wore an expectant look on her face.
“What do you want me to do with that?”
Courtney’s light touch at his elbow and her words in his ear set fire to his spine. “I do apologize, but it seems I’ve made reservations at a restaurant that requires men to wear jackets.”
He shot her an incredulous look, but quickly smiled when he saw her wince at him. He reluctantly shrugged into the jacket as the couple behind them waited for access to the greeter girl. To make matters worse, the jacket wouldn’t accommodate his shoulders. “It’s too small.” He looked at the polished woman in black who was already hanging the coat on the hanger.
“I have one larger.” She stepped behind her counter and pulled a second jacket down from its place on a hook. As she removed it from the hanger the man in the party of two behind him cleared his throat with urgency.
Embarrassed, Sawyer stood to the side. “If you want you can take care of them first.”
“Good evening, Senator Jordan.” Greeter girl placed the jacket beneath her arm.
Senator. Perfect! Sawyer rubbed his middle finger across his aching brow. He didn’t know how to express to Courtney how extremely uncomfortable he was standing in this place, underdressed, and under pedigreed. Worst of all he was embarrassing her.
Once the senator had been properly attended to, greeter girl was back, sliding the jacket up Sawyer’s arms. It was enormous. He frowned. Did he really need this stupid jacket just to eat dinner? He must look ridiculous. His eyes sought Courtney’s, and when he found them her baby blues sparkled at him. Her sincere smile calmed his nerves. “It’s perfect.” She laced her arm in his and they followed greeter girl. Sawyer was relieved when she left them in peace, hopeful that was all he’d be seeing of her for the night.
No sooner were they seated than an extremely pompous waiter approached their table—derisive frown in tact. His eyes scanned Sawyer, his eyes lifting in question before he turned to eye Courtney who seemed oblivious.
Large, thick and red leather-bound menus with beige pages were placed delicately in their hands as if they’d been dusted in gold. The apprehension as the waiter lowered him the menu said he thought he’d get it dirty with his greasy paws. It had Sawyer wondering where he could get some axle grease this time of night.
With one hand behind his back he said, “My name is Grant, I’ll be your waiter tonight.”
“What kind of name is Grant for a French waiter?” Sawyer mumbled under his breath.
Two sets of curious eyes landed on him. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Grant.” Courtney giggled.
He turned to Courtney who he seemed to think was in charge. “Shall I send over the sommelier?”
“That’d be great.” She smiled and opened her menu, dismissing Grant, and Sawyer loved her all the more for it.
When he opened his menu his stomach dropped to the floor. It was in French, though the prices were in dollars. There was no way in hell he’d have her paying for his meal. The prices were outrageous. He’d decided, in true southern fashion and custom, that he’d be paying the bill, but there was no way he could. He frowned as he desperately tried to make sense of the menu but couldn’t. Why did it have to be in French? He’d taken Latin in school. Was told he was great with languages and Mrs. Foster had demanded he attend UIL. He’d made it all the way to state, even lettered in the damn language. A lot of good it did him now.
“Sawyer.”
“What do you want me to do with that?”
Courtney’s light touch at his elbow and her words in his ear set fire to his spine. “I do apologize, but it seems I’ve made reservations at a restaurant that requires men to wear jackets.”
He shot her an incredulous look, but quickly smiled when he saw her wince at him. He reluctantly shrugged into the jacket as the couple behind them waited for access to the greeter girl. To make matters worse, the jacket wouldn’t accommodate his shoulders. “It’s too small.” He looked at the polished woman in black who was already hanging the coat on the hanger.
“I have one larger.” She stepped behind her counter and pulled a second jacket down from its place on a hook. As she removed it from the hanger the man in the party of two behind him cleared his throat with urgency.
Embarrassed, Sawyer stood to the side. “If you want you can take care of them first.”
“Good evening, Senator Jordan.” Greeter girl placed the jacket beneath her arm.
Senator. Perfect! Sawyer rubbed his middle finger across his aching brow. He didn’t know how to express to Courtney how extremely uncomfortable he was standing in this place, underdressed, and under pedigreed. Worst of all he was embarrassing her.
Once the senator had been properly attended to, greeter girl was back, sliding the jacket up Sawyer’s arms. It was enormous. He frowned. Did he really need this stupid jacket just to eat dinner? He must look ridiculous. His eyes sought Courtney’s, and when he found them her baby blues sparkled at him. Her sincere smile calmed his nerves. “It’s perfect.” She laced her arm in his and they followed greeter girl. Sawyer was relieved when she left them in peace, hopeful that was all he’d be seeing of her for the night.
No sooner were they seated than an extremely pompous waiter approached their table—derisive frown in tact. His eyes scanned Sawyer, his eyes lifting in question before he turned to eye Courtney who seemed oblivious.
Large, thick and red leather-bound menus with beige pages were placed delicately in their hands as if they’d been dusted in gold. The apprehension as the waiter lowered him the menu said he thought he’d get it dirty with his greasy paws. It had Sawyer wondering where he could get some axle grease this time of night.
With one hand behind his back he said, “My name is Grant, I’ll be your waiter tonight.”
“What kind of name is Grant for a French waiter?” Sawyer mumbled under his breath.
Two sets of curious eyes landed on him. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Grant.” Courtney giggled.
He turned to Courtney who he seemed to think was in charge. “Shall I send over the sommelier?”
“That’d be great.” She smiled and opened her menu, dismissing Grant, and Sawyer loved her all the more for it.
When he opened his menu his stomach dropped to the floor. It was in French, though the prices were in dollars. There was no way in hell he’d have her paying for his meal. The prices were outrageous. He’d decided, in true southern fashion and custom, that he’d be paying the bill, but there was no way he could. He frowned as he desperately tried to make sense of the menu but couldn’t. Why did it have to be in French? He’d taken Latin in school. Was told he was great with languages and Mrs. Foster had demanded he attend UIL. He’d made it all the way to state, even lettered in the damn language. A lot of good it did him now.
“Sawyer.”
Similar Books
