Sweet (True Believers #2)(61)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“It’s not my home,” I said, though I wasn’t even sure why I said that. It wasn’t the time or the place to get into it.

“Yes, it is. And I owe you a true apology in it.”

“Jessica!” One of the other servers went rushing past me, giving me an exasperated look, her tray filled with drinks. “Table thirty-seven.”

Shit. “Give me five.” I rushed off to the bar to put in orders from the table I had greeted before Riley and I ordered a beer for him.

“Who is the hottie you were talking to?” Mandy the bartender asked, with a speculative look over at Riley.

“That’s my boyfriend,” I told her because I already knew I was going to go home with Riley and I was going to listen to what he had to say. I was going to give him the ear that I never got with my family, the right to explain himself without having already made my decision.

“Oh, wow, lucky you.”

She had a point, because how many other guys did I know who would have come to a restaurant by himself to beg me for forgiveness? None. Tyler was right—Riley had put himself out there for me.

So I walked carefully in the shoes I had borrowed from Robin, which were a half size too small, since I’d run out without clothes, and went back to Riley’s table. “Okay, you can pick me up tonight. I’ll come home with you.”

“Really?” He looked so ridiculously pleased that my heart swelled. “Cool. Awesome.” He picked up the bottle of beer a server over twenty-one had brought him. “Thanks for the beer, by the way.”

“Well, I had to order you something or people were going to think it was really weird that you were sitting here by yourself not eating or drinking anything.”

“Yeah, but you knew the right brand. That was sweet.”

Or observant. But I smiled, because he was just so gorgeous, and he understood me. He saw in me something more than anyone else did and that was an amazing feeling. “Sweet, that’s me. Jessica Sweet. Now you have to order some food or I’m going to get fired.”

He grinned. “Can I have some hot wings? And mozzarella sticks? And maybe some potato skins. Suddenly I’m hungry.”

“Oh my God. I hate you,” I told him with an exasperated laugh. “Fine. But when you die of a heart attack, I’m going to say I told you so.”

“As long as you do a shot of whiskey over my casket, it’s all good.”

“Don’t die,” I said, suddenly serious. “Don’t leave me.”

His expression changed, too, and he shook his head solemnly. “I won’t leave you. Trust me, that is the last thing in the world I want.”

***

After getting yelled at by my boss at the end of my shift, I had to promise that my boyfriend would never show up at the restaurant again. Then I went into the parking lot, Riley’s car idling as he waited for me.

“I got bitched out,” I told him as a greeting. “Apparently other customers don’t think they should have to wait for their dinner while you and I work out our personal shit.”

“Selfish bastards,” he said, before leaning over and giving me a soft kiss. “Sorry. I really am. For everything.”

“I know.” I did.

“I want to show you something before we go home,” he said. “Do you mind?”

Suspicious, I eyed him. “Is it perverted?”

“No. It’s f**king romantic, that’s what it is.”

I pressed my lips together, wanting to laugh. “Well, in that case, absolutely.”

He pulled out and started to drive out of Hyde Park, a neighborhood of families where the chain restaurant was, and up the winding streets of Mt. Adams, an artsy area of young professionals. My friends and I never went there because it was for the martini and Ann Taylor crowd, tapas bars and top-shelf liquor. I started to worry that Riley was trying to impress me with a nice dinner out or something, though I couldn’t imagine where we could eat at eleven at night. I was in no way dressed for public. I wasn’t even dressed to clean the house. I had on skinny jeans, a white T-shirt with a marinara stain on it, and the Converse that were pinching my feet.

“Where are we going?”

“Don’t sound so scared.” Riley glanced over at me. “We’re going somewhere private. I never told you about my grandmother, did I?” he asked, in a total change of subject.

“No.”

“My grandmother was this tiny Irish woman who was the toughest woman I ever met. She worked two jobs and she buried two alcoholic husbands.” He shot me a rueful glance. “I guess addiction runs in the family. But she was fair and loving and even though she died when I was seven, I think she taught me more about being a decent person in that short time than my mom did in my whole life.”

“That’s awesome. It’s good you had her in your life.”

“She was Catholic, even though I didn’t know what that meant exactly when I was a kid. I just thought it meant you had to wave your hand around your face when something bad happened. It also meant you got to drink wine at church. But anyway, she lived in the neighborhood we live in now, but before every Easter, on Good Friday, she would take me to the church here, in Mt. Adams, for what they call Praying the Steps. People climb the ninety-some steps to the church starting at midnight, praying the rosary or the stations of the cross. I didn’t know what any of that meant, and frankly, I still don’t.” Riley pulled the car over and pointed. “Those are the stairs. See how steep they are? Picture being five years old and seeing thousands of people winding up those steps, murmuring. It was how I first understood what it means to believe in something. Because that was faith.”

I nodded, my throat tight. “I know exactly what you mean. It must have been beautiful.”

“It was.” He turned off the car and studied me, his hand brushing my cheek. “I want you to know that what I believe in is us. You and me. Will you walk up the stairs with me? The view up there is amazing. The whole city.”

“Yes,” I said, understanding that he was asking more of me than that. He was asking if I was in, with him. “I would love to.” My throat was tight, my heart pounding. Riley had taken a risk, coming to work, bringing me here. He had believed deeply enough in his feelings to expose them to me, and I was overwhelmed by how amazing that was. I wanted to give him that back, to try to figure out how to crack open my heart and display it for him.