I meet Miller's blue gaze. "How many courses are there?"
He shrugs. "Hard to tell with Gus, just depends on what kind of mood he's in today."
"Gus?"
"The chef." He grabs his old-fashioned and holds it toward me. "Cheers."
I carefully take my martini and clink it softly against his. "Cheers."
"Okay, so, parents are off limits, what should we talk about next?"
I snatch a piece of bread even though I'm not really a fan, it's more to keep my hands busy while the alcohol settles into my veins and calms my nerves. "There's always politics and religion."
"Ah, yes, my favorite topics."
"Really?" I chuckle.
"No, I'd rather we talk about our parents." Miller grins and drinks more of his old-fashioned before sipping the other straight whiskey.
"You didn't have to give me this, by the way." I grab the oddly shaped glass and take a drink myself, savoring the decadent flavor. It won't be too long until the booze has caught up and my head will be swimming with the buzz of being a lightweight.
I like to think I can handle my liquor but with my eating habits lately, there's no telling how fucked up I'll get and when.
"Do you know the name of this particular glass?" Miller asks me.
"Uh, no, but I was just thinking about how weird it's shaped."
He smiles softly. "It's called a Glencairn glass. It's shaped like this to keep in the aroma but let off alcohol vapors. Or at least that's what Google told me one night at like four a.m. when I looked it up."
"Interesting."
For the next couple of courses, we talk about surface-level things. He tells me random facts, and as the alcohol sets in more for both of us, we smile more, laugh more, and the conversation flows with greater ease. It wasn't that it was difficult before, but the uncertainty of not knowing why we’re having this meal together in the first place kept eating away at me.
Now, four drinks in, I'm just grateful to be here with him.
"But like, was that George Clooney in the other room?" I giggle and point in the direction we had come from when we entered the place.
"Probably," Miller says. "I saw Jay Z and Beyonce in here a couple of weeks ago."
"You're kidding."
"I shit you not."
The waitress comes over with our main course, and my mouth practically salivates at how damn good it smells.
"A twenty-eight-day aged filet mignon with roasted petite carrots and garlic-and-herb mashed potatoes." She clears our empty cups and refills our waters before leaving us with our food, the time of her lingering and stealing glances at Miller has lessened as the night progresses.
Or maybe I'm too intoxicated to pay that much attention to it anymore.
"This looks divine," I say and cut into the steak.
We finish the main course through more conversation and follow it up with the best chocolate cake I've had in my entire life. I moan with every bite and wish I could take an entire cake home since there's no way I'll ever be able to afford or even get a reservation at this place ever again.
Miller settles the bill and puts his elbows on the table. "Do you have anywhere you need to be?"
I pick up my phone and my heart thuds at the notifications on the screen. Two from Alec, none from Silver, and more than I can count from an unknown number. The magnificent dinner I just ate rolls over in my stomach and I breathe myself through the wave of nausea and try not to let it show externally.
"Is everything okay?" Miller does that thing with his hand where his fingers twitch.
