Page 71 of Beautiful Disaster

“Fine, I guess.”

“It doesn’t sound fine.”

I sigh, and I take another bite of the fish. “It’s just that she’s telling me the same old sh—stuff I already know, and things to do to help. It’s boring.”

“Is it boring, or are you clinging to your ways?” Mason leans in close to my ear. “You can be quite stubborn.”

I smile softly. “You’re not wrong. I dunno… I get more out of what we’re doing than I have with therapy. It makes me feel good, and surprisingly in control.”

“I’m glad you’re getting something out of this, my pet, but I’d like you to keep up with your therapy. What we do is far from a cure or treatment.”

“Yeah, okay. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.”

“It’s just that therapy bums me out, and I want to have a nice night.”

Before we can say more, an older man of about seventy or so steps up to our table and eyes us carefully. “Mr. Vitali?”

“Yes?”

“I… I, ah, recognized you and thought… Ah, I’d stop by to say hello. My wife and I, uhm, eat at your restaurant all the time. I’m Sam Bush.”

My face burns, not from embarrassment but from irritation. I’m almost certain he came over to see who this new person Mason’s with, no doubt forming baseless opinions. Nosy fucker.

Mason stands and shakes his hand. “Nice to see you, Mr. Bush.”

The man’s eyes keep pinging to me, filled with curiosity. You can see him just itching to ask about me.

“This is Jinx,” Mason says, introducing us.

Mr. Bush doesn’t even attempt to shake my hand. He looks at me, squirming. Jesus, fuck. Just leave already, asshole. You know he’s got opinion after useless opinion swirling around in that dense brain of his.

“Ah, hello,” he finally says.

When I say nothing, not taking my eyes off him, he squirms again and focuses on Mason only. “So, are you two… ah… How do I—”

“Let me stop you right there,” I say. “We’re talkin’ business here. Horse training. I’m from Sugar-Sweet Ranch. We’re also trying to enjoy our very nice meal. Do you mind?”

Mason sits and squeezes my knee, but he doesn’t reprimand me. Screw this old dude.

“Oh, yes… uhm, apologies.”

He scampers off and sits at a table with his wife, who scolds him, judging by the look on her face.

“What a nosy prick,” I say.

While I’m irritated, it also brings up a new concern. Maybe not new. We’ve talked about it, but now that I’m face-to-face with people full of shit and curiosity they don’t deserve, it puts things into perspective.

“Yes, I suppose he’ll run back to town and talk about what he saw here.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“Well, that’s the risk I have to take by bringing you out in public like this.”

It’s not fair. We should be able to have a relationship. So what if he’s older? But I also don’t want him risking his business.

“You don’t have to take me out again. It’s fine. You also don’t need to tell them we’re together or show… you know. Just worry about the restaurant. I’m fine.”