At First Sight by Nicholas Sparks

his writing went; every day Jeremy answered there had been no change. It was probably beginning to wear on her the same way it was beginning to wear on him.
“Did you get any ideas?” she ventured.
“A few, actually,” Jeremy lied. Technically, it wasn’t a lie-he’d had that strange idea about Lexie and Rodney-but he knew it wasn’t the sort of idea she was referring to.
“Really?”
“I’m still noodling with it, and we’ll see where it leads.”
“That’s great, honey,” she said, her mood brightening even more. “We should celebrate, then.” She gazed around the dimly lit room; with the waiters in black and white and candles on every table, the setting was surprisingly elegant. “How on earth did you find out about this place, anyway? I’ve never been here before, but I’ve always wanted to go.”
“Just a bit of research,” he said, “and then I called Doris.”
“She loves this place,” Lexie said. “If she had her way, I think she’d run a restaurant like this instead of Herbs.”
“But you have to pay the bills, right?”
“Exactly,” she said. “What are you planning on ordering?”
“I was thinking about the porterhouse,” he said, scanning the menu. “I haven’t had a good steak since I left New York. And the au gratin potatoes.”
“Isn’t a porterhouse two steaks? The strip and the filet?”
“That’s why it sounds good,” he said, closing the menu, his mouth already watering. As he looked across at her, he noticed her nose was wrinkling. “What?” he asked.
“How many calories do you think that has?”
“I have no idea. And I don’t care, either.”
She forced a smile, returning to the menu again. “You’re right,” she said. “We don’t go out like this all the time, so what’s the big deal? Even if it is . . . what? A pound, pound and a half of red meat?”
He felt his brow furrowing. “I didn’t say I was going to eat the whole thing.”
“It doesn’t matter even if you do. It’s not my place to say anything. Get what you want.”
“I will,” he said, feeling defiant. In the silence, he watched her study the menu, thinking about the porterhouse. It was a lot of red meat, now that he thought about it, packed with cholesterol and fat. Didn’t the experts say you should eat no more than three ounces at a time? And this steak . . . what was that? Sixteen ounces? Twenty-four? It was enough to feed an entire family.
Ah, who cared? He was young, and he’d make it a point to work out tomorrow. Go for a jog, do some extra push-ups. “What are you thinking about getting?”
“I’m still deciding,” she said. “I’m not sure which one I’m in the mood for, but it’ll either be the broiled tuna or the stuffed chicken breast with the sauce on the side. And steamed vegetables.”
Of course that’s what you’re getting, Jeremy thought. Something light and healthy. She’d stay fit and thin, even though she was pregnant, while he would waddle out of the restaurant.
He reached for the menu again, noticing that she made a point of ignoring him. Which meant, obviously, that she did notice. Scanning the items, he moved to the seafood and poultry sections. Everything sounded wonderful. Just not as wonderful as the porterhouse. He closed the menu again, thinking this was guilt he could have done without.
Since when had food become such a reflection of character? If he ordered something healthy, he was a good person; if he ordered something unhealthy, he was bad? It wasn’t as if he were overweight, right? He would order the porterhouse, he resolved, but reminded himself again to have only half of it, maybe less. If wasn’t as if he’d waste it, either. He’d bring the rest home for leftovers. He nodded to himself, pleased with his decision. The porterhouse it was.
When the waiter appeared, Lexie ordered a cranberry juice and the stuffed chicken breast. Jeremy said he’d have the cranberry juice as well.
“And for your dinner?”
He felt Lexie watching him.