"Where are we going?"
"I made reservations at the Goodson Co. restaurant."
"No way!" she cries immediately, staring at me in horror.
"Uh…"
"If we go there, my sister will find out. And if she finds out, she'll be planning my wedding by the time the night even ends." She looks mildly panicked at the thought. "I'm not wearing Spanx and a push-up bra, Lincoln. Absolutely not."
I chuckle in response, my heart thudding against my ribcage at the way she isn't panicked at the thought of marrying me, but of wearing Spanx and a push-up bra. Maybe I'm reading into it, butshe can't hate me that much if the worst thing she can think of is the Spanx and the bra, not being tied to me, right? Right.
Maybe I stand a chance, after all.
"Fine. We'll skip our reservations to spare you from the Spanx, which you absolutely don't need, by the way. You're fucking gorgeous."
She actually blushes, her gaze darting from mine. "Thanks," she whispers.
"I mean it, Lilah. You're stunning."
Her gaze drifts back to mine, her eyes wide. "You aren't bad yourself."
I grin, pretty sure a begrudging compliment from her is tantamount to a ringing endorsement from anyone else. "Where do you want to go instead?"
She thinks about it for a moment and then grins at me. "Have you ever been to Moe's?"
"No, I can't say that I have."
"Good. We'll go there. Take a left up ahead."
I follow her instructions, navigating through Santa Maria until we pull into the parking lot of an old diner that looks like it was plucked out of the 1950s and plopped right in the middle of town. I can practically smell the grease from here.
"It's the best diner in the state. You're going to hate it," she says cheerfully, as if the thought pleases her.
I could tell her that I grew up dirt poor, surviving on boxed dinners and cereal, and that this isn't the first time I've eaten at a place like this, but I don't. I let her revel in the thought of tormenting me a little as I hop out, circling around to help her out.
"Welcome to Moe's!" three different waitresses shout as soon as we step over the threshold. The smell of grease is even stronger here, like it's cooked into every surface. Half the diners in the restaurant turn to look at us as if they're wondering whatthe fuck we're doing dressed up in a place like this, but they just shrug and go back to their food and conversation like they don't care.
Lilah practically drags me across the checkered floor to a booth in the corner. The red leather benches are new, the backs high enough to shut out the rest of the diners. The tabletop is covered in old newspaper clippings, protected by a thick sheet of plastic fused to the wood beneath. The old jukebox in the corner still works, judging by the 1980s music belting from the built-in speakers.
"You come here often?" I ask, sliding into the booth across from Lilah, genuinely curious. I want to know everything about her. Most women with parents as rich as hers wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this. They don't run around in T-shirts and ripped jeans. If they own a business, they'd never dream of sitting on the floor to stock shelves themselves. They're spoiled, pampered little princesses who live in designer brands and expect the whole world to revolve around them. I think Lilah would prefer if the world didn't even know she existed.
"Yep," she says, grinning at me. "Jazz and I are here every Sunday for lunch. Their burgers are the best cure for a hangover."
I arch a brow. "You're hungover every Sunday?"
"Most of them." She laughs softly. "Stocking and inventory are a lot more fun when copious amounts of wine are involved. We usually finish a bottle or three while we work, wake up regretting it, swear we're going to change our ways, and then do it all over again the next week."
"You two are close?"
Her expression softens as she nods. "We've been friends since we were in third grade." She flashes me an impish grin. "We got sent to the principal's office together for beating up a boy who tried to put a frog down my shirt."
For some reason, the fact that she was always a little savage who doesn't take any shit doesn't surprise me at all. I think she was probably born kicking ass and taking names.
"She moved halfway across the country to chase this dream with me," she continues. "We're as close as I am to Lucy."
"Lucy is your sister, right?"
"Yeah." She cocks her head to the side. "She knows you. Well, she knows your company, anyway. She said that you guys buy a lot of their wine for the holidays."
