“No,” I corrected her, trying not to sound annoyed, “it’s Rawlings.”
“Oh my god!” my date squealed. “You are totally my sorority sister’s fiancé’s son! Oh my god, my best friend is going to be your mother-in-law.”
My date pulled out a phone and stuck it in my face. “Is this your dad?”
Sure enough, there was my father with future bride number three.
Neglectful, smug bastard.
The girl giggled. “No wonder Tatiana keeps saying she might be trading up one day. You’re ten times more handsome and probably, like, a thousand times richer than him. She’s going to be so jelly when I tell her I was on a date with you.”
I felt her bare foot stroke up my leg.
“She says your dad is really good in bed, but I bet you’re ten thousand times better than that too.”
“Hello! Welcome to Girl Meets Fig.”
I was saved by Zoe. Wait, that wasn’t her.
“Unfortunately, we will not be accepting the roadkill you brought in today. We just had a guy come in with a whole deer.”
“You serve roadkill here?” my date screeched.
My shoulders tensed, and I forced myself to look up and meet Amy’s eyes.
“I’m not roadkill,” I growled at her.
“I mean, you are,” Amy said, “but I was referring to that.” She pointed at my date’s purse.
“This is a very expensive Louis Vuitton bag!” my date said haughtily. “Small-town imbecile.”
“It looks like a three-day-old dead possum.” Then Amy leaned over and stage-whispered to me, “Don’t forget to take the condom with you. You don’t want to be stuck to someone like that the rest of your life.” Amy tapped her forehead with her pen.
“The nerve,” my date huffed. “I want a different waitress.”
“She’s not a waitress,” I said irritably. “She’s just over here harassing me.”
“Zoe is a very dear friend of mine,” Amy said, voice as sweet as pie, “and as you can see, it’s a little busy in here.”
The next person in line was demanding extra bread.
“If he gets extra bread, I want extra bread!” one man hollered.
“I want my bread first before he gets any,” I said loudly.
My date gave me a horrified look.
“It’s caramelized onion focaccia,” I tried to explain. “It’s the most delicious thing you’ll ever taste.”
Amy bit back a smirk.
“These small-town guys,” she said to my date, “uneducated, uncouth.”
“I am not tolerating this. I’ve been here for thirty minutes, and we don’t even have drinks,” my date snapped.
“Or bread,” I said loudly.
Zoe huffed over and threw a basket of warm caramelized onion bread onto the table.
