Lie, Lie Again(76)

“I do. That way I can try a little bit of everything. It’s so hard to make up my mind when it all sounds good. Pick whatever you want.” She smiled. “Minus the boring special.”

“Fair enough. And I’m saying no to the tin tin noodle dish. Poached egg and pork is a tough sell for me.”

She laughed. “Agreed. I overlooked that one.” Leaning forward, she said, “Tell me about your daughter. She’s seven?”

“Yes. Seven going on twenty-five.” His sincere brown eyes were warm, like hot cocoa by a roaring fire. “Her name’s Ruby. Can I show you a picture?”

“I’d love to see one.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket. Thankfully, he hadn’t set it on the table when they’d arrived, eyeing it like a ticking time bomb. With a few flicks, he found what he was looking for. He smiled as he handed her the phone. “This was at her dance recital back in January. She’s started hip-hop, hence the alternative outfit.”

“She’s rocking that outfit. I love it. Do you have more?”

“Scroll through. There’s a ton.”

Scroll through a man’s phone on the first date? This was more exciting than molten chocolate cake with fresh cream. With a light touch, she swiped to the next photo and turned it to him. “More dance recital?”

“Yep. There’s probably a bunch of those.”

Sylvia looked closely at the picture. The girl—Ruby—had her hands on her hips and was mugging for the camera. She had her dad’s brown eyes, but her hair was golden blonde. And she was tiny! Was this the size of all seven-year-olds? It would be rude to ask. She wondered if his ex-wife was a petite little thing. Was she a hip-hop dancer too?

“She’s adorable.” She glanced up at him.

“Thanks. She’s a great kid.” He reached for the phone, and Sylvia passed it back. “If I get started, I’ll talk about her all night and bore you to tears.”

Bore her to tears? Hmm. Had he dated other women who were intolerant of the fact that he was a father? She was intrigued by his feelings for his little girl. She wanted to know more. Did she have a favorite stuffed toy that she took with her on the trek from Dad’s house to Mom’s? Did she lie in her bed at night, hugging the animal tightly to her chest as she whispered her wishes and fears to it? Though maybe this tiny little girl—Ruby, whose name made her think of sparkling red slippers—was fearless. Maybe her parents didn’t scream curses at each other, making her wish she could disappear. She couldn’t imagine Sal throwing a bottle of Jack at the wall as he yelled, You fucking bitch. I wish I’d never married you!

The server delivered their drinks and took their order. He seemed disappointed they didn’t order the special.

“Hey, we need to toast.”

She smiled, blinking. “Whoa. This is strong. But yes, a toast.” She lifted her glass.

“To our first date.”

“Cheers to that.” They clinked glasses. “So,” she said coyly, placing her glass on the table, “have you dated a lot since your divorce? How does that work?”

He chuckled to himself. “How does it work? I have no idea. I thought I’d be married for life. That’s the idea, right?”

“You should know you’re asking a potential nonbeliever that question.”

“You don’t want to get married one day?”

“I don’t know.” She was treading on shaky ground here, that much she knew. It was always such a delicate topic. After what had happened with Hugh, she wasn’t certain that marriage wouldn’t end in murder if her spouse cheated on her. But could she go through with an actual murder? The thought of living within concrete walls and metal bars made her shiver. She’d seen those screaming inmates on TV, and if they didn’t kill her with their criminal hands while she slept, their wailing would cause all the blood vessels in her brain to burst, resulting in her bloody jailhouse death. Although hypothetically speaking, if she were to murder someone, she’d be smart about it. No one would ever know it was her. “I suppose it would take the right person.”

“Not a cheating bastard.”

Well, that summed it up, didn’t it? Sal was an astute man in addition to having nice arms. “Not a cheating bastard.” She smiled easily. “So why did you and your ex-wife divorce? Or is that too personal a question?”

He spun his cocktail glass in a full circle, like he was opening a combination lock. His jaw was tense, but a half smile appeared. “Have I told you I like how direct you are?”

“Yes.” And I just did it again. Did you notice, Sal?

“Good. Uh, so the divorce.” He picked up his glass and set it back down again. “Short version is she wanted me to be someone else—more successful, richer, you name it. No matter how much more I did, she continued to put me down. I felt like I’d never live up to her expectations. So,” he said, his lips tight, “I told her I couldn’t do it anymore. Go find someone who makes you happy, because I sure as hell don’t is what I said.”

“Oof. I’m sure that went over well.”

“We ran out of tissues, and she resorted to using a dish towel. She didn’t want a divorce. Or at least, if we were going to divorce, she wanted to be the one to initialize it. Control issues or whatever.” He took a hefty swig of his jalape?o margarita.