It Ends With Us(37)

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My mother is already seated at a table when we arrive. Her back is to the door as I lead the way.

I’m instantly impressed by the restaurant. My eyes are drawn to the warm, neutral colors painted on the walls and the almost full-sized tree in the middle of the restaurant. It looks like it’s growing straight out of the floor, almost as if the entire restaurant was designed around the tree. Ryle follows closely behind me with his hand on my lower back. Once we reach the table, I begin to pull off my jacket. “Hey, Mom.”

She looks up from her phone and says, “Oh, hey, honey.” She drops her phone in her purse and waves her hand around the restaurant. “I already love it. Look at the lighting,” she says, pointing up. “The fixtures look like something you’d grow in one of your gardens.” That’s when she notices Ryle, who is standing patiently next to me as I slide into the booth. My mother smiles at him and says, “We’ll take two waters for now, please.”

My eyes dart to Ryle and then back to my mother. “Mom. He’s with me. He’s not the waiter.”

She looks up at Ryle again with confusion. He just smiles and reaches out his hand. “Honest mistake, ma’am. I’m Ryle Kincaid.”

She returns the handshake, looking back and forth between us. He releases her hand and slides into the booth. She looks a little flustered when she finally says, “Jenny Bloom. Nice to meet you.” She places her attention back on me and raises an eyebrow. “A friend of yours, Lily?”

I can’t believe I’m not better prepared for this moment. What in the heck do I introduce him as? My trial run? I can’t say boyfriend, but I can’t very well say friend. Prospect seems a little dated.

Ryle notices my pause, so he puts his hand on my knee and squeezes reassuringly. “My sister works for Lily,” he says.“Have you met her? Allysa?”

My mother leans forward in her booth and says, “Oh! Yes! Of course. You two look so much alike now that you mention it,” she says. “It’s the eyes, I think. And the mouth.”

He nods. “We both favor our mother.”

My mother smiles at me. “People always say they think Lily favors me.”

“Yes,” he says. “Identical mouths. Uncanny.” Ryle squeezes my knee under the table again while I try and suppress my laughter. “Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, I need to head to the gentlemen’s room.” He leans in and kisses me on the side of the head before standing. “If the waiter comes, I’ll just take water.”

My mother’s eyes follow Ryle as he walks away, and then she slowly turns back to me. She points at me and then to his empty seat. “How come I haven’t heard about this guy?”

I smile a little. “Things are kind of . . . it’s not really . . .” I have no idea how to explain our situation to my mother. “He works a lot, so we haven’t really spent that much time together. At all. This is actually the first time we’ve been to dinner together.”

My mother raises an eyebrow. “Really?” she says, leaning back in her seat. “He sure doesn’t treat it like that. I mean—he seems comfortably affectionate with you. Not normal behavior with someone you’ve just met.”

“We didn’t just meet,” I say. “It’s been almost a year since the first time I met him. And we’ve spent time together, just not on a date. He works a lot.”

“Where does he work?”

“Massachusetts General Hospital.”

My mother leans forward and her eyes practically bulge from her head. “Lily!” she hisses. “He’s a doctor?”

I nod, suppressing my grin. “A neurosurgeon.”

“Can I get you ladies something to drink?” a waiter asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll take three . . .”

And then I clamp my mouth shut.

I stare at the waiter and the waiter stares back at me. My heart is in my throat. I can’t remember how to speak.

“Lily?” my mother says. She flicks her hand toward the waiter. “He’s waiting for your drink order.”

I shake my head and begin to stutter. “I’ll . . . um . . .” “Three waters,” my mother says, interrupting my fumbled words. The waiter snaps out of his trance long enough to tap his pencil on his pad of paper.

“Three waters,” he says. “Got it.” He turns and walks away, but I watch as he glances back at me before pushing through the doors to the kitchen.

My mother leans forward and says, “What in the world is wrong with you?”

I point over my shoulder. “The waiter,” I say, shaking my head. “He looked exactly like . . .”

I’m about to say, “Atlas Corrigan,” when Ryle walks up and slides back into the seat.

He glances back and forth between us. “What’d I miss?”

I swallow hard, shaking my head. Surely that wasn’t really Atlas. But those eyes—his mouth. I know it’s been years since I saw him, but I’ll never forget what he looked like. It had to be him. I know it was and I know he recognized me, too, because the second our eyes met . . . it looked like he’d seen a ghost.

“Lily?” Ryle says, squeezing my hand. “You okay?”

I nod and force a smile, then clear my throat. “Yep. We were just talking about you,” I say, glancing back at my mother. “Ryle assisted in an eighteen-hour surgery this week.”