Ethan took it.
“Lauren Pierce?”
“Yes. Absolutely. Thank you for making the time.”
Then she gestured toward the room.
“Beautiful restaurant you picked.”
Ethan's eyes found me.
Then the stain on my shirt.
His eyebrows lifted.
He pointed toward me.
“It's my wife's restaurant. I guess you two already had a chance to meet.”
Silence.
I have seen kitchens stop during a power outage with less suddenness than Lauren stopped moving.
Her hand was still half-raised.
Her mouth opened.
Closed.
Then her gaze dropped toward my wedding ring.
Back to Ethan.
Back to me.
“Your...”
She swallowed.
“Your wife?”
Ethan's eyes narrowed at my shirt.
“What?”
Lauren looked at the wine.
I could practically watch her brain trying to reverse the previous five minutes.
“Maya, I—”
Ethan looked between us.
“What happened?”
“Nothing dramatic,” I said.
Lauren seized the opening.
“Exactly. It was an accident.”
She laughed too quickly.
“I was taking a photo and my hand hit the glass.”
Ethan's gaze moved to me.
I could tell from his expression he didn't believe her.
He also knew better than to answer for me.
One of the reasons I loved him.
“Maya?” he asked.
I picked up a napkin and pressed it lightly against my shirt.
“Apparently I'm still sensitive about jokes.”
Lauren went pale.
“Maya—”
I smiled.
Not kindly.
Not cruelly either.
Just enough.
Then I looked toward the dining room.
“Daniel?”
Our general manager appeared almost instantly.
“Yes, Ms. Bennett?”
Lauren's face tightened.
I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
“Would you take care of this table?”
“Of course, Ms. Bennett.”
“And please send another bottle.”
Daniel glanced at my shirt, then at Lauren.
His face remained perfectly professional.
“Certainly.”
I picked up my jacket from the empty seat beside Ethan.
Lauren spoke before I could leave.
“Maya, please. I really am sorry.”
I looked at her.
For a moment, I saw us in high school.
I saw fluorescent hallways.
Cheap cafeteria trays.
Her friends laughing.
Me pretending not to hear.
Then I saw the room around us.
The polished walnut bar I'd spent four months choosing.
The pendant lights I'd argued about with the architect.
The staff I'd hired.
The kitchen I'd nearly bankrupted myself building five years ago when my first location was still an insane risk instead of the beginning of a company.
I didn't need to win the past.
I was standing inside the present.
“Enjoy dinner,” I said. “It's on the house.”
Lauren's humiliation deepened.
Free dinner from the waitress.
That was the irony, I supposed.
She couldn't refuse without making things worse.
I walked away.
Ethan followed me toward the private corridor near the kitchen.
The second we were out of sight, he looked at me.
“She poured wine on you?”
“Yes.”
“On purpose?”
I gave him a look.
His jaw shifted.
“Maya.”
“I can handle Lauren.”
“I know.”
That was why he stopped there.
No chest-beating.
No promise to destroy her.
No dramatic husband marching back into the dining room to avenge me.
Just trust.
Then, after a second, the corner of his mouth moved.
“Did she really think you were a server?”
I stared at him.
His smile widened.
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You're enjoying this.”
“A little.”
I pointed toward my shirt.
“She poured cabernet on me.”
He lifted both hands.
“I'm appropriately outraged.”
“You look delighted.”
“I contain multitudes.”
I tried not to laugh.
Failed.