I grunt at the phone screen as I read my sister’s text in our cousins’ group text, which is always a much different conversation from the group text I’m in with my parents and siblings.
Me: I’m charming.
At least, I can be when I want to be, and with Iris, I very much want to charm her.
She wanted to meet me at the restaurant. She wouldn’t let me pick her up, making an excuse about Chicago traffic and how it would be easier to meet somewhere in the middle of the city.
The restaurant I chose is nice, but not the most expensive. My grandmother would call it swanky, but by no means is it top-tier in a city like this.
I glance down at my phone, hoping to see an update from Iris. But instead, I see my other cousin siding with my sister.
Lulu: You’re not. I’m with Tate. Speak very little.
Me: Anyone going to back me up?
I wait, hoping someone sides with me.
Mason: Talk away, big bro. If she doesn’t love your obnoxious attitude, then she isn’t the girl for you.
Obnoxious. I’m not obnoxious. I am confident, and those words have two very different meanings. My brother is the one with the obnoxious attitude, not me.
Amelia: You really like this woman, huh?
Amelia’s a good soul. She’s sweet. There has always been a kindness about her. An innocence that seems to be lacking in the rest of us.
Me: I do…a lot.
Nino: You got this.
Amelia: Sending good vibes your way.
I smile at Amelia’s and Nino’s messages as the door opens and Iris walks in, looking more beautiful than ever before.
My breath lodges in my throat as time seems to slow. I can’t take my eyes off her as the wind from outside whips around her before the door closes behind her. Her gaze doesn’t find me at first as she smooths down her hair.
I smile as I rise to my feet from the restaurant’s bar and head her way. “Hey,” I say when I’m a few feet away.
Her face instantly softens as her eyes meet mine. “Hey,” she says back. “The weather is so crazy.”
“Wintertime isn’t much fun,” I tell her.
Besides the bitter cold and shorter days, the number of layers we need to wear is suffocating. There isn’t one thing about the season that makes me happy.
“I almost didn’t make it. My car is still acting weird.”
“I know a guy who can look at it for you.”
“I know a guy?” She snorts. “What a very Chicago thing to say.”
I laugh, hating that she’s right. Everyone around here knows a guy who can do or get anything, and I’m not an exception, but I’m also not special.
“Sir,” the hostess says from behind her wooden desk. “Your table is ready.”
“I’m starving,” Iris says to me as she unbuttons her full-length wool coat that is probably warmer than anything I own.
“Let me,” I say as I move behind her, helping her with her coat.
She doesn’t say no and shrugs off the heavy material with such grace compared to the way I’d do it.
