“That we should do something cool, classy, and not remotely country club–related?” Dad cut in, not giving time for Austin to answer. “Excellent, because that’s exactly what your father and I were envisioning.”
Austin was silent for a beat, his mouth twisting in thought before he smiled sheepishly and said, “Please make it cooler than cool.”
***
Connor had been right; Davis’s friend group started getting to know me after we ordered. Evan opened with, “So Davis told us you’re a field hockey superstar?”
It turned out Rebecca played lacrosse, so we talked all aboutthe college recruiting process before I answered questions about school and hobbies and stuff. “I can’t believe you don’t play an instrument.” Ben/Brett/Brent shook his head, chuckling. “Davis has never dated anyone who wasn’t musical.”
I laughed a little, but before I could say anything, Natalie snorted. “Oh, come on. They aren’tdating. This”—she gestured between Davis and me—“is a cute little stunt.”
“Uh, excuse me?” My brows knitted together as the table fell silent. “Stunt?”
Natalie waited until after our appetizers were served to explain. “Yeah, a stunt. Davis isn’t really interested in you, Madeline. The only reason you’re here tonight is so he can make his ex jealous.”
Something in my stomach curdled even though the only milk I’d had today was in my cereal for breakfast.That’s right,I remembered. Davis had a somewhat still recent ex-girlfriend. He’d told me at Crescent Moon Coffee, but it hadn’t come up since. I had forgotten about her.
Her, who was so clearlyNatalie. It all made sense now. Natalie not being thrilled to meet me earlier, and then Davis driving Natalie’s car into town and Natalie using Davis’s name for our reservation—they were probably old habits that they couldn’t yet kick.
The realization felt like a field hockey ball to the ankle, sudden and sharp.
Under the table, Davis put a hand on my knee. “It’s not…” he murmured, but I ignored him. Instead, I leaned forward in mychair and eyed Natalie.
“Well, is it working? Are you jealous?”
Next to her, Ben/Brett/Brent was probably comprehending that he too was here to make someone jealous.
“Damn, girl…” Evan said from farther down the table, as I kept staring Natalie down. My heart was hammering in my chest, but no one needed to know that. It wasn’t until I caught her lip just barely tremble and she blinked that I pushed back my chair.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, and patted Davis’s shoulder—a gesture that I hoped conveyed something along the lines ofWe need to talk, but alsoDon’t follow me.
I didn’t want to think about what the table was saying about me once I’d weaved my way to the back of the restaurant (because I sure as hell knew they were sayingsomething). “Sorry!” I exclaimed when I almost bumped into a server carrying a tray of cocktails, and then immediately afterward dodged a pair of busboys with full bins. They pushed through the kitchen doors together without so much as a glance at me.
The doors not only swept open wide enough for me to see all the behind-the-scenes action, but also what I thought was a total hallucination: Marco Álvarez and three other guys enjoying a steak dinner at a fully set table. White linens, silverware, glassware, everything. They were even wearing blue blazers.
What the fuck?I wondered, and because I knew no boundaries and didn’t actually need to go to the bathroom, my high heels and I marched into the kitchen to see what was happening.
“Hey, miss, you can’t—” someone started, but all the clanging, clattering, and bellowed kitchen jargon (with plenty of profanity peppered in) made it impossible to hear. Especially when I was still stalking toward Marco’s table, trying not to laugh.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” I asked.
Marco swallowed a bite of his filet. “Did Carina put you up to this?” He took a sip of his water and smiled. “Because Ididpromise I would come out and say hi…”
“Why are you eating dinner in the kitchen?” I asked.
He gave me a confused look. “Because the kitchen is where one eats dinner?”
“Not at restaurants.” I shook my head. “At restaurants, you eat in thedining room. Only the Mafia eats in the…” I trailed off and gave his buddies a look. “Don’t tell me you guys are cosplaying mobsters?”
It turned out I possessed the power to make Princeton men blush.
“Of course not,” one said. “We’re not properly outfitted in pinstripes.”
“But the food at Tower sucked tonight,” a second one confessed.
“And the line for Hoagie Haven was going on two blocks,” the third sighed.
“Plus, the dining room is fully booked,” Marco said, then shrugged. “Although the ambiance in here is much more pleasing.” He gestured around at all the kitchen excitement. “As youcan clearly deduce—”
