I grab my clutch and accept his hand but then glance back at him and say, “You really don’t have to do all this, you know.”
He smiles, raising an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he leads me around the building. “All what?”
I roll my eyes. “The flowers. The Lumineers. The door.”
He doesn’t respond as he opens the restaurant’s front door, allowing me to enter before him. As we follow the hostess, I look around and let out an audible sigh of relief. The environment is laid back, casual, with wooden booths, small tables, and the buzzing sounds of overlapping conversations swirling around us.
Bobby sits first, leaving space for me beside him, but I slide into the empty booth across from him. He picks up his menu at the same time I pick up mine, and his eyes start slowly scanning it up and down. The expression on his face is relaxed enough, even confident, but his shoulders are stiff and I can tell his knee is bouncing beneath the table.
The sounds around us fade into the distance as our own silence drags on, until finally, what feels like an eternity later, a young guy dressed in a white and red uniform approaches our booth.
“Hello, my name’s Dylan, and I’ll be your server for tonight.” The introduction comes off as an over-recited greeting, and the guy’s busy eyeballing a blonde-haired waitress two tables down the entire time it spills from his mouth. I watch as the waitress catches him and winks before strutting away, swaying her hips as she does. It’s not until she’s disappeared behind the kitchen door that he looks over at us. “How you guys doing?”
“Doing good, man.”
“All right, and what can I get for ya?” Dylan’s holding a notepad and pen, tapping his foot on the ground, darting obvious glances back toward the kitchen.
“I’ll have the Angus Ribeye with a water, and she’ll have…” Bobby gestures to me with one hand, giving his menu to the server with his other.
I know he said he’s sober, but it’s still weird hearing him ask for a water. “Country Fried Steak for me, please. And an iced tea.”
“Mhmm.” Dylan jots it down and takes my menu, looking up at me for the first time. Something flashes in his brown eyes when he does, and I don’t like the feel of it. “Anything else for you?” he asks me slowly, his attention wandering from my face to my, thankfully covered, chest.
“Nope.” My voice is sharp, my eyes narrowed.
He rubs his hand through his blonde, buzzed hair. “Well, lemme know if you change your mind.” He walks away with that, glancing back at me once with a smooth smile.
The disgust is still on my face when I turn my attention to Bobby, who’s looking down at his cell phone, apparently texting someone. I’m assuming he missed the whole exchange, because when he finally sets the phone down, something’s distant about him. He leans back against the bench, gazing at an empty spot on the table and chewing his lip.
“Hey,” I say, “what just happened?”
He snaps out of it, glancing back over at me and shaking his head. “Nothin’. Why?”
“Don’t tell me ‘nothing’ when it’s something. What’s up?”
This time when he shakes his head, he grins. “Shit, you know me well.” I’ve always liked Bobby’s smiles. They’re full and genuine, a little goofy and always endearing.
I lift an eyebrow, nudging him.
“Really, it’s no big deal,” he says, but he’s rubbing his chin in a way that says otherwise. “It’s just that shithead Ryan. Sending me pics of him out with the guys, trying to get me back home.”
He saysshitheadaffectionately because he and Ryan have been best buds since elementary school, but the thing about Ryan is that he reallyisa shithead. He’s the one who gave Bobby the idea that alcohol solves everything in the first place, and he somehow always managed to be behind our worst fights when we were together.
“Does he know you’re sober?” I ask as an unfamiliar face sets our drinks down, smiles politely, and walks off.
“Yeah, he knows. He’s just so used to me hangin’ out with him all the time. He’ll get over it.”
I nod, but I’m not convinced. Ryan’s the worst kind of influence for someone like Bobby, and unfortunately, I don’t see him backing off so easily.
“Anyway,” Bobby says with a sigh, “I didn’t take you here to talk about that jackass.” He winks. “I came here to be with you. To talk about you.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How you’re doin’, what you’re up to, if you’re seein’ anyone—”
“Bobby—”
“Kidding,” he says, flashing me a grin that’s surprisingly cute. “That’s none of my business.”
