“I’m coming!” I yell then sigh quietly.
I unlock the door, and Mrs. Ira’s nephew gives me a slow once-over before nodding his head and clearing his throat. “Not bad.”
“Excuse me?” My brows furrow, and I wonder if I seriously just heard him correctly.
“Don’t worry. I meant it as a compliment. You are very pretty,” he tells me as I close the door behind us.
“Oh. Um. Thank you.”
“I’m Samual, by the way. I believe your name is Jade?”
“That it is.” I confirm, walking around to the passenger side of his tiny car. For a moment, I’m worried that my dress may split as I get inside this thing.
The ride to the restaurant is silent and uncomfortable, and I can already tell this night is not going to go well. When we are seated at our table, Samual scoffs at the menu.
“Is something wrong with the selections?” I ask him.
“It’s these insane prices! Please tell me you folks are not paying these kinds of prices in such a small town? I could expect to pay this at a fine dining experience in the city, but definitely not here. I’m sorry, it’s nearly seventy dollars for a ribeye and, what, a few vegetables?”
I swallow my tongue and fake a smile. “The food is great and definitely worth the prices,” I tell him.
The waitress comes to our table, and I smile up at her. “Can I get you two some drinks?”
“I’ll have a glass of white, please.”
Samual picks up the drink menu, and I watch as his eyes bug before he quickly closes it. “I’ll just have water. From the tap.” he says, and I roll my eyes at both his lack of manners and his obvious disgust with the prices.
“So, Ira tells me you’re a lawyer?” I ask, trying to start a conversation.
“Yes,” he states with no other information.
“That’s nice.” I cringe. God, I’m so bad at this.
He nods, and the waiter brings us our drinks while we place our orders. I can’t help but notice he chose the cheapest item on the menu, and I instantly feel bad for my twenty-three-dollar ravioli, but that feeling is quickly revoked when he asks why I don’t reconsider a salad, starter size to be exact.
I take a sip of my wine, trying not to guzzle it down to make this date feel a little smoother. After a few minutes of him absentmindedly sitting there in silence, I shuffle around my seat feeling uncomfortable.
“I own a bakery here in town,” I tell him, once again trying to get a conversation rolling.
“That’s nice. You know, I met my ex, Melissa, at a bakery.”
“Ira mentioned a recent break up, I’m sorry. Were you two together long?”
“Seven years.” He sniffles, and I roll my eyes.
Wow, I think. Because who could put up with this man for seven years. I can barely do it for just a couple hours.
“Seven years is such a long time. May I ask why you broke up?” I go to take another sip of wine and notice it’s almost gone and sigh.
“We viewed money differently. She had a bad habit of spending and redecorating.”
I just nod, because I already know money is a touchy subject with this man. Our food arrives, and when I ask for another glass of wine, Samual is sure to remind me that refills are not free. If I could shoot lasers out of my eyes, he’d be toast.
We spend the rest of the meal either in silence or with Samual telling me about Melissa while complaining about the taste of his seafood fettuccine and how he will not be paying for this. It’s clear this man is still in love with his ex and that nothing ever meets his standards. Honestly, I’m not sure why he doesn’t just get back together with her.
I haven’t been on many dates, but this, by far, is the worst date I’ve ever been on.
“How’s everything going?” the waitress asks, stopping at our table.
