The Captain's Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 50: Chapter 50 - A Dinner With The Robinsons

Roxie left the Creekside party so fast Angela and Karen had to jog to keep up with her.

Behind them, the music kept pounding. People were still shouting near the creek. Kendall’s broken phone, Brent’s soaked shirt, and Zac’s cold warning were already turning into a dozen versions of the same story.

Roxie did not wait to hear any of them.

She let Angela and Karen pull her toward the car. She let them ask if she was okay. She gave answers that were barely answers because her brain was still stuck on Zac standing under the string lights with that hard look on his face.

If that picture goes anywhere, I’ll know it came from you.

Post it and find out.

The words kept replaying.

A part of her wanted to defend him. Kendall had taken the picture first. Kendall had come over with Tori and that smug little smile, already prepared to make Roxie look stupid. Zac had stepped in front of it.

But the way he did it stayed in Roxie’s chest like a warning.

He had shoved Brent into the creek. He had broken Kendall’s phone. He had looked at Roxie afterward like he expected her to understand that he had done it for her.

Maybe he had.

Maybe that was the problem.

Her phone buzzed three times on the drive home.

Zac.

Then Zac again.

Then Zac calling.

Roxie stared at the screen until Angela glanced over from the front seat.

”You don’t have to answer him,” Angela said quietly.

Roxie locked the phone.

”I know.”

By Saturday evening, she still had not answered him.

She had not answered his texts either, which had gone from angry apology to shorter, careful messages that made her feel worse.

I didn’t mean to scare you.

Roxie, answer me.

Please.

Then nothing for hours.

She was still thinking about him when Mrs. Robinson asked her what she wanted to order.

Roxie blinked.

The restaurant came back into focus around her. Warm lighting, white tablecloths, tall glasses, soft music, and servers moving around with the kind of calm that made everything feel expensive. The walls had framed black-and-white photos of Italy, the tables were spaced far apart, and the menu in her hands had no prices anywhere.

No prices.

That was terrifying.

Mrs. Robinson smiled across the table. ”Roxie, honey, what sounds good?”

Roxie looked down at the menu again and understood exactly nothing except that every word looked like it required money to pronounce.

Jason sat beside her in a little navy button-down, swinging his feet under the chair. He had already folded his napkin into something that was supposed to be a hat. Mr. Robinson sat across from Jason, scanning the wine list while pretending not to smile at his son’s attempt at fine dining sabotage.

Roxie was wearing a dress Mrs. Robinson had let her borrow.

It was simple, dark, and soft, with thin straps under the cardigan Mrs. Robinson had also pressed into her hands because she said restaurants were always cold.

Roxie had tried to say no to the whole thing. She had been there to babysit Jason while the Robinsons went out for their anniversary dinner, but then Jason had cried because he wanted Roxie to come too, and Mrs. Robinson had laughed and said they could make it a family dinner with one extra seat.

Roxie had said no.

Twice.

The third time, Mrs. Robinson had already been holding the dress.

Some people made refusing them feel rude.

Mrs. Robinson was one of those people.

Roxie forced her eyes back to the menu. ”I’ll get what you’re having.”

Mrs. Robinson’s smile softened. ”The seafood pasta?”

”Yeah. That sounds good.”

Mr. Robinson lowered his menu. ”It’s excellent here.”

Roxie nodded like she frequently sat in Italian restaurants with no visible prices and borrowed dresses.

Mrs. Robinson looked toward the server. ”She’ll have the same as me, but change her drink to soda. Maybe lemon soda, if you have it?”

The server nodded. ”Certainly.”

Mrs. Robinson turned back to Roxie. ”That okay with you?”

Roxie nodded quickly. ”Yes. Thank you.”

Jason leaned toward her. ”I’m getting spaghetti because Dad said I’m not allowed to order pizza at an Italian restaurant.”

Mrs. Robinson laughed and reached over to fix Jason’s napkin before it slid off his lap. ”You can have pizza next time, sweetheart.”

”There’s a next time?” Jason asked.

”If you don’t spill anything on yourself,” Mr. Robinson said.

Roxie smiled softly.

The Robinsons talked like people who were used to taking up space together. They interrupted each other gently. Mrs. Robinson corrected Jason’s manners without making him shrink. Mr. Robinson teased his wife about ordering the same dish every time they came here.

Roxie sat there in Mrs. Robinson’s borrowed dress, holding a cloth napkin in her lap, and tried not to think about how strange it felt to be included.

Mrs. Robinson looked at her over her glass. ”You’re quiet tonight.”

Roxie straightened a little. ”Sorry.”

”No, don’t apologize.” Mrs. Robinson’s voice gentled. ”You seemed a little far away when we picked you up.”

”I’m okay.”

Mrs. Robinson tilted her head. ”Boy problems?”

Roxie almost choked on air.

Jason looked delighted. ”Roxie has a boyfriend?”

”No,” Roxie said immediately.

Mr. Robinson looked up from helping Jason with his napkin. ”Do you?”

He sounded like a dad asking his daughter at dinner, curious and protective in a soft way, and the warmth of it hit Roxie so unexpectedly that she had to smile down at her glass.

”I don’t,” she said. ”Just normal problems.”

Mrs. Robinson did not push. She only nodded, like normal problems could mean a hundred things and Roxie was allowed to keep all of them to herself.

”Well,” Mrs. Robinson said, picking up her glass, ”normal problems are still problems. Sometimes dinner helps.”

Jason lifted his soda. ”Dinner helps everything.”

Mr. Robinson clinked his glass lightly against Jason’s. ”That is the most sensible thing you’ve said all week.”

Jason grinned.

Roxie looked at them and felt something twist inside her.

It was stupid.

It was not like she wanted this exact family. That would be weird and sad, and Roxie did not have time to be weird and sad in public while holding a fancy napkin. But watching them was like seeing a version of life she had only heard about from other people.

A mother who remembered what she promised. A father who asked questions without sounding angry. A kid who spilled things and got teased instead of yelled at.

Her eyes burned.

She looked down fast and hated herself for it.

This was not her family.

She was working.

She was the babysitter in a borrowed dress, sitting at a table because rich people could be generous when it cost them nothing to be kind.

The server arrived with the first course, saving her from herself.

Plates were placed in front of them, small and pretty in a way that made Roxie suspicious of portion sizes. Jason stared at his appetizer like it had offended him personally.

Dinner moved slowly in the way expensive dinners apparently did. Plates came and went. The server refilled water before anyone asked.

Then Jason knocked his drink over.

It happened fast. One excited hand gesture, one elbow, one full glass tipping sideways. Soda spread across the white tablecloth and splashed against the front of his shirt.

Jason froze, horrified.

Mrs. Robinson immediately reached for a napkin. ”It’s okay, sweetheart.”

”I ruined it,” Jason whispered.

”You did not ruin anything,” Mr. Robinson said calmly, already helping move the plates.

The server appeared as if summoned by wealthy panic.

Mrs. Robinson dabbed Jason’s shirt, then stood. ”Come on. We’ll fix this in the bathroom.”

Jason looked close to tears. ”Mom, I’m sorry.”

”I know, baby.” She touched his hair. ”It’s only soda.”

Roxie watched her say it.

It’s only soda.

So simple.

So impossible in some houses.

Mrs. Robinson glanced at Roxie. ”We’ll be right back, okay?”

Roxie nodded. ”Okay.”

Jason slid out of the booth with his head down, and Mrs. Robinson took his hand, talking softly to him as they walked away.

The server cleared the spilled glass and replaced the cloth napkins like no disaster had occurred. Mr. Robinson thanked him, then leaned back in his seat with a small smile.

”He gets that from me,” he said.

Roxie looked up. ”Spilling drinks?”

”Feeling like one mistake is the end of the world.”

Her smile softened before she could stop it. ”He’s sweet.”

”He is.” Mr. Robinson looked toward the hallway where his wife and son had disappeared. ”He adores you, by the way.”

Roxie’s face warmed. ”Jason’s easy to adore.”

”He is also picky.” Mr. Robinson picked up his water glass. ”If he likes someone, it means something.”

Roxie twisted the napkin in her lap. ”He’s a good kid.”

Mr. Robinson’s eyes settled on her with calm attention. ”You’re good with him.”

”Thank you.”

”I mean it. You don’t talk down to him. A lot of people do that with children.”

Roxie shrugged lightly. ”Kids know when adults are being fake.”

”That they do.”

The silence that followed was comfortable enough to scare her.

Roxie cleared her throat. ”Mrs. Robinson said you’re an engineer?”

Mr. Robinson smiled. ”Civil engineer. Mostly commercial projects now, but I started with bridges.”

”Bridges?”

”Road bridges, pedestrian bridges, a few old restorations.” His face changed slightly, brightening with the subject. ”There’s something satisfying about building something people trust without thinking about it.”

Roxie looked at him, interested despite herself. ”That sounds stressful.”

”It is.” He smiled. ”But I like knowing things hold because someone cared enough to do the math.”

That sentence hit her strangely.

Maybe because her whole life felt like nothing held unless she held it herself.

Maybe because he sounded so steady when he said it.

Roxie looked down at her glass. ”That makes sense.”

Mr. Robinson studied her for a moment.

Before he could say anything else, a shadow stopped beside the table.

Roxie looked up.

Zac stood there.

For one second, her brain refused to accept it.

He was in a dark jacket over a black shirt, hair still slightly damp like he had showered after leaving the party chaos, his mouth still marked from the game, his eyes locked on her with a sharpness that made every sound in the restaurant fade.

Her stomach dropped.

”Zac,” she said.

His gaze moved over the table first. The half-empty glasses. The cleared plates. The candle in the middle. Mr. Robinson across from her. The borrowed dress. The empty seat where Mrs. Robinson had been sitting.

Then his eyes came back to Roxie.

His jaw tightened.

He pressed his tongue against his teeth, the way he did when he was trying to hold back anger and failing.

Mr. Robinson looked between them. ”Do you two know each other?”

Roxie opened her mouth, but Zac spoke first.

”You told me you were babysitting for them.”

Roxie’s face heated. ”I am.”

Zac’s eyes flicked to the table again. ”This looks like babysitting?”

Mr. Robinson’s expression changed.

Roxie felt the humiliation arrive before the words fully landed.

People at the nearby tables had started looking. Not openly yet. Just enough. A glance over a wineglass. A head turning slightly. A server slowing near the wall.

”Zac,” she said quietly. ”Don’t.”

His face was tight, angry, and hurt in a way that made him careless. ”If you needed money, you could have asked me.”

The words hit like a slap.

Roxie went still.