Chaos and Control(43)

Preston raises one eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?” The deep nature of his voice only encourages my behavior. I want to crawl into his lap and devour him.

“I figure we could at least hit a double and end up on third.”

The waiter returns with my wine and his water. “Have you made your selections for the evening?” he asks.

“Yes, I’ll take the carbonara,” I say.

“I want the lasagna,” Preston orders. “Just the lasagna on the plate. Side salad on a separate plate. Dressing on the side.”

“Of course, sir.” The waiter takes our menus and leaves us again.

I sip my wine and enjoy the warm feeling it creates in my belly. “Now what were we talking about?”

“Baseball,” Preston says with a sly smirk.

“Yes. Baseball,” I confirm. “It’s a thrilling sport. Don’t you think?”

“Eh. I think it’s kind of boring actually.” He is teasing me, the candlelight flickering in his eyes.

“You obviously haven’t had any decent teammates, then. I guarantee,” I say, curling my hand around his knee, “I can change your mind.”

Preston lifts his water glass and drains half of it. I do the same with my wine. A few moments later, our appetizer is delivered. We both dive in, which results in my hand leaving his body. While I use my fingers to grab the fried ravioli and dip it in the sauce, Preston uses his fork and knife to cut it into four equal size pieces. He spoons sauce onto each piece and eats them. I love watching his process, but I don’t stare. I don’t want to give him a complex about the little things that I adore.

He suddenly shifts, sitting taller and staring off into the distance. I can tell he’s not looking at anything in particular, just lost in his head. I begin to worry when he hasn’t moved for almost a minute.

“Preston?”

“I think I left my coffee pot on,” he says. “It could cause a fire if it’s empty. And I know it’s empty, because I washed it this morning.”

I chew and swallow my food, unsure how to respond. Everything I’ve read says to let him vent his worries and gently reassure him.

“So, if you haven’t made coffee since this morning, then you would have noticed it when you went home after work, right?”

Preston sighs and cocks his head. “You’re right.”

“I’m sure everything is fine.”

“How are you liking The Haystack?” he asks. His eyes connect with mine, but I can tell he’s still distracted.

“It’s fine. Just what I expected. Drunks and good ol’ boys.” I wipe my hands on my napkin and turn to him. “So, what’s normally on your schedule on Tuesday nights?” Preston looks away as if he’s ashamed. “Hey, I genuinely want to know.” I keep my voice soft and reassuring.

“I usually watch a movie,” he says.

“It’s been so long since I’ve seen a movie, a couple of years.”

“Really? What did you spend your time doing on the road?”

I finish off my wine and think about three years living life on the go. “Mostly traveling or trying to earn money for food. I left Crowley with a nice chunk of change, but it didn’t last long. I did whatever I could to survive. It wasn’t seedy or anything. Most of the time, I’d find a job earning cash for a week or two before moving on.”

“Wow. That’s really brave, Wren.” The admiration in his statement makes me smile.

“I don’t look at it that way. It was my life, and I was happy in it. Until I wasn’t.”

“Is that what brought you home?”

I slide my finger along the neckline of my dress and look down at my empty glass. “Sort of.”

The waiter delivers our food, and the smells of tomato and garlic capture my full attention.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks.

Preston looks to me.

“Another glass of wine,” I say.

We abandon conversation, and I’m thankful for it. I was uncomfortable with where that topic was going. I eat my pasta and watch as Preston eats his salad. He picks out all the cherry tomatoes, eating those first. Then he eats the croutons. Last is the lettuce and cheese with just a touch of dressing. When that is finished, he slides the lasagna in front of him. I realize that I’ve abandoned my own food to watch him. It’s crazy how I find his habits endearing, how I love to watch him count boxes, organize records, and sanitize his hands.

“Are you going to watch me eat my entire meal?” he asks, lifting one eyebrow.

“No, sorry.”

I drop my eyes to my own plate and resume eating. The waiter brings my new glass of wine and refills Preston’s water. We barely pay attention to the food, so focused on each other and the palpable excitement between us. A touch here, a glance there, and I can barely contain myself.

“So, Preston-who’s-only-drinking-water, what’s your big plan?”

He swallows the bite he’s been chewing and sets his fork down on the edge of his plate. It’s then I notice that the white linen tablecloth in front of me is dotted with drops of wine and sauce while Preston’s area is pristine.

“My big plan?” he asks.

“Yes. For life. What do you want to do? Where do you want to go?”