Something sparks in his eyes. "They're fun."
"Yes, well, they certainly are." Heat rises to my cheeks, but I don't look away from his gaze. "That's it, then? It's a fun pastime."
His eyes darken. I hadn't meant for my words to sound judgmental, but hearing them back, it's there. And perhaps I do judge him. Not for going, no, I'd gone too. But for settling for that. He's in his mid-thirties, after all.
"They are what they are," he says gruffly. "No strings, no attachment, no commitments."
I bite my lip. "It's simple."
"It's simple," he agrees.
I think of his son, his job. The commitment to making Exciteur the best it could be. "So you don't have the time to date properly, then, and the Gilded Room is the second best option," I summarize.
"You have me all figured out, do you?"
My heart does a double-take, but I give him a confident grin. "I'm something of a people-reader."
"Is that so?"
"Then finding the mole in the Strategy Department should be a day's work for you. Tell me, Freddie," he says, reaching for the French fries, "why are you single?"
"Why am I single?"
"Yes. If you think you have my dating habits all figured out, it's only fair I get a look into yours."
"In that case, you should be guessing," I point out. "Since I guessed yours."
"Hmm, right."
"Equality and all that."
He braces his arms on the table. "God forbid we forget equality. Right, then. It's my turn to read you."
"I'm an open book."
"You just moved to the city, so you haven't had time to meet someone yet," he says. "That makes sense. But did you leave someone behind in Philadelphia?"
I cross my arms and meet his gaze with my own. "My lips are sealed."
"Unhelpful," he comments. "My guess is that you didn't."
"I didn't?"
Tristan leans back in his chair, mirroring my cross-armed stance. He pulls it off better. "I think you're afraid of men."
My mouth drops open at that. "I'm sorry?"
"Oh, not the kind of fear you have for heights. I mean the fear of being burned. You see, Freddie, I think you like to be in control."
"I do, do I?"
"Yes. You've kept your head down and focused on school, on internships, on your work. Told yourself there's no time for dating, but the truth is, you've never made the time… because it scares you. It's the one realm where you're not in control at all."
I stare at him, the half-eaten sandwich forgotten in front of me. Tristan stares gamely back at me with eyes that burn with triumph, and something else. Something that picks at my soul as surely as his words had. Recognition.
"Well," I breathe. "That was quite the analysis. Now it's my turn to wonder… do you tell yourself the same thing?"
His eyes narrow. "Do I tell myself what?"
"That you don't have time for dating. That the Gilded Room parties are all you have space for, putting the majority of your energy into your company and family instead."
"I don't have much time, that's true."
My next words are breathless. "And yet here you are, at a deli on a Thursday evening."
"And yet here I am," he murmurs. "Was I right, Freddie? In my analysis?"
"Was I?"
His lips curl ever so slightly, full in the five-o'clock shadow that darkens his lower face. "I got an envelope delivered today."
"Did you?"
"It was gold."
I bite my lip. "How exciting. Wonder what that can be."
"Wonder indeed," he agrees. "I'm assuming you got a similar one."
I hadn't. Moment of truth, moment of possibility…
"No," I admit. "I wouldn't be surprised if I don't get one at all this time."
He raises an eyebrow. "And why is that?"
"I might have done something that's slightly… against the rules."
"What's this, Strait-laced? Tell me."
"Well, technically speaking, the invitation I received last time was addressed to the former tenant."
A smile spreads across his lips. "Frederica Bilson."
"I went, I saw, I conquered."
"It's came," he corrects. "I came, I saw, I conquered. And you most certainly came."
I bury my head in my hands, unable to look at him. Thank God we're the only ones in the deli. "Christ, Tristan."