Chapter 6
We’ve been seated for several minutes of stilted small talk and perusing the menus when our server shows up.
“How are you all doing? My name’s Mark, and I’ll be your server for the evening,” he continues without waiting for us to answer. “Can I start you off with any drinks? We have some fun spring-inspired cocktails, or I could recommend a nice white wine?”
He’s looking directly at me, so I respond, “Oh, I don’t drink. But I’d love some water with lemon, please.”
I hate it when a server’s smile tightens when I say that.
I can almost hear them thinking, “Welp, my tip just got cut in half”—and often, so does their service.
But it’s one of the strict rules after a heart transplant—no alcohol or drugs.
Ever. I have to be rigorous about what I eat, any medicines I take, anything I could ingest or digest that might affect my heart in any way.
“I will also have a water, but no lemon for me,” Hunter speaks up next, not even glancing away from his menu.
Our server’s gaze moves to Hunter for the first time, and he fumbles his pen, eyes going wide.
“You don’t have to do that for me,” I say quickly, hoping to distract Hunter from Mark’s blatant—and unprofessional—shock. “I’m used to being the only one who doesn’t drink. I can’t, because—”
“It’s not for you,” Hunter cuts me off.
“Oh, okay . . . If you’re sure. I really don’t care though—”
“I don’t drink. Ever. It has nothing to do with you.” Hunter’s voice is so cold I recoil, inadvertently brushing my arm against Austin’s. Lou looks up from the menu at her cousin, a shadow crossing her face that looks a lot like sympathy.
“Wow, okay. Fun group.” Austin’s eyebrows lift. “Do you like seafood?” he asks me, and when I nod, he says, “I’ll have a Coke with lime, and can we get sushi nachos, a shrimp cocktail, and some edamame to start also?”
Mark nods and makes some marks on his notepad, his pursed lips softening slightly at the addition of multiple appetizers to our order.
“And I’ll have a strawberry lemonade,” Lou adds.
It has always been an unspoken agreement that she doesn’t drink with me since I can’t.
I didn’t expect Austin to skip the alcohol, too, though.
I’m no stranger to being the only sober person at dinner, but I’m unexpectedly grateful that no one else will be drinking tonight—especially my date, who is supposed to drive me home in his very fast car.
“I’ll get this all put in and be right back to take your order,” Mark says, doing a terrible job of surreptitiously sneaking another glance at Hunter’s face.
I will myself not to glare at our server. My pulse quickens, fueled by a rush of anger on Hunter’s behalf. This guy works in the service industry, for crying out loud. I’m sure he’s seen things much more surprising than a man with some unfortunate scars.
“So, what do you do, Austin?” Hunter turns his back on Mark, facing my date kitty-corner across the table instead.
“You mean besides take pretty girls out to dinner and attempt to woo them with a plethora of seafood and soda?”
I roll my eyes but can’t help but smile when he lifts one eyebrow at me, the corners of his lips quirked.
“Yes, I mean for work,” Hunter snaps. “Unless you get paid to take women to dinner?”
My smile is gone when I glare at him, but Austin laughs, completely unperturbed by Hunter’s thinly veiled disdain.
I feel like a volleyball match is happening within me, where one-half of the court is protectiveness over Hunter and the other side is anger at how rude and annoying he is—which is the side currently winning.
How can my mom and Farmor want to hire this guy?
“I work in tech, with a friend of Olivia’s actually.
She’s on my team. I’ve been wanting to go out with Liv for a while, ever since I saw the post of the two of them dressed like elves for a Christmas workout last December.
I’m so glad Talia finally caved and set us up.
” Austin looks at me, a heat in his gaze that is so believable it makes my stomach tighten and cheeks warm.
He is smooth—so good at this that I almost believe his story.
There’s a pause, and then Hunter plows on, “Liv’s friend is on your team? So that means you’re her team leader?”
“Indeed, I am.” Austin is still looking at me, his gaze so insistent I’m growing more confused about what is real and what is fake here. And then his words sink in.
“Wait! You’re Talia’s boss?”
Austin shrugs, unwrapping his silverware to place his napkin across his lap. “I like to think of it as supreme overlord, but if you prefer more mundane titles, then yes, I’m her boss.”
Oh, crap. If he gets the wrong idea about this date and where things may or may not go, I could screw up Talia’s job? My fingers itch to pull out my phone and text her, but I -resist—barely. I can only pray Austin has very low expectations for tonight and isn’t a grudge holder.
“Hunter and I both work at the same title company,” Lou interjects. “But unfortunately, my uncle is the boss, so I have no power to fire Hunter if he misbehaves.”
“You work for your dad?” Austin’s question to Hunter sounds innocent, but there’s a hidden jab there, I think. Unless I’m imagining the underlying current of tension between the two men.
“No, my dad is a high school teacher in Florida.” Hunter’s voice is flat, almost daring Austin to mock that.
Instead, Austin whistles. “Impressive. That’s got to be one of the hardest jobs on the earth . . . if any of his students are as awful as I was in high school.”
Hunter’s eyes narrow, but there’s no insincerity in Austin’s voice this time. I think he means it.
Our appetizers arrive, cutting the conversation short—thankfully.
We make it through most of the meal without incident, as Lou takes charge of the conversation by sharing several long, hysterical stories about some of her clients.
Hunter even cracks a smile or two, and it changes his countenance entirely, his eyes brightening and the sharp press of his lips softening.
When Mark comes to collect our dinner plates, he asks if we want dessert.
I’ve never been to the White Chocolate without getting one of their insanely good desserts, but I am also eager for the night to end.
I’m clearly not going to hear anything about Lou’s date, and I’m afraid we’re tempting fate the longer we keep Hunter and Austin at the same table.
“We’ll have the white chocolate brownie and a bread pudding with extra sauce,” Lou says before I can claim being tired to cut the night short.
Hunter must feel similarly to me because he scowls down at the table when Mark tells us he’ll have those “right out” and whisks our dirty dishes away.
“As I was saying,” Lou jumps back into her story, “after working with these guys for four months and managing to finagle a loan that they can actually qualify for—despite all the lies they told us when we started the process—they backed out!”
“You’re kidding!” I shake my head. “After all that, they said no?”
Lou nodded. “Crazy, right? All that work down the toilet, and I was this close”—she puts her fingers up less than an inch apart—“to reaching my goal of loans closed in a month so I can get the Louis V purse I’ve had my eye on since last fall.”
“If you want the Louis Vuitton purse that much, why don’t you just buy it now?” Hunter cuts in, his tone clipped. “You have plenty of money.”
Her eyes widen, and her mouth hangs halfway open.
“Just because she can afford it now doesn’t mean she should buy it.
” Austin surprises me by defending Lou. “There’s a certain sense of satisfaction that comes from setting a goal with a reward.
The purse will mean more after you close however many loans you set out to do in a month—it will remind you of your hard work and success every time you use it rather than having it be an expensive but meaningless purchase merely because you can. ”
Lou’s face transforms into a relieved smile. “Yes, exactly.”
Hunter rolls his eyes and looks away, across the restaurant at the large TVs over the bar, where some basketball games are showing.
“Your desserts!” Mark is suddenly there, setting the two dishes and a handful of spoons down with a flourish. “And here’s your check. No rush.”
Austin and Hunter both reach for it, but Austin is slightly faster, grabbing it first.
“Can we split—”
Lou can’t even finish her question before Austin waves her off. “No need. I’ve got it.” He pulls out his wallet, and Lou shrugs, picking up a fork and pulling the bread pudding toward her.
“Well, thanks. Just for that, I’ll even let you have a bite of the bread pudding before I demolish it,” Lou offers, cutting a huge chunk off for herself.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m going to let you all enjoy dessert. I think I had too many sushi nachos, and that steak was huge. I’m stuffed.” Austin pulls out a black Amex and slips it into the leather billfold.
“Your loss,” Lou says and slides a forkful of bread pudding into her mouth, letting her eyes roll back in sheer bliss.
Austin’s lips purse. “You’re faking to try to get me to eat it.”
“I never fake.” Lou points her fork at him.
His eyebrows shoot up, and I bark out a laugh.
“She’s right. No need to fake anything with these desserts.
” I lean across the table to snatch my own piece before Lou really does inhale the whole thing.
I’m not supposed to eat a lot of sugar, but I was careful at dinner to limit my carb intake so I could have some dessert.
They’re downright sinful. When I take my first bite, I can’t help but moan. It’s that good.
“Wow.” Austin’s eyes are on my mouth, and his voice is a bit more gruff. He clears his throat. “You sold me. Better try it after all.”
He leans across me, but I push his arm away, bending forward to block him. “Nope! I get your bite now. It’s too late!”