Page 61

Quinton climbed out of the truck and walked around to help me get out. He didn’t let go of my hand as he led the way into the building. When we made it to the door, he showed the guy standing there our tickets on his phone and led the way inside.

“We have a private table,” he informed me as we headed to a round corner-style booth.

It was big enough for four people, but Quinton scooted around to the center, pulling me with him. From where we sat, we were out of the way, but we could see the whole room. There were about thirty or forty other people there vibing and listening to the music as a team of servers walked around to each table. It didn’t take long before someone came over to greet us.

“How y’all doing tonight?” the woman asked.

“We’re good,” I answered.

“My name is Amanda. I will be your server for the evening. Since you have this section, it comes with two cards, four drinks, and an appetizer,” she said, placing a stack of bingo cards and menus in front of us. She reached in her apron and pulled out some card markers and placed them on the table.

“Thank you,” Quinton told her, putting his attention on the menu.

“Are you guys ready to place your drink orders, or do you need a minute?”

“You know what you want?” he asked, looking over at me.

“Actually, yes. Give me a French 75,” I ordered.

“Got you down. What about you?”

“I’ll take a scotch and soda.”

“OK, I’ll be right back. Take your time looking over the menu.”

“Lamb lollipops sound good. I haven’t had lamb in years.”

“Get whatever you want, baby. I think I’ma get catfish and grits.”

“Oh, that sounds good too. I must be hungry because everything on the menu looks good to me.”

“There’s a sampler with a few different options on it.”

“Let me see,” I said, flipping to the page with the appetizers.

After a quick scan, I went ahead and ordered the sampler. Quinton stuck with his initial plan. Since our waitress brought our drinks when she took our order, I picked up my drink and took a sip.

“Oh, this is perfect.”

“I didn’t even think to ask if you could drink while you were breastfeeding.”

“I can, but I don’t drink much. I have to pump and dump or wait a few hours before I pump for storage.”

“Would my guy get drunk if you didn’t?”

I didn’t know why that question was so funny, but once I recovered from laughing, I was able to answer the question.

“Not exactly. It would make him sick and maybe worse.”

“What about me? Would it make me sick?” he asked, lifting his brows as he took a sip from his drink.

“Wow! I’m not even sure. I have never actually ever had to think about that.”

He smirked. “You can learn something new every day if you try.”

Our waitress came back to our table. Since I’d ordered an appetizer, my food was ready. She placed the platter on the table and asked if we wanted anything else. I went ahead and ordered another drink. Quinton grabbed one of my mozzarella sticks as soon as she walked away.

“I didn’t know we were at the sharing food stage,” I said, picking up a lamb kabob.