1. 1 #3
When we pulled into a parking space, I knew that it was best to wait for him to open the car door for me.
I wasn’t sure if he realized that he did it, but if we weren’t at home, I couldn’t get my hand within a foot of a doorknob.
He was always on edge, and I thought this little bit of control he could take kept him grounded, but it wasn’t something that bothered me enough to seek answers to.
Opening the door, he extended a hand to me, and I pulled myself up with it before letting go. His hand found the small of my waist, and he kept pace with me to the front door of Jay’s before opening that for me, too.
Despite being early for our reservation, they were able to seat us. I suspected the hostess thought Elias was handsome and went out of her way to clear our table.
“I really like that color on you,” he said, lightly tugging on the hem of my blouse as we walked.
It was pink, blush really, and it wasn’t something that I wore often. Most of my clothes were dark, but I did try to look nice at work, branching out beyond dark jewel tones.
“I feel like you would say that regardless of what I was wearing,” I retorted. If I wore a pair of stained sweatpants, he’d still have something nice to say.
He leaned down, putting his mouth near my ear. “Take the damn compliment, Cassia,” he said through gritted teeth.
The hostess stopped at our table, and instead of sitting immediately, Elias turned to speak to her.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Do you think you could have our server bring bread to the table? My girlfriend is having a bit of an attitude problem and I think she needs to eat.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” I cut in before the hostess could answer. “I’ll be okay, ignore him.”
Elias widened his eyes, his eyebrows raised. “Better make it a negroni, too. I fear for my safety.”
She giggled. “I’ll let him know, it won’t be a problem.”
Elias sat across from me in the booth, the high-backed bench seats making it feel more private than it was.
“You know, it’s not really her job to take food and drink orders,” I chided.
“I can tell you haven’t eaten today,” he said, leaning back, kicking his feet out under the table.
“I was busy,” I answered.
“And now you’re taking it out on me,” he continued, putting his hand over his heart. “The poor man who does nothing but adore you.”
Choosing to keep my mouth shut, I glanced around the restaurant.
The room was filled with couples, but a few tables were taken by people in expensive suits, briefcases open, going over charts and figures.
I always liked to people watch, to make up stories in my head about what they might be saying to each other.
Elias played the game sometimes, too, and we’d try to guess who was on a first date.
Our server approached, carrying a basket of bread, a negroni, and a carafe of water on his tray. He set them in front of us in addition to the menus.
I reached for the bread, taking a piece and buttering it without a thought.
“See?” Elias said. “She’s ravenous. I really appreciate you bringing this.”
Our waiter waved his hand. “It’s no problem. I’m Jason, I’ll be helping you tonight.”
“Thank you, Jason,” I said, covering my full mouth with my hand.
“You’re very welcome,” he responded. “Is there anything else I can get you to drink?”
Elias nodded. “An Old Fashioned. Blanton’s if you have it.”
“Absolutely. I’ll be back shortly to take your orders.”
Elias reached for a slice of bread, too, indulging in a carbohydrate for the week.
I didn’t say it out loud, but reasoned that was an unfair thought, and felt guilty for thinking it.
He ate pretty normally, but he definitely ate more chicken and vegetables than anything else.
Food was more fuel than pleasure for him, that was certain, but he also didn’t force himself to eat bland, unsalted slop.
He was relatively balanced, despite my teasing, both verbal and in my head.
True to himself, he ordered a steak. . . with two vegetable sides. It was a Friday, I was a sturdy Midwestern girl, and I needed fried fish. It was in my blood, in my bones. So, fish and chips it was. Did coleslaw count as a vegetable?
The negronis kept coming, my smile getting sloppy, and my words slurring a bit. Elias ordered a basket of bread for us to take home, and it wasn’t long before I needed a box to pack up the untouched half of my meal. It was going to taste great at midnight after a few minutes in the air fryer.
After the bill was paid, I went to scoot out of the bench seating and dropped my purse. I bent down to pick it up and bounced my forehead off the table, groaning and grabbing at the now tender spot. I turned my head on my second attempt, and was successful.
Elias smiled, years of training his face to remain neutral coming in handy, and he held in the laugh I knew he wanted to let loose. Our food in one hand, he offered his other arm to me. I stood, hooking my arm through his, and he guided us to the car.
When I was safely in the passenger seat, he set the food on my lap and walked around to the driver’s side, locking the doors as he sat down. He turned to me, his fingers settling under my chin, eyes looking over my face.
“You smell really good,” I said, sniffing at his wrist. He always smelled so good.
“How did you get so drunk?” He asked, amused. “You’re full of bread.”
“I’m just tipsy,” I argued.
He laughed, letting my face go, and started the car.