I open the door and pause on the threshold as I catch sight of Mia standing just in front of the hostess’s podium. Her brown hair is pulled half-up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing loose, light jean overalls with a white, high-neck t-shirt underneath. A dozen bracelets cover her wrists and forearms, and almost none of her fingers are without a ring.
I know from watching some of her videos that this is her style. It suits her, even if it’s a bit out of place here, where classical music plays gently on the speakers and each table setting has multiple forks and spoons.
“You know what?” Mia says to the hostess, her smile wide and overbright. “I think I’ll just go.”
“Yeeeah,” the bleached blonde hostess says with a condescending smile. “Maybe your friend meant Jimmy’s Stews about a mile down the road.”
“Maybe so.” Mia turns toward the door, her cheeks red and her head down as her smile disappears completely.
“Hey.” I catch her by the arm as she tries to brush past me, and a few of her bracelets clink.
She looks up, eyes wide, gaze stricken. It’s such a different expression than the one she wore last night, and it makes my chest tighten.
“Where you going?” I ask.
She pulls on her arm until I let it go. “You didn’t tell me we were going to a Michelin star restaurant,” she hisses.
“It’s not.”
“Maybe inform the hostess of that,” she mutters, tugging on the leg of her overalls. Her gaze flits to my outfit: a blazer, a t-shirt, and slacks. “You could’ve at least told me to dress up.”
“I thought you’d have heard of Mama Choo’s—or that you’d Google it.”
“I didn’t think I needed to. What sort of fine dining place names their establishment Mama Choo’s? It sounds like a hole-in-the-wall diner. I don’t think the hostess will let me in.”
“Who cares what she thinks? You look beautiful.”
She shoots me a look, and I put my palms up to declare my innocence. “I’m just stating objective fact. Come on. I’m hungry. Aren’t you?”
“Starving.” She shoots a sidelong glance at the hostess, who’s talking with one of the waiters. “I don’t trust her, though. She’ll probably have them tow my car while we’re eating.”
I chuckle and tug on her arm, and she reluctantly follows.
The waiter walks away, and the hostess looks up at me. “Mr. Sheppard,” she says, blinking quickly. Her eyes dart to Mia, then back to me.
“Table for two, please,” I say.
“Right away.” She smiles at me just before pulling a passing waitress aside and speaking to her in a low voice. Their gazes both flick to me, and the waitress’s eyes widen as she gives me the once-over.
The hostess turns to us. “Jennifer will take you to your table.”
Jennifer flashes me a smile. “Follow me, Mr. Sheppard.”
“And Miss Sawyer,” Mia says as we follow her.
Jennifer stops in front of a table—one of the least private ones in the restaurant. “Will this work for you, Mr. Sheppard?”
I turn to Mia. “What do you think?”
“My opinion is invalid,” she says.
I chuckle and turn to the waitress. “This works great. Thanks.”
“Ugh,” Mia says softly once Jennifer leaves.
“What?”
“She looked like she was waiting for you to tear your shirt off…or tempted to do it herself. You could’ve warned me you were going to be late, you know. And that there was no reservation. The hostess didn’t hesitate to let me know they’re booked out for two months. Not for you, I guess.”
