We had to wait to be seated, which gave everyone plenty of time to check us out. We stood near each other and closer than we might in any other circumstance, but the space was limited, making it necessary.
Asher was dressed appropriately for his age, and everyone probably figured I was a much older brother taking a sibling out for breakfast. Hopefully, anyway.
He eyed me with such heat, I pulled in a breath full of warm air.
“Do you own a hoodie?”
I smirked. “One.”
“Let me guess. It says Harvard on it.”
“Princeton, actually. It’s where I got my master’s in finance.”
“Didn’t go for the MBA?” he asked, reminding me that Asher was a finance major.
“Yes, but I got that from Northwestern.”
“You-you have both?” he stuttered.
I glanced around to make sure everyone was paying attention to their own conversations instead of us. “Yes. I have both. But if I could only choose one, it would be the finance degree. The curriculum has come a long way from decades ago when an MBA was the best choice. If you plan to go for your master’s and can only choose one, it would be my suggestion.”
Asher snorted. “I’ll be lucky to get my bachelor’s.”
“What do you mean? I thought you were doing well in your first year.”
“Oh, it’s not about my GPA. College is expensive. My parents are helping me, and I’ve got grants and shit. I’m just saying, if I can’t afford it, I’m not getting strapped with student loan debt.”
I nodded. Wise choice, there, but I hated that he’d have to make a sacrifice like that. College had never been an option for me. Not that I hadn’t wanted it, but it was a given growing up, and my parents paid the way.
“Dorset, party of two,” the hostess called.
“Finally,” Asher groaned.
The dining area offered no privacy with so little space around the tables, chairs backed into others. Perhaps I was spoiled and a bit of a snooty britches myself.
Asher ordered for us since I took the liberty at the bakery weeks ago. When I told him to get whatever he wanted, he took it to heart. Two waitresses had to bring the food. Tall stacks of pancakes, one plain, one with fruit, mounds of bacon, eggs, and sausage, a basket of biscuits with a bowl of gravy and one of apple butter, and a carafe of coffee left no spare room.
“What, no danish or fresh fruit?” I asked in jest.
Asher pointed to the sliced berries on the pancakes, then the basket of buttery biscuits. “Yeah, but you’re gettin’ the country version.”
“You do know I grew up in this state, right?”
He cocked his head and slathered more butter on a biscuit. “Did you, though? You were in some sort of pocket dimension with only fancy mansions and private schools.”
He was more right than he knew. I hadn’t dealt with many things people from the South did. Poverty and poor education were their bad choices, so my parents would say. Even though both had their parents and their parents’ parents to thank forthe base of their wealth. Someone once said family money was as bad as inbreeding. I was coming to understand the meaning behind it.
We didn’t say much as we ate. The noise and constant interruptions of waitstaff and customers squeezing past us took up much of the meal. Asher hadn’t acted as if he noticed, but when the check was settled and we walked outside, he took a huge breath and sighed.
“Maybe someplace a little less crowded next time,” he said.
“Agreed.” The food had been good enough for the price, but if I came here again, it’d be by accident. “Do you have any other plans today?”
“Nope. I’m all yours.”
How true. Nearly forgetting myself, I reached for him but sailed past at the last minute and opened the passenger door.
“Such a gentleman is my old man,” Asher whispered as he ducked inside.
