Page 34 of The Bet
She shakes her head ruefully. “It’s going. I don’t come from much, so work-study is helping put me through school.”
I nod slowly. “Tell me about it.”
Andie shrugs. “My family’s working class. My two younger siblings are in high school right now, but they’re both college bound, so I need to help out any way I can. Thus, the work-study, and I also babysit on the side sometimes. My parents can’t help. I think my dad is still mad I chose English over accounting.”
I lean in. “But you did it anyway.”
She meets my eyes, dead-on. “Of course.”
We sit there, holding each other’s gaze, and for a moment I can see the life that made her: the long hours, the constant hustle, the stubborn refusal to quit. It makes me want to take her apart, see how she’s built.
But that’s not what tonight is about. Tonight is about honesty, about seeing each other with the lights all the way on.
The food arrives, perfectly timed. My steak is blue-rare, exactly as I ordered it; her risotto glistens under a crown of microgreens. We eat, mostly in silence, but it’s a good silence, the kind that doesn’t demand to be filled. It’s comfortable. Nice, and I love being in the company of an intelligent, yet beautiful woman.
Halfway through, she says, “I lied, a little.”
“About what?”
“I’ve been to places like this before because of my job as a caterer. But never with someone who actually belonged. I thought it would feel intimidating. But it doesn’t.”
I set my fork down. “Why not?”
She considers, then says, “Because you’re not performing. Most of the men I’ve observed in places like this—they want to show off, or see and be seen. You don’t care about any of that. That’s new.”
I want to say something clever, but it lands hard, because it’s true.
“Maybe that’s what happens when you’ve already won,” I say. “Or maybe I’m just tired.”
She smiles, and for a moment, there’s nothing between us but the city, the dark glass, and the low hum of the air system overhead.
We linger over dessert—tart for her, cheese for me—and another round of drinks. The night outside has gone ink-black, the city now just a scattering of lights. The world has shrunk to the little bubble of our table.
I watch Andie eat, the way she holds her spoon, the way her eyes soften when she’s pleased. She’s so innocent, so trusting, but also unflinching. It scares me, a little.
She dabs her lips with the napkin, then glances up. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“Why me? You could get any woman in the city. Heck, you probably have to beat off beautiful ladies with a stick,” she states.
I take a breath, weighing the answer. I could say something trite, or I could tell her the real thing.
“Yes, you’re right, but there’s something special about you, Andie. You remind me of who I was, before I had to be this.”
She blinks, surprised, and I continue.
“You’re unafraid. You say what you think. Most people don’t, not anymore. I like that. I like you.”
She looks away, cheeks tinged with color. Then she looks back.
“I like you, too,” she says, voice quiet but unbreakable.
We finish the wine, and when the check comes, I pay without a word. She doesn’t pretend to reach for her purse, and I like that even more.
We rise together, and I help her on with her coat. She stands close, close enough to smell the floral scent of her hair, the faint warmth of her skin.
For a moment, neither of us moves. The elevator is a hundred feet away, but we just stand there, watching the world.
