“That sounds amazing.” Shutting off the faucet with one hand, I grab the pot with my other hand and shimmy it over to the back counter, where I remove the plastic off the flowers and arrange them into the pot. They are gorgeous, huge roses that barely fit, but I squeeze them in and take another giant whiff. “They really are lovely.” I stop myself from gushing, because it’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything.
It just feels nice to be spoiled a little, and I stride toward the coat hook on the back wall, grab my heavy blue coat, and tug on the beanie I wear every day. Then I cross the room again, grab my purse off the counter, and shoulder it. I spot my phone setting on the counter where I had tossed it, and I slide that into my pocket. “I have everything I need.”
He's so handsome, dressed all in black, and my gut quibbles as I walk forward and synchronize my steps with his as we stride to the door. “The restaurant is just down the block, so we can walk if you’re comfortable,” he says.
“That works for me.” I tug at my coat and pull the top two buttons through the holes to close it. “I’m getting used to this little town. It seems like everything is mostly within walking distance.”
“Downtown has everything you need.” He holds the door open, and we pass through it, and then pause on the other side so I can lock it. I stuff my keys back into my purse and look up at him. His hand is outstretched to me. It’s a sweet gesture that feels natural, and I take his hand in mine. I bite my bottom lip to keep my jaw from dropping when I struggle to intertwine our fingers together. His hands are so big, it’s like I’m holding a bear’s paw, but I love it. It’s so strong and steady, I’m overcome with the feeling of security. Nothing could ever harm me if I’m near these hands.
We cross the street, walk past a small school and bakery, and arrive at the restaurant. He opens the door for me again, and we meet the host, dressed in a formal white shirt and black pants. The host bops his head as if in a nod of recognition at Stallone as he grabs two menus and immediately says, “Right this way.”
As we stroll through the dining room, people slide their gazes to look at us. Several people actually stop chewing as we pass. My cheeks heat, and I remove the beanie from my head, thinking that’s the problem.
The stares continue.
The host leads us all the way to the corner booth in the back of the dining room. Gesturing forward, he says to me, “Ladies first.”
I slide into my seat, take the menu he hands me, and I listen as he recites the specials: lobster for seventy-nine dollars and filet mignon, also for seventy-nine dollars. After he leaves, I lean over the menu and snicker. “Boy, that doesn’t sound like a special for seventy-nine dollars.” My gaze falls to the menu, and there isn’t a thing on here for less than twenty-five bucks.
This place is expensive.
My gaze slopes back to Stallone reading the menu, unbothered by the prices. I don’t have it in me to order anything that costs a whole day’s worth of wages. Scanning the menu again, I land on the appetizers and find clam chowder soup for fifteen bucks.
Clam chowder it is.
And just in time. The waiter arrives to take our order. Stallone orders a steak and baked potato, and he watches me closely as I order my soup. I hand my menu back to the waiter and look around the place again.
It’s dark in this little corner, with only soft candlelight on our table. I still can’t shake the feeling that people are staring at us. I look around, seeing people all dressed in their finest, and decide maybe it’s the fact I’m underdressed. I can’t do anything about it now. I clear my throat and lock my gaze back with his. “How was work today?”
“It was good. The roads finally cleared up enough. They’ve been a mixture of mud or ice, and that kept us at a standstill for weeks.” He takes his water glass and sips out of it before asking, “How was your day?”
“Really slow.” I nod as if I’m agreeing with myself. “I don’t know if people think the place is closed since Graham closed thebookstore, or if it’s always this slow, but I think I only served five people all day.”
“Only five people?” His eyes round with interest. “What did you do all day?”
All the song lyrics I belted out scroll through my mind like they are playing on the phone screen, and I almost giggle. “Ah, just looked at my phone all day.” I tightly pinch my lips together, holding back a laugh. “Good thing for technology, right?”
“Right.” He’s so dialed into me, not taking his eyes off me. It feels like we’ve known each other for much longer than a few days. It doesn’t feel like a first date. He clears his throat, and starts slowly, “I know this is forward of me, but I’m curious about something. Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.” My interest is piqued, and I wait.
“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but from the moment I saw you, I honestly thought you are the most stunning woman I’ve ever seen. But for the life of me, I can’t really tell how old you are. Can I ask your age?”
“Oh.” My brows pin together. I thought he had something serious to ask me. My age is nothing. “I just turned twenty-one.”
He’s just about to take another sip of water, but spits it back into his glass. “Twenty-one?”
“Yeah.” My gaze shifts side to side, and my nerves tick up as I clearly missed the punch line. “What’s wrong with that? How old did you think I was?”
“I didn’t know.” He wags his head back and forth and sets his glass out of reach. “I assumed you were older than that, since you worked day shifts at a coffee shop. Maybe twenty-seven or thirty.”
“Nope. Not thirty.” A chuckle sputters out. That is the funniest thing. “Well, how old are you?”
“Aw, not thirty.” He holds my gaze for a moment, and then it dawns on me what he’s concerned about.
“You’re older than thirty?”
He nods but adds no words.
