“Maybe.” He says it like he doesn’t remember whether he did or not, and a growl escapes me along with a need to see that he looks after himself—or maybe I can. Yes, I can definitely do that. I usher him out to the car. Feeding him is first on the list.
“Where are we going?” he asks as we head out of town.
“It’s a surprise,” I say, but he guesses as soon as we turn off the highway.
“Oh, are we going to that seafood place on the edge of Lake Keowee?”
“Yes. Have you been before?”
“No, but I’ve heard great things about it, and I’ve wanted to visit since it opened a few years ago.”
I pull up in the lot of Sammi’s Shrimp Shack, a low wooden building that squats on the side of the lake. There are a few cars already parked but it doesn’t look too busy.
“It was my mom who told me about it,” I say.
“Y-you told your mom about us?”
“Sure. I hope that was alright.”
“Yes. I-I guess so. I just don’t know what I’ll say to her the next time she comes into the store.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. She thinks very highly of you. I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m not good enough for you.” I laugh but I’m only half joking.
The restaurant’s more cosy than I would’ve imagined from the name. There are at least a dozen tables, maybe even more, of which less than half are occupied. The furniture is dark and the soft furnishings a dark red, and the lighting is low, giving it the ambience of a hunting cabin in the woods. Minus the heads of deer on the walls, though they wouldn’t look out of place. I give my name to the server who approaches us, and he wends his way through the tables to a door at the other side. He leads us onto a covered deck right over the water. On each side of the door are two sets of tables, and he shows us to one at the end of the deck. All the other tables are empty.
“I’ll be right back,” he says and leaves us alone. There are lanterns strung along under the deck’s roof and a small sheltered candle on the table. Dusk is falling, making the sky indigo over the dark water of the lake. It’s very romantic, and I see the light of the flame reflecting the delight in Holden’s eyes, but the server returns before I have a chance to say anything. He places a basket of bread on the table and then balances a tray with a bottle and two glasses. When he pops the cork on the bottle, I realize it’s champagne.
“I didn’t order this,” I say, looking at him.
“Compliments of Mrs. Fisher.” Mom.
“Oh.” Holden pales considerably. “I don’t drink.”
“And I’m driving,” I explain. I might have a glass but there’s no way I’d drink a whole bottle.
The server smiles. “It’s alcohol free.”
We both look on, stunned, as he finishes filling the glasses.
“Did Mrs. Fisher do anything else?” I ask, and the server shakes his head.
“Not even suggest the table?”
“Mrs. Fisher is one of our best patrons.” His smile tells me everything I need to know.
“Here are your menus. I’ll be back in a few minutes for your order.” He hands us the menus and disappears back inside, leaving us alone with the cicadas, frogs chirruping from the lake, and a low hum from inside.
“I’m sorry, Holden, my mom?—”
“Is a very thoughtful lady.”
“She’s meddling, she shouldn’t do that. I’m sorry.”
“I think she’s showing that she cares.” He takes a sip of his drink. “And this is really good. Most alcohol-free drinks aren’t great, but this is really nice.”
I try it and can’t help agreeing. It is really good.
“Though how she knew I don’t drink, I have no idea.”
