“I’m lucky. This place is owned and run by the brother of Theo’s wife, Maya. He leaves a table open a few times a week for one of the guys on the Bashers, in case we want to go to dinner.”
“Oh, wow. That’s so cool.
I take in the beautiful dark mahogany furnishings of Se’bon. The decor is sleek and minimalist with an earthy color scheme—warm hues of brown and gray and cream.
At the center of the restaurant is the open kitchen. A dozen chefs and cooks in white coats cook and plate meals.
“So how did it go when you called your parents and told them you got married?” Camden asks.
“They were shocked. My mom actually screamed.” I think about how, after the ceremony, when I called her outside city hall, a handful of people turned to look at me when she yelled, she was so loud.
Camden chuckles. “Happy scream or mad scream?”
“Happy scream. She was thrilled when I told her that we reconnected. So was my dad.”
“I’m glad they weren’t upset that they missed the wedding.”
“They were bummed out for sure, but they were more excited and happy for us.” I sip my water. “How about your parents? Did they handle it okay?”
“Yeah, they seemed fine about it,” Camden says, glancing off to the side.
The server stops with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. He pops it open and pours the bubbly wine into our glasses.
“On behalf of the staff here at Se’bon, we’d like to wish you our sincerest congratulations on your wedding, Mr. and Mrs. Connors,” the server says.
I still at being called Mrs. Connors. I’ll have to get used to that for the next year.
“Please enjoy this bottle of Moët, compliments of head chef, Gage Grant.”
“That’s very kind. Please tell him thank you for us,” Camden says.
The server walks off and Camden holds up his flute. I do the same.
He quirks an eyebrow. “Cheers to you, Mrs. Connors.”
I giggle as we tap glasses. I take a sip, smiling at the bubbles tickling my nose.
I notice a few of the tables around us sneak glances at Camden.
“I think some of the people here recognize you,” I say.
He just shrugs, still smiling. A trio of guys, who are sitting at a table across from us, raise their glasses at us.
“Hey, Connors. Congrats, man,” they say.
He nods at them. The server comes back and sets two plates in front of us. My mouth waters at the sight of lamb chops and rosemary roasted potatoes.
“Don’t worry, I told them about your food allergies,” Camden says. “There’s no gluten or dairy in anything they’re serving us tonight.”
A warm, gooey feeling swoops through my chest. “That’s so sweet of you, Camden.”
“You should be able to enjoy a meal without stressing about whether it’ll make you sick.”
I bite back a grin, then slice into the lamb. When I take a bite, I moan at the burst of flavors. So rich and savory.
“Oh my god, this is the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” I murmur.
“The food here is incredible. My favorite restaurant in the whole city.”
