“You’ll see.”
As we walk, I can feel his mood lightening. I press myself closer to him as we turn onto Lincoln Avenue, the sound of our breathing drowned out by the crunch of our shoes on the snow and the music drifting from a nearby bar, which is quick and full of tempo, matching up with the beating of my heart.
I have no idea where we’re going, but this is part of the fun of being with Teddy. We could end up sledding at a nearby park or bowling at the sketchy place up the block or walking down to the frozen harbor. You just never know how the night will turn out.
So when he comes to a stop in front of a fancy French restaurant, all I can do is stare at him. “This is where we’re going?”
He nods, gesturing proudly at the sign, which is written in a cursive so elaborate it’s hard to read. “This is it.”
I peer into the window to see that the place is filled with middle-aged couples in pearls and jackets and ties. The decor is stuffy, and the tables are decorated with white cloths and skinny candles. I look at the menu, which is framed just outside the door.
“The prices aren’t even listed,” I say, “which means it’s expensive. So expensive it would be awkward to have them hanging out here for all the world to see.”
Teddy seems entirely unruffled by this. In fact, he smiles. “Iknow.”
“But you don’t actually have the money yet.”
“I might’ve signed up for a few extra credit cards,” he says with a shrug. “I figure by the time the bills come, I’ll have the money to pay them off.”
“Teddy,” I say, starting to understand. “You don’t have to do this.”
His eyes are bright in the wash of light from the restaurant. “It’s a thank-you.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” I say, putting my hands on his shoulders in the familiar way I always do, which now feels almost too intimate. “Especially not like this.”
“Like what?”
“Well,” I say, dropping my hands to point at the menu. “At a place that serves stuff like rabbit and duck and squab. I don’t even know what squabis.”
“Pigeon,” he says. “I looked it up.”
“You want us to go to a fancy restaurant and eat pigeon?”
“Well, you can always get steak or lobster or something else,” he says with a grin. “But yes to the fancy restaurant part. We just won the lottery. I think the very least we can do is treat ourselves to a nice meal, right?”
“Right, but—”
“C’mon,” he says, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the door. “Let’s argue about this over some pigeon.”
We’re shown to a small table for two near the back, where the napkins are folded in the shape of swans and the plates are trimmed with gold. Most of the diners are gray-haired, and they smile indulgently at us as we walk past in our jeans and sneakers.
“It’s always so hard to choose between the bone marrow and the caviar,” I say when we open our menus, trying to keep a straight face. “I can never decide.”
Teddy strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Well, as you know, I’m partial to truffles.”
“Of course,” I say. “I’ve heard they’remarveloushere.”
“Ooh, and there’s escargot. Have I ever told you the one about the snail?” he asks, not bothering to wait for an answer. “This snail gets mugged by a tortoise. But when the police ask him to describe the suspect, he says, ‘I don’t know. It happened so fast.’ ”
I want to groan or roll my eyes at him, but I’m having way too much fun for that and I find myself laughing instead. “Nailed it.”
“Always,” he says with a grin.
When the tuxedoed waiter arrives to take our orders, Teddy closes his menu and leans back in his seat. “We’ll have one of everything.”
“Pardon me, sir?” the man says, his mustache twitching.
Teddy winks at me. “We want to try it all. Especially the squab.”
