“Go to the bathroom for a bit if you have to,” he says. “Or my office. I’ll give you the keys.”
Rowan doesn’t wait for my reply as he digs into his right pocket, keeping his left arm around me, and pulls out his keys. He gently places them on my lap, for whenever I’m ready, but I can’t do anything about it as food arrives. One of his kind waiters sets the tray down on a stand, setting out starters and a large, glass pitcher of water.
Rowan grabs one of the glasses with clear, bubbly liquid and places it down in front of me. “Sprite.”
I wrap my hand around the cold glass, rivulets collecting on my finger tips. “You know.”
Rowan adds a lemon wedge to the rim of the glass. “I’vealways known,” he says before he addresses our waiter this evening. “Thank you, Zion. I think we’re ready to order.”
My dad’s order first—some steak and salmon with salads; I don’t really pay attention. Rowan orders himself pasta—his favorite food since childhood—and I order the beef bourguignon.
“Thank you, Zion,” Rowan says again, smiling up at the kid as he gives him a pat on his arm. “You’re doing really well for your first day.”
Zion smiles. “Thank you, boss. I’ll get these right in.”
“Try messing around with the new POS system, and if you need help, call me over.” Rowan sends him off with an appreciative dip of his chin before refocusing on our table.
“How old is he?” I ask.
“Sixteen,” he says with a shrug. “Goes to Spring Haven High. He came in with a nearly empty resume, in slacks, and said he wanted a job even though he didn’t have experience. So, I’m giving him experience.”
“That’s really nice, Rowan.”
“These are so good,” Daddy says, mouth full. “What are they?”
“Fried pickles,” Rowan answers, and as my dads rave about the starters to one another and snap pictures of the strategic plating, Rowan speaks in my ear again. “You can go if you have to, Natalia. There’s water in my office and a bag of Hot Cheetos.”
I snort quietly. “I’m okay, I think.”
“Okay,” he says. “You still hate me?”
“Very much.” I smile and reach for a fried pickle.
“Just checking.”
Rowan and I survived dinner with my dads, who believe him and I are in a very romantic relationship.
Zion returned just a moment ago to retrieve our plates but didn’t walk away without praise from his new boss, and it was a new experience for me—watching Rowan be something like a big brother to this teenager. He misses Andrew—his younger brother—and that much is obvious.
I’ve spent so much time trying to dislike him because of my own problems and insecurities, but Rowan is likable—lovable even. He’s kind and caring, and it helps that he’s kind of hot.
Across from me and Rowan, my dad’s pull out their wallets, quietly discussing which card to use, or if they should use cash. Rowan catches on and leans forward. “Please, no. Tonight is on me.”
Daddy gives him a stern, fatherly look. “Rowan?—”
“Please.” Rowan smiles. “Let me. I’m happy to have you both here with Natalia.”
My dads share a look, silently discussing whether or not to accept Rowan’s gesture before they sigh. “Thank you, Rowan,” Daddy concedes. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Next time, it’s on us,” Dad tells Rowan with a quick wink.
Next time.
Rowan smiles. “We’ll see.”
“Well,” I sigh, drained and a tad bit dramatic. “We should probably head out now. Rowan’s always here past closing, and I work tomorrow.”
Dad frowns at me—the party pooper of theevening. “You’re probably right.” He sighs and stands from his chair, Daddy following suit. “We’re exhausted.”
