It’s not a date, Talon. Pull it together.
Finally, I settle on a white T-shirt with an open black-and-green plaid button-down thrown over top and jeans, afraid anything else in my closet will look too pretentious.
I heave a sigh of relief when it’s finally time to leave. My nerve endings are alight with excitement I haven’t felt in a while.
The actual town of Ricochet Ridge isn’t big, nor sprawling, so it only takes ten minutes before I’m parking and walking toward the front door of the restaurant.
A smile breaks out across my face when I see Zeke already seated in a booth by the window. He’s looking down at his phone, biting his lip, with a glass of water on the table in front of him.
“This seat taken?” I tease, pulling my jacket off and slipping into the bench seat across from him.
Zeke raises his head, and his sharp inhale can easily be heard in the silence of the near-empty restaurant.
Why do I like his reaction to me so fucking much?
“Merry Christmas,” I say with a smile.
“Yeah, you too,” he says, shaking his head as if he were clearing cobwebs from his brain.
I’m not in the seat long before our waitress comes over and asks for my drink order. I mirror Zeke’s water choice, and then she’s gone. Leaving Zeke and me alone again.
“What are you having?” I ask as a way to break the silence.
“Oh, um, I think I’m just going to get the cheese fries appetizer as my meal,” Zeke replies, messing with his napkin.
My eyes quickly scan the menu. It doesn’t take long to realize the fries are the cheapest thing on it, and I can’t help but wonder if that’s why Zeke chose them. I open my mouth to tell him lunch is on me—after all,Iwasthe one who invitedhim—but I quickly shut it again. Not only would he adamantly protest, but I’m really not trying to highlight the fact that I can afford to buy this entire restaurant if he wants it.
Instead, I simply say, “Those sound good.”
In the end, I order the largest barbecue platter they offer.
“That comes with three sides,” the waitress says.
I choose two, then look at Zeke.
“What’s your favorite on the list?” I ask.
He shrugs. “It’s not my lunch.”
“Well, I only want those two, and it seems like a waste not to get a third since it’s included, so will you pick? Pretty please?” I ask.
He chooses fried okra, and I make a mental note.
Once our waitress is gone, I wait for silence to descend, but Zeke leans forward, propping his elbows on the table.
“Tell me about New York City.”
“What do you want to know? There’s a lot to cover: history, the food scene, fashion, city life, weather, etc.”
“Everything,” he says, making me laugh because he didn’t narrow it down at all.
I wish I could tell him about my real life up there. I wish he could see the view from my penthouse. I’d love to take him walking through Central Park or see the way he’d light up in Times Square. And of course, I’d love the honor of taking him to his first show on Broadway. It wouldn’t even matter what play it was. It would be wonderful simply because I know he’d be awestruck.
I talk nonstop until our food arrives, and Zeke helps me clear space on the table for the four dishes that come with my meal.
“I may not have eaten breakfast, but this is still way more than I was expecting. Please help me eat it?” I ask, sliding the giant plate of barbecue toward the middle of the table.
Zeke shakes his head.
