck out—sometimes quite literally—for the greater good. You’re brave, strong, upbeat.”

“There’s something wrong with that?”

“Ollie.” He said it so softly it made the hairs stand up on my arms. “You know better.”

I wasn’t angry and I didn’t want him to misconstrue. “I told you I’d be patient. I don’t intend to go back on my word.”

The waitress reappeared. “Ready?”

Gav handed her the menu but held his hand out to me. “Ladies first.”

“Uh…” Caught unawares, I quickly scanned the menu. “I’ll have the trout.” Made with cannellini beans, garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and arugula, it sounded like an interesting combination.

“The swordfish special for me,” Gav said, “but could you substitute another vegetable for the asparagus?”

“Brussels sprouts or spinach?” she asked.

“Brussels sprouts, thanks.”

“You don’t like asparagus?” I asked when she left.

He made a face. “Had it once as a kid. Never recovered.”

“You’ve never tasted my asparagus.”

“That’s true enough.”

“I bet I could make a believer out of you.”

“I’d like to try.” His eyes grew serious. “Now, what were you saying about not going back on your word?”

“Gav.” I played with my wineglass. “You need to understand something: I want to wait for you. I’m happy to do it.”

“Then what is it?”

How could I feel this much emotion for this man when we’d both just agreed this was our first date? I could feel how right we were together. How good. But there was one major stumbling block.

“You.”

“I don’t—”

“There’s something else holding you back, Gav.” I paused, hoping he’d jump in and deny, but he simply waited for me to continue. “It isn’t just you believing yourself to be a jinx to people you care about. There’s more. I think we have something special here, but I’m wondering if you really
want
to move forward. If maybe you’re having second thoughts.”

He was silent for a long moment. Too long. My words had touched a nerve. I could see it in the way he blinked, looked away, then tried to smile.

“Deductive skills, Ollie. You really should have considered a job with the bureau.”

The tone was light, but his words cut me. I tried to mask my reaction by taking another sip of the wine.

He asked, “What do you want from me right now?”

“Honesty.”

His mouth curled in a way that told me he knew I’d say that. “Then you will have honesty. But not here. Not now. Let’s talk the way we usually do. Like friends. Like colleagues. Like brothers in arms. Tell me what’s new. What’s going on. Then later we’ll talk about us.”

“Later as in tonight? Or later as in a year from now?”

“Tonight. I promise we’ll talk. I’m uncomfortable having this discussion in the middle of a restaurant.”

I sat back, but my stomach had other ideas. Dinner, no matter how tasty, would be wasted on me tonight. What did he have to share that couldn’t be discussed here? “Okay.”

“Now, how’s the kitchen? Anything new?”

Without veering into a discussion that could compromise the Hydens in any way, I told him about Virgil’s most recent meltdown. “Doug doesn’t seem to have a handle on the position the way Paul did,” I said. “He sent Virgil off to…” I couldn’t very well say “Camp David,” so I used the escape’s former name. “…Shangri-La to let him cool down. That’s hardly an effective way to deal with the problem.”

We stopped talking when our food arrived, but jumped right back in the moment the waitress was gone. Shop talk had calmed me enough to appreciate the steaming trout on my plate. “This smells heavenly.”

“I’m not impressed with Doug,” he said. “He’s got a long way to go.”

“How much rope will they give him? Any idea?”

Gav sliced off a bite of his swordfish. “I’m not always privy to staffing information.”

“Only when it involves security?”

“Something like that.”

“Since this is our official first date,” I said, “I guess we should try to get to know each other better.”

Gav’s mouth twitched. “What do you want to know?”

“For starters, where did you grow up?”

“Foster homes, mostly.”

I’d expected him to name a city, or a state, even a region. I hadn’t expected that. Rendered speechless, I didn’t know how to follow up.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

“I just don’t know what to say next,” I said. “I’d love to know why you were in foster homes and anything else you care to tell me, but I don’t want to pry.”

He almost smiled at that. “Come on. My Ollie always wants to pry.”

His
Ollie? I liked the sound of that. The trout on my plate suddenly tasted a whole lot better. “Okay. Tell me everything.”

“An abridged version tonight, is that okay?” He shrugged as though his story was of no consequence. “I was three
when my mother left me with the babysitter and never came back.” He waved his fork, “Yes, Doctor Freud. Tie that in with what you already know, and I do have issues with the important women in my life leaving me.”

“I wasn’t going to say…”