Mom should’ve lived. She should’ve been right by his side, the way they were always there for each other.
They should’ve been here tonight, with Mom working the floor while Dad managed the kitchen, and I should’ve been here with my brothers to help out, and we should’ve caught them stealing a kiss in the walk-in fridge and pretended we were horrified when really, we were all so happy that they were happy and that they taught us to be the same.
And instead, I’m here on a date with a man who’s growing on me by the second, but who’s actually a tool in a revenge scheme against the man who stole my parents’ dreams.
Heat floods my eyeballs and my chest gets tight, and I realize I’m clutching my champagne flute tight enough to break it.
“Are you all right?” Simon asks me.
I shake my head and shove the emotions back down.
They can come out and play later. When I’m in a safe space to let them all out. “Let’s do this.”
He can’t offer me his hand, as one is holding the bottle of champagne and the other his own champagne flute, so after a quick furrow of his brow as he studies me, he offers me his elbow.
The other couple arriving for dinner gawks at us.
They’re not dressed as nicely as we are.
Actually, they’re not dressed as nicely asIam.
Simon’s in suit pants and a button-down with a tie, while I look like I should be on a date with a guy in a tuxedo.
Did he set me up to look too fancy?
Or did he set me up to outshine everyone else here tonight?
I should’ve told him.
I should’ve told him what this is actually about.
But I didn’t, and now we’re here, and if I tell him now, will he back out?
Not worth the risk.
I take his elbow. Tank shuts the limo door behind us, then hustles us to the new restaurant’s door.
“A grand opening,” Simon says. “Quite the date.”
I clear my throat and try to not squirm. “They get the biggest crowds.”
“Is this a thing regularly done in America? Converting old houses into restaurants?” Simon murmurs to me.
“It’s not uncommon.”
“Will it feel like a home inside?”
“That depends on—on what the new owner did with it.”
He smiles broadly. “Do I get the impression you’re hoping it’s dreadful?”
“I’m undecided.”
“Why?”
I gulp. “The thing about small towns is, there’s always history between all of us, and nothing’s ever cut-and-dried.”
“Then I’ll follow your lead. If you grimace, I’ll grimace. If you smile, I’ll smile. If you lose your dinner—well, I’ll try, but I have a remarkable gag reflex and it’s astonishingly difficult for me to force myself to be ill.”
