said warmly.
“That’s one word for him,” I muttered.
“Dareen!” Olivia said, reaching a hand up.
Darlene knelt beside her. “Hi, sweet pea. Are you playing with your blocks?”
“Bocks.”
I wrenched my gaze from her and my daughter to see Jackson watching me with a shit-eating grin on his face. He held his hands up like a circus ringmaster for whom everything was going precisely as planned.
“Shall we?”
We met some friends of ours I hadn’t seen in a long time at Flore restaurant. Twelve of us crowded around the long table by the window that afforded a perfect view of bustling Market Street.
Jackson sat next to Darlene and directed me to sit across from her. For a split second, I wondered at my friend’s actual motives, but Jackson wasn’t a dick. As soon as I sat down, I understood his plan; I had a full view of Darlene sitting across from me, looking stunningly gorgeous in the amber light of the restaurant.
Our friends took to her immediately. Even the most outgoing women among them seemed reserved compared to Darlene. She wasn’t loud or obnoxious but laughed and talked easily with no self-consciousness about being amongst a group of new people. Now and again, her eyes stole glances at me, and as the dinner plates were being served, she leaned over the table.
“How am I doing?” she asked. “It’s been a while.”
“You’re fucking perfect,” I said, but the noise and clatter of silverware on dishes was so loud, she didn’t hear me.
“What? Say again?”
I shook my head with a smile, and we both were pulled toward other conversations.
After dinner, the group of us walked down Market Street. I’d forgotten what it was like to hang out with friends, to be part of the city’s energy. Darlene linked her arm in mine as we set out.
“Is that okay?” she asked, when I stiffened.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. Her sudden touch on my arm had sent a current shooting through me and I cursed myself. Jackson was right; I was completely off my game. I’d forgotten what it was like to flirt with a girl.
Because you always flirted with an agenda, a voice whispered. With Darlene, just being with her, having her hand on my arm, was enough.
Café Du Nord was a small, former speakeasy underneath an actual restaurant. We walked down the short stairs into the windowless, oval-shaped room. At the far end was a place for a band, but tonight the red curtains were closed and swing music came in from the sound system. We passed pool tables on the left, and Jackson led us immediately to the bar on the right.
“The first one’s on me,” he told Darlene, and clapped his hand on my shoulder. “The rest are on him.”
She laughed. “I’ll take a Coke with three cherries.”
The music was loud. Jackson craned in. “A what? Rum and Coke?”
“No, a Coke with three cherries in it.” Her smile tightened. “I don’t drink…when I dance.”
“Fair enough.” Jackson turned to me. “What will it be, slugger? The usual?”
“Just one,” I said. “I don’t want you taking advantage of me later.”
Jackson ordered Darlene’s soda, and two Moscow mules for him and me. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy blared overhead, and dozens of dancers were swinging on the dance floor, ringed by onlookers. Old-fashioned lamps on the walls cast a golden light.
The bartender set down Darlene’s soda and two copper mugs, brimming with vodka, ginger beer, and ice—each with a lime perched on the rim.
Jackson tossed down a twenty, and then lifted his drink in a toast. “To interventions.”
“To interventions,” Darlene echoed, her voice low.
We clinked classes and I watched, mesmerized as Darlene plucked a cherry from her drink and put it to her lips that were painted just as red. She held the cherry with her teeth to pull it free from the stem, and then it vanished into her mouth.
“My God,” Jackson murmured to me under his breath. “Did you see that?”
“Hell yes, I did.”
“She’s the hottest woman in this joint.”
“I know,” I said, watching as Darlene struck up a conversation with Penny, one of our friends from Hastings. “And she has no idea.”
That’s part of what makes her so damn beautiful.
Jackson nudged my arm. “What the hell are you waiting for? Ask her to dance.”
“I can’t fucking dance,” I said. “You know that.”
Jackson heaved a sigh. “You leave me no choice. Hold this for me?”
I gritted my teeth as Jackson handed me his cocktail like I was a freshman at a hazing, compelled to do his bidding.