Fate Interrupted

9. Hot and Bothered

Ren

His whole body seems to sag inward. "She—she died."

It is one of those moments it feels like the room distorts—shrinking inward strangely. My hand flies over my mouth as I inhale sharply. "Oh, Gio! I'm, I'm so sorry. I didn't—" I can't continue. 

Reaching over, I cover his hands with mine, communicating with my eyes the words I can't seem to find, but he drops his gaze, focusing on our hands together. He takes a breath, and Adam's apple bobs a bit, and I suddenly want to cry.

I loved his mom. She had had it tough raising three children alone. As a kid, Gio was often left on his own in the care of his much older brother, who beat on him sometimes when she was away at her boyfriend's house or, if she was single, out after dinner at the local bar. But she was such a warm and vibrant person. She had treated me like a daughter.

"When?" I finally ask.

"Three years ago. But she'd been sick, um, pretty sick for a while before that. Oh, here's our food!" he says, looking up, pulling his hand back, and forcing a smile. "Wait till you try this."

I force a smile around the ache, too, as I watch the waiter set the steaming plates and baskets before us. "Can I get you anything else, Miss, another glass of wine?"

"Yes, please." 

I definitely need more wine after that and whatever else might happen tonight...

"Another for you?" he asks Gio.

"No, thank you. I'll just stick to water now."

As Gio assured me, everything is absolutely delicious. One of those dinners where you just have to take a moment after the first bite because the flavors and textures are just so unbelievably delectable.

"Mmm!" we both say in unison after trying the second dish together.

The waiter brings me my second glass of wine, and I'm reminded of the only other time I've had wine with him at a restaurant.

"Remember the dinner you took me to at Bertolucci's for our first Valentine's Day? And we got served wine way under age?" 

"Yeah, 'course," he says, a slight soft smile playing at the edges of his mouth, his brow a little furrowed. He is such a handsome man now, though his eyes look exactly like I remembered him at seventeen. 

My heart throbs from the look he's giving me, propelling me to ask point blank, "How are you still single?" 

"I don't know!" giving a look that's simultaneously flattered and embarrassed.

He shifts in his seat and scratches the back of his head. "Nothing ever seems to fit or last for me... I guess." Then he adds quietly, averting his gaze. "I just keep relationships casual now."

"Oh? But we dated for almost two years. You've had other long-term girlfriends at some point, right?"

He flicks his eyes back to me, and for an instant, they pierce into mine intensely. "Would it surprise you if I said no?" 

My eyes go wide. It just doesn't compute. "Really?" 

"I don't really want to talk about it," he grumbles, shutting down again.

"Oh, come on, that can't be true," I coax, my curiosity getting the better of me. Yet my shoulders tense, waiting for his reply.

"I don't know," he sighs. "I mean, I've dated lots of girls. I've had a few official girlfriends, but they only lasted a few months. Other than that..." he shrugs.