Love In Slow Motion (Love Beyond Measure #2) - E.M. Lindsey Page 0,26

something oddly soothing about sitting and people watching. After Ilan told the hostess he was giving up his spot on the wait list, he got comfortable at the bar with Gail, dug into a meal that would have his parents spinning in their graves, and let himself exist.

His eyes strayed around the room, watching people on their first and their hundredth dates. He watched people on the verge of marriage and people on the verge of divorce. He watched a couple with bags under their eyes not saying a word, the father with a spit-up stain on his shoulder and the mother who was gently rocking back and forth like she’d forgotten what it was like to be still.

Part of him wanted to climb into their heads and experience all the euphoric parts and all the ones filled with agony. To wake up whatever was inside of him that had gone numb to the idea of loving someone. And even as he watched a couple have a fight, hissing insults under their breath, he thought maybe all that pain was worth something too.

He had started perusing the dessert menu when the hostess walked by him, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw the man holding her arm was also holding a white cane. He was in a nice suit, and his hair was rich black and combed in precise waves, and he was wearing a smile that Ilan would recognize anywhere.

“Oh fuck,” he breathed out.

Gail cleared her throat. “You know it’s rude to stare, right?”

Ilan rolled his eyes toward her. “Yeah, I do. He’s the one who taught me that. He’s my best friend’s dad.”

“The best friend living in Paris?” she asked, and he laughed.

“Yeah. What the fuck is he doing here? He’s…” Ilan went quiet when the hostess led him to a table occupied by a younger man who was staring at Fredric, his expression stoic but mostly unreadable. Ilan was too far away to hear anything, but he saw Fredric stick out his hand, and the man hesitated before he took it.

The guy looked like he was ready to bolt for a second, and then his face fell into something like boredom as he sat down, waiting for Fredric to get settled.

“Oh, fuck me,” Ilan breathed out. “He’s on a date.”

Gail’s brows rose. “Is he cheating?”

“No. Fuck,” Ilan said and rubbed his eye under his glasses, grimacing when he left a smudge on the lens. “He’s divorced.”

“Well, he looks sweet. This must be a first date, look how nervous he is,” she said.

Ilan groped next to him for his wine, then took a massive swallow. “Yeah, but…he’s straight.”

Gail hummed. “Is he, now?”

And Ilan’s mouth opened to say yes, he was. Because the last time he checked, Fredric had only been interested in women. Only…only he didn’t know that. Not really. He’d never asked. He knew that Fredric and Jacqueline had been together since they were teens—he knew that Fredric had never really dated anyone. And, like an ass, he just assumed.

His hand fumbled for his phone, trembling fingers ready to call Julian, but something stopped him. This wasn’t his place to say anything. Part of him wanted to storm over there and demand to know what the hell Fredric was doing, because if this was just reactionary to his divorce, Ilan could help him get over it without trying to reinvent himself.

But he didn’t do that either, because it probably wasn’t that at all, and Fredric deserved first dates and romantic dinners. He just didn’t know why it made something in his chest ache.

“Are you gonna order dessert, hon?” Gail’s voice dragged him out of his thoughts, and he turned away from the two men talking quietly at their table.

Shaking his head, he turned and pushed his glass back toward her. “One more of those please. And water,” he added. He needed to be sober for this.

The next little while passed in a blur, and Ilan was starting to breathe a little easier because it looked like the date—or whatever the hell it was—was going well. The man had ordered wine, and they were talking, and Fredric was smiling.

Then the server returned and handed something to Fredric, which Ilan immediately recognized as a braille menu, and he watched the date’s face change. There was something in his eyes—like shock. Then he waved at the server, and Ilan saw him clearly mouth, ‘What the fuck is that?’

Ilan couldn’t see what the server replied—if anything—but the man’s