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We walk toward his car, and he opens the door for me. I slide onto the leather seat and he closes the door. In the four seconds it takes for him to walk around to the driver’s side, I realize how awkward this car ride is going to be. I don’t know anything about this guy.

After opening his own door, he slides in and immediately looks at himself in the rearview mirror. He smooths his already perfectly smooth hair with one hand and then starts the car. He backs out of the driveway and we begin our descent to the restaurant. Based on my experience so far with Bradley, I’m worried my mother was right and I’m way underdressed for this place.

He glances at me from the driver’s seat. “You’re even more stunning than the picture your dad showed me.”

Oh my gosh, Dad showed him a photo of me? That’s so weird. Definitely bringing this up to my dad later.

“Oh, thank you. I didn’t even know you existed until about fifteen minutes ago,” I say, hoping to be funny, but it comes out way more harsh than I wanted it to.

“Really? Your parents didn’t mention our date?” He quirks his head to the side.

“Nope.”

“Oh, we set this up weeks ago, so I figured they’d told you.”

Weeks ago? I bite the insides of my cheeks to keep my face neutral. “Ha, they’re so funny. Must’ve wanted it to be a surprise.”

He preens, looking pleased by that response. Like he’s so special my parents saved him for me as a surprise present. “Your dad is great. I’ve enjoyed golfing with him. Do you play?”

“Golf?” a laugh bubbles out of my throat before I remember my manners. “Sorry, no I do not. That’s more of my dad and brother’s thing.”

“Ahh, I see.” His voice sounds disappointed. “I’ve never seen you at the country club before.”

“The country club is a bit stuffy for me,” I say, without thinking. Ugh, I keep saying the wrong thing. “I mean, it’s lovely. If you enjoy golfing and tennis.”

“Right.” He says, his jaw twitching like he’s annoyed.

Thankfully, my parent’s house isn’t too far from the restaurant and ten minutes later we’re walking inside. I didn’t even realize this place was here, but I can see why it books up quickly. The atmosphere is quiet and romantic, much to my dismay. A pianist plays soft music from a grand piano. In the center of the restaurant, there’s a bar with leather bar stools. Incandescent spheres hang from all different lengths from the ceiling, keeping the area dim for ambiance, but not too dark. Artwork made from different colors of blown glass hangs from the tall ceiling above the bar.

Bradley places his hand on the small of my back as he guides me toward the hostess booth. It’s an intimate gesture—one that is entirely unwelcome.

“The restaurant is lovely,” I admit. “Let’s hope the food is as amazing as the design.” I joke, trying to keep things light, but he doesn’t laugh.

“The food here is impeccable, I assure you. It’s a five-star restaurant.” He responds sharply.

Before I can say anything else, the hostess arrives and takes us to our table.

We’re seated in a quiet corner of the restaurant. There’s a white tablecloth, blush-colored cloth napkins, and a small votive candle in the center. Bradley pulls my chair out for me before taking his seat across from me. We open our menus and peruse the choices silently for a few minutes.

The waiter approaches our table with a kind smile. He’s dressed in black pants, a black button-up shirt, and a white tie, just like the other servers.

“Good evening, welcome to L'aMour. May I start you off with a bottle of wine?”

“Yes, please. Sophie, what kind of wine do you prefer?” He asks, which is nice of him. He struck me as the type to order for me without caring what I actually like.

I bite my bottom lip. “Umm, actually I only like sweet wines, like moscato.”

Our waiter’s eyebrows crease in a judgemental expression before remembering his manners and smoothing his features back into a smile. “Ma’am, we have a selection of some of the finest wines from France, Italy, and Napa Valley. Could I perhaps make a recommendation?”

Bradley is staring at me. He doesn’t look amused, but more irritated. He turns his attention back to the waiter. “A recommendation would be great.”

Ha! I was right. He is the type to order without caring what his date wants.

The waiter looks between me and Bradley, then makes his recommendation. Some cabernet that’s apparently oaky with a hint of strawberry. But I know it’s just going to taste like any other dry red wine.

I unconsciously screw up my face at his recommendation, not knowing Bradley is watching me.

“What’s wrong with cabernet?” He asks, his chin jutting forward like he’s challenging me.