Pinpoint (Point #4) (29 page)

A wave of uneasiness washes over me.
Pure.
Greatest gift.
My stomach bottoms out. How the hell did I miss that? Was I that invested in my own pleasure? Apparently, I’m a selfish bastard and a terrible lover. Iris is a woman meant to be treasured, and I took ruthlessly from her. I feel sick.

“You didn’t know,” Violet says softly. To my surprise, she and Cam both look at me with compassion.

“I . . .”

Christ
.

I’m at a loss for words. I scrub a hand through my hair and let out a disgusted sigh.

“Would you have done things differently had you known?” Violet asks gently.

“Of course! I would have never touched her. I’m not a complete asshole.” Even though I’m furious, I keep my voice low. Thankfully, the bit of celebrity glow has faded, and the diners are more interested in their food and companions than Cam and me. “God. How am I going to make this up to her?”

Violet looks at me sympathetically. “If you were a fly on the wall during the conversations I had with Iris this week, you’d know there’s nothing to make up. She forgives you. In fact, she considers you a dear friend. I can see you’re contrite, but I don’t understand how or
why
you parlayed a romantic involvement into a friendship. Doesn’t that defy all the laws of romantic comedies?”

Inwardly, my indecision wars. I’m not prepared for this—do I confess my intentions to Violet?

“Oh. I see how it is.” Violet says this smugly, and my shoulders tense.

“My friend, it’s better to accept rather than fight.” The advice comes from an arrogant Cam, and I focus on him.

“What am I missing?” I came to this table feeling ahead of the curve. In control. Now, a sickening sense of vulnerability makes me want to vacate the premises. From the way Cam and Violet are looking at me with self-satisfaction, I feel like I’m three steps behind them.

“You’ve fallen for her,” Violet says matter-of-factly.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes like a petulant child. “Iris isn’t one to be denied.”

Violet chuckles. “Seriously? My sister is one of the most passive people I know.”

“Fine,” I snap. “I can’t deny her.”

“You can’t deny her or how you feel about her?” Violet probes.

Frowning, I shift backward. “Is there a purpose to this conversation? You’ve seen that I truly care for Iris, and I will do everything in my power never to hurt her again.”

“Yes, there is a purpose to this conversation.” Violet bristles. Cam watches the exchange like someone at the US Open. His eyes flicker back and forth between us, smiling slightly. “What are your intentions toward my sister?”

I scoff. “Violet, I consider you to be a friend. I admire your business sense and your dedication to community service. I enjoy your company, and on some level, I trust you. But none of that means I will discuss anything else about Iris with you.”

Violet leans close, all signs of friendship evaporating. Her dark eyes narrow and she scowls at me. “I’m not asking for the recipe for seduction. I want to know that you aren’t toying with Iris. She’s been through enough emotional turmoil. And no, I’m not strictly referring to you abandoning her after your night together.”

“Did I not make myself clear? I will not hurt her. Ever.” I grind out the words through clenched teeth.

Violet sits back in her seat satisfied. She crosses her arms over her chest and nods in acceptance. “You’ll do,” she says with approval.

I glance to my left where Darren stands, poised for direction. I angle my head toward the table, an indication that I want them served. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?”

Violet and Cam exchange a look. Fuck if I know what they’re thinking, but they both look pleased. And although I’m wondering if it’s possible to drown in a discovery, I accept this as boding well for my chances to convince Iris to give me another shot.

“Thank you for stopping by, Oscar,” Violet says sincerely. “My sister means the world to me, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t vet your intentions.”

“Understood,” I say shortly. The moment Darren arrives with their first course, I move to my feet. It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him to comp their meal, but I know Cam doesn’t appreciate freebies, and I don’t want an accusations of trying to buy their good favor. Though as I walk away, triumph makes my shoulders straighten. I passed an unspoken test.

For once, I don’t pause to watch the activities of my kitchen. I vanish into the manager’s vacant office and shut the door behind me. Placing my palms flat on the desk, I drop my head between my shoulders and release a heavy breath.

How blind could I have been? So selfish, only thinking of my own needs.

Jesus.

“Get a grip, Alexander.” One inhale and one exhale later, and I’m standing upright, smoothing a hand through my hair.

Here I am, doing the same thing Violet did to her sister—acting as if she can’t make her own decisions. Iris chose to sleep with me. Hell, I practically demanded her consent. Still, guilt continues to wrack me. For the entire time I’ve known Iris, I’ve treated her as though she was nothing more than a babe in the woods. Okay, in some areas of life, she is inexperienced, but that doesn’t amount to shit when it comes to the goodness spilling out of her like warm sunshine on a fall day.

Who would have thought Iris could turn me into a poetic-spouting romantic? Chuckling to myself, I shake my head. I’m a mess over this woman. All that control and power I reign in my life as a restaurateur disintegrates in the presence of Iris. Exactly what I predicted would happen if I lowered my walls. Relief replaces fear. Accepting Iris as fate makes her all the more attainable and injects power into my veins.

I retrieve my phone from my pocket and shoot her a text.

Me: Free tomorrow?

A few moments later, she responds.

Iris: Not so much. A wedding all day and late into the night.

Frowning, I tap out a response.

Me: Sunday, then.

The ellipsis appears, indicating she’s typing. A minute goes by. Then another. Finally.

Iris: I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

Me: Why not?

Thank God texts don’t convey irritation.

More ellipsis bullshit.

Iris: Do friends hang out this much?

My response is quick. Succinct. She needs to know that things are different between us. And on Sunday, I will elaborate.
We do. I’ll pick you up at noon.

Iris: Noon? What are we doing that early?

Brunch,
I type shortly.
Get a good night’s sleep, Iris. You don’t want to be dead on your feet tomorrow.

Bossy,
she responds with a smiley face sticking out its tongue. I grin at the emoji. This woman elicits a smile from me for the most trivial things. I ignore her response and slip my phone back into my pocket.

And then I prepare for battle.

She rushes out of the building in a cloud of her personal perfume—sugar—hurrying to meet me where I wait leaning against my car. “Oh, I hope you weren’t waiting outside long,” she says.

“Cold doesn’t bother me.” When she’s a foot away, I brace my hands on each bicep, lean down, and press a soft kiss to her temple. Her skin warms underneath my touch, and my body tightens with want.

Step one: demonstrate my affections with physical touch.

Then, as if this is our typical greeting, I move away and open the passenger door for her. Iris, ever the open book, looks at me quizzically before climbing inside the vehicle. I move to the other side of the car and slide into the driver’s seat. “We have a ride today,” I tell her.

“How far are we going?”

“Thirty minutes. Pick our music.”

Step two: relax with the control issues.

Iris throws me a look of faux disbelief. “You want me to select the music for a thirty-minute ride?”

Frowning, I glance at her when we come to a stoplight. “Am I really that particular?”

“Yes,” she says laughing and tugging at my heartstrings at the same time.

“Just pick,” I mutter. She pats my arm reassuringly.

“It’s okay, Oscar. We all have our quirks.” She’s been in the car with me enough to know how I operate the sound system, and a moment later, Fleetwood Mac fills the cabin of the car.

“Some of my favorites,” she tells me. “Where are we going?”

“A surprise.”

“Not even one clue?”

“It’s a spot along the lake. In the Northern suburbs.”

“Fun. I haven’t spent any time there,” she says.

“You’re the eternal optimist, Iris.”

“Hmm . . . Yes, I believe you’re right. On most things, I am optimistic.”

“And what topics make you pessimistic?” The topic piques my curiosity.

“Poverty,” she answers immediately.

“Something that affects you personally,” I clarify.

Her voice drops, melancholy filling her tone. “Fixing my relationship with my parents.”

Shit. I didn’t want to upset her, but I want her to be honest with me. On the other hand, I want to support her when she’s hurting.

“Why do you have to do the fixing? You’re not the only one in the relationship.”

“I don’t.” She pushes her looser hair behind her ears and glances away from me, out the window.

“And yet?” I prompt.

“Part of me wants to make things right with them, for Violet and me. There’s a space missing in our lives without them.”

“Iris,” I prod. She turns toward me. “Are you talking about parents in general or your parents? From what you’ve told me, it doesn’t sound like those people will ever give you the kind of love and support you’re looking for.”

Her shoulders slump. “You’re right,” she whispers. “I haven’t been able to accept that yet.”

Using one hand to steer the car, I reach over and thread our fingers together. I squeeze her hand, reveling in its softness against my rough skin. “Take all the time you need.”

I don’t let go of her hand for the rest of the drive, and she doesn’t move hers either. Another wave of hope bolsters my confidence. She finds comfort in my touch, and I’ll be damned if it doesn’t make me feel ten feet tall.

When I park at the busy diner, I release her hand reluctantly. Iris waits for me to open the passenger door.

“One of these days, I’m going to get out of the car before you walk around,” she teases.

Inwardly, I punch a triumphant fist in the air. She’s talking about the future.

“And disgrace my mother’s wishes for her son to have the utmost manners?”

Iris giggles and relaxes against the hand I touch to the small of her back. I could see this argument repeating itself again and again until our hair goes gray. And the wild part is that doesn’t scare me in the slightest.

“What’s with the far and away look?” Iris’ voice drags me back to the moment. Even though we’re outside and the temperature trembles a hair above freezing, I stop to take in the moment: shining deep blue eyes, the alluring scent of sugar, an electric current from the points where our bodies touch.

“The future looks promising.”

“What a mysterious thing to say.”

Stay tuned,
I think wryly. Nudging her forward, I tell her about the restaurant. “This diner has been around for thirty years.” At the glass door, I open it wide to allow her to enter first then follow closely behind. The hostess leads us to a table for two in the massive two-hundred-plus seat restaurant. Some people have a knack for guessing the number of jellybeans in a jar; I can tell with one glance how many seats a restaurant has. Stupid human tricks.

Once we’ve ordered our meal, Iris eyes me quizzically. “Did we really drive thirty minutes outside the city for eggs and bagels?”

“You’d be surprised what this kitchen can do with cream cheese.”

Iris looks heavenward in mock exasperation.

“There’s more to this trip than eggs and bagels.”

Iris pauses mid-sip of the admittedly weak coffee. This diner doesn’t hit all the bases, but the food is something to remember. “Oh, really? I’m assuming there are no clues to be had.”

“It will be another fifteen-minute ride. Maybe twenty if we don’t catch the lights.”

“All right, Mr. Alexander. You have successfully piqued my curiosity.”

I can’t help but smirk. This won’t be nearly as hard as I built in my mind.

After we’ve eaten and I pay the bill, I usher Iris back into the car and direct us into traffic. The drive takes us due east toward Lake Michigan. Iris commandeers the radio again during this ride. I’m happy to let her control the station because the sap I’ve become wants to have her around.

Step three: share something about myself that almost no one else knows.

“Where are we?” Iris looks around the clearing. After driving through the twists and turns of Sheridan Road, I parked the car at the end of a winding driveway. The barren plot of land was nothing other than an expansive view of the lake, sand, and grass.

“Last year, this piece of land came on the market, and I happened to hear about it from my parents because this land is zoned for commercial use. Most of the lakefront property is reserved for residential but not this space.”

Iris unlatches her seat belt and shifts in the seat to press her back against the passenger door and face me. And as if she has a direct tap into my imagination, Iris identifies my plans for the space. “You’re planning to open a restaurant here once Mariquita is off the ground?”

“Not exactly. Clint doesn’t know I bought this land. Real estate purchases are public record, but because no public relations campaign accompanied the purchase, the restaurant press didn’t pick up on it.”

“If you don’t want to open a restaurant here, then why did you buy it?”

I rub my hand across the stubble on my chin—stalling. No one knows this. My mother has guessed, but I haven’t told my parents of my long-term plan. A flicker of anxiety surprises me, and I realize then I want Iris’ support. Hell, I want her part of this vision. “I want to open my own place. No Clint. No investors with uninspired ideas. A kitchen I run, a staff who knows me as a chef, not a figurehead. No more working the front of the house and appeasing business partners.”

Iris listens with rapt attention, nodding her head in silent agreement.