Soft baroque music played in the background, low enough to invite conversation rather than compete with it. Mia breathed in. The scent of olive oil and herbs lingered in the air, familiar and comforting.
Caleb gave the maître d’ his name, and they were guided past tables spaced far enough apart to feel private, toward the water. His hand was warm at her back.
Their table was underneath a window, the lake still visible as the last of the daylight shimmered across the surface.
Mia slid into her chair and let out a slow breath.
This was exactly the kind of night she hadn’t known she’d been missing.
Menus were placed in front of them. Big, heavy, leather-bound menus.
“Wow,” Mia said, perusing the menu. “They have items on here I haven’t had in a while. I didn’t know Haywood Lake was that sophisticated.”
“What looks good to you?” he asked.
“Well,” she said. “It’s a toss-up between the polpo alla griglia or crudo di branzino.”
He looked at the menu. “I never figured you to be an octopus lover.”
“I had it in Italy, and it was delicious,” she replied. “What about you?”
“Carpaccio,” he said.
Mia nodded.
The server approached just as she closed the menu. “Good evening. May I answer any questions and take your drink order?”
Caleb looked at her. “Wine or cocktail?”
“I’ll have an Americano,” Mia said, then turned back to the server. “Is the octopus grilled or braised first?”
“Braised, then finished on the grill.”
“Perfect,” she said. “I’ll start with that.”
“For you, sir?”
“Bourbon neat, then the carpaccio. We’ll order after.”
“Very good,” the server replied. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
They both stared out at the fading light. At the twinkling lights on the patio. “It’s so peaceful here,” she said.
A soft breeze stirred the air, carrying the soft clink of glasses and low conversation from nearby tables.
The server returned with a small tray.
Mia’s Americano was set down first. Tall glass. Clear ice. A curl of orange on the rim.
Caleb’s bourbon followed. Lowball. No garnish.
She lifted her glass and took a sip. Bitter, sharp, refreshing. “Hmm. That’s good.”
Caleb watched her over the rim of his glass as he took his first swallow. He nodded once. “Does what it’s supposed to.”
She smiled. “You say that like it matters.”
“It does,” he replied. “In drinks. In people.”
