I don't know what to say to that. Don't know how to explain that I'd say yes to anything she asked. That I've been hers since the day she moved in and she has no idea.
"Didn't seem that weird," I say instead.
"Really? Because I'm pretty sure it was insane."
"Maybe."
She laughs, and the sound fills the car and does something dangerous to my heart.
"Well, either way, I appreciate it. I know spending your Friday night having dinner with my nightmare parents isn't exactly fun."
It is, though. Sitting next to her, pretending to be hers, getting to touch her and talk to her and exist in her space… It's the best thing that's happened to me in years.
But I can't say that.
So, I just nod and look out the window and try to ignore the way my hand is itching to reach across the console and rest on her knee.
The restaurant appears after another twenty minutes of driving. It's set back from the road, all stone and glass and soft lighting. Expensive. The kind of place where they give you three forks and you're supposed to know which one to use.
Claire parks and turns off the engine, but she doesn't move to get out.
"Okay," she says, more to herself than to me. "We can do this. It's just dinner. A few hours. Then we can leave and never think about it again."
Never think about it again.
Right.
Like I'm ever going to forget tonight.
"Ready?" she asks, looking over at me.
No.
"Yeah."
She takes a deep breath, then opens her door. I follow her out, and when she comes around the front of the car, I do what I've been dying to do since she picked me up.
I take her hand.
She freezes, looking down at our joined hands, then up at me.
"We're dating," I say. "Remember?"
"Right," she breathes. "Right. Dating."
Her hand is shaking slightly in mine. Or maybe that's me. I thread my fingers through hers and start walking toward the restaurant, and she falls into step beside me.
Her parents' car is already in the lot.
Here we go.
Chapter 5 - Claire
His hand is so much bigger than mine.
That's all I can think about as we walk toward the restaurant. Not the fact that my parents are waiting inside. Not the fact that I'm about to sit through what will probably be the most awkward dinner of my life. Not the fact that I'm wearing a dress that's slightly too tight and heels that are already making my feet hurt.
Just his hand.
