The waitress circles back and EJ asks her for a few more minutes.
We sit silently across from one another, studying our menus. I don’t want to get anything too expensive. I start toturn to the soup and salad options, glancing quickly over the chicken dishes.
“The steak here is so good,” EJ says.
“I remember them having a good soup too.”
“They do.”
He looks up at me. His eyes narrow. “You’re not getting soup.”
“What if I want soup?”
“As a side?”
“For my meal.” I set my menu down and stare at EJ.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Angie, are you hungry?”
I tell him the truth. “I’m hungry. I usually eat a much earlier dinner with the boys.”
“One hundred and eighty nights out of the year,” he says with a playful smile.
“Exactly.”
“Please order a whole meal,” he says. “Whatever you want on the menu, get it.”
I don’t know why his words affect me the way they do. I feel like I’m a pat of butter, melting on a warm roll. He melts me from the inside out. That’s why I’m here in the first place. He’s too hard to resist with that small-town boy charm, his thoughtfulness and persistence. He’s a triple threat. And I don’t even know if I want to be strong enough to resist him.
The waitress comes back and we each order a steak dinner with all the sides.
When she leaves, EJ asks me about my day. And he listens to all the details—eyes fixed on me, asking me questions, laughing. Then he tells me about his day—a few medical calls and a really funny call when Cooter tried to dry his laundry on his grill to save on electricity. Nothing burnt except Cooter’s clothes.
We laugh, and then EJ’s eyes soften and he reaches acrossthe table, placing his hand over mine. The gesture happens so innocently and naturally, I barely think a thing of it until he gives my hand a light squeeze and a slow rush of warmth spreads up my arm.
“Thank you,” he says.
“For what?”
“For saying yes to tonight.”
“I was going to have to say yes at some point.”
“I wasn’t so sure.”
“Riiight.” I smile at him. “I’m pretty sure you knew you’d convince me.”
“I really wasn’t certain,” he says. “But I couldn’t be happier.”
Our meal comes and our conversation shifts to shared memories. We went to school together, but he was two grades ahead of me. Still, we were always on the periphery of each other’s lives. EJ tells me things he remembers about me and then I tell him some stories of my own.
By the time we finish our meal, I’m too full to even consider dessert, so EJ gets the check and I sit back in my chair, watching him as he signs the paper and hands it to the waitress, and then turns to look me in the eyes.
“I had a really great night,” he says.
“I did too. The most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
“Really?” He sounds proud of himself and I like that he is.
