Just then, our meals arrived—two perfectly seared medium-rare steaks, plated with all the trimmings.
I cut into mine, took a bite, then nodded in approval. “You really know how to pick a place.”
She smiled, spearing a bite of her own. “You like it?”
“Yeah. But I’d eat canned soup if it meant sitting across from you.”
She rolled her eyes, but I caught the way her cheeks flushed.
We ate in small bites, mostly in silence, until I finally caved.
“Otter,” I said, resting my forearms on the table. “Tell me if I’m reaching, but sometimes I wonder if I’m too far ahead in the timeline for you.”
“Twelve years. No kidding,” she said, as if the number had only just hit her ears out loud.
And just like that, I heard the ticking clock. Not from my smartwatch, but from my damn heart.
I went on, “You’re young. And amazing. And I’m…well, I’ve got more past than future some days. That ever bug you?”
She slanted her face. “Why? What, being at my place gave you flashbacks to dating college girls with curfews? Or are you still rattled by the sturgeon who’s not so ancient after all?”
“Dang. You nailed me,” I said. “Though, to be fair, my college girlfriends never shimmied out a window and sprinted across a roof.”
She grinned. “There’s a first for everything. And I stuck the landing. Admit it.”
“I’ll give you points for style,” I said, stopping when she set her fork down and reached across the table.
“My type is a man, not a boy. I established that the moment you hauled me up that hill and told me I was safe.”
Her fingers laced through mine. God, I wanted to say it. Everything.
But still, wrong time, wrong place. Nothing kills a first date faster than a conversation about wedding bells and babies with a twenty-one-year-old.
And if this ever became something real, I’d wait. No pressure. No clock. Just her, when she was ready.
“You sure?” I asked. “One day, you might look back and think?—”
“That I was smart?” she cut in. “Trust me, once you’ve paced around calling someone six times and convincing yourself they’ve been mauled by a bear, only to find out they just didn’t feel like answering? You stop craving boys.”
I huffed out a breath, caught somewhere between laughter and disbelief. “You really don’t worry about it?”
She squeezed my hand. “I’d worry more if you weren’t in my life. That’s the part that’d keep me up at night.”
I looked at her across the candlelight. There was no fear in her eyes. Just conviction and a little bit of challenge.
“And your mom?” I asked. “She okay with, well…us?”
“Dom, she was practically smitten with you. If you’d offered to do her taxes, she might’ve proposed on my behalf.”
I smiled. “Well, tax isn’t my specialty. But smitten is good. How about your dad?”
She shrugged lightly, still holding my hand. “They divorced years ago. They’re both pretty independent. I was surprised they got married in the first place. But that was theirstory, and they’ve stayed close. And he trusts Mom’s read on people. So yeah, my choice is his choice.”
“Good to hear,” I murmured.
She had a great family. It showed in the little things, like how she trusted easily and laughed like the world had never hurt her. That kind of foundation didn’t build itself. She’s been loved right.
We let the meal stretch longer than it needed to. She sipped her water between her wine like someone who’d learned to take care of herself early. Maybe it was the trail incident still echoing in her somewhere, never again without water. Or maybe it’s just who she was. Disciplined and thoughtful.
