we’re pulling in at an Italian restaurantI’ve never noticed before, sandwiched between a grocery store and a gas station. The big red awning and pretty scrolling script, proclaiming Versanos , beckons us across the lot, and soon he’s holding the door open for me again and I step through.
“Hi, two for dinner?” a hostess asks, beaming at us from behind a podium.
“Yes, thank you,” Landon says, and I follow him as the hostess leads us to a wraparound booth in the back, where a little candle in a jar flickers. We slide in on either side of the table but end up meeting in the middle. We accept our menus and then silence falls around us.
I don’t know how to act right now, on a date like this. Last year we always just hung out, watching movies apparently neither of us even liked and sometimes kissing. Were there rules, expectations, when one went on a formal date? Do we make small talk and end it with a kiss on the porch of my cabin? And how the heck did I get to be eighteen and still so ridiculously anxious about stupid stuff like this?
“I’m looking forward to the cattle drive,” he says, after a few minutes.
“I know. It should be so fun.”
“We’re going to be stuck training the guests, you know. Since we’re the lesson teachers.”
“That’s okay. I mean, they kind of slow things down. …” I stop myself. I shouldn’t know this. “I mean, I’m sure they’ll slow us down, but it won’t be bad.”
“We should sneak out an hour early and just do the drive ourselves,” he says.
“I think we’d be fired.”
His hand finds my knee under the table, and he rests it there. “True, there’s always that.”
The waitress walks up then, interrupting the moment. “You guys know what you want?”
I haven’t even thought about it, but when I pick up the menu, it’s impossible to resist the idea that lodges in my head. “I do,” I say.
“Go ahead.” Landon nods.
“I’ll take the surf and turf,” I say, tapping on the menu.
The forty-two-dollar surf and turf. I force my face to remain neutral as Landon searches for the item on the menu. I wait for him to react as he realizes the price.
“Um, actually, that sounds great. Me too.”
Him too? This is officially the most expensive date I’ve ever been on.
“Uh, can I get a strawberry lemonade as well?” I say, smiling sweetly at the waitress.
“You got it.” She gathers our menus and then disappears, and there’s an awkward pause. I half expect him to call me out on my pricey selection, but he doesn’t, he simply sips at the water glass in front of him.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say, a heartbeat later.
“Sure. Shoot.”
“What is it you love so much about riding?”
He releases my leg and sets both hands on the table so that he can fiddle with the cloth napkin. It’s like I’ve struck a weird chord, flipped a switch, and he went from happy little Landon to serious Landon.
“You want the real answer or the short answer?”
“Real,” I say, wondering why there’s a difference.
“My dad left when I was ten.”
“Right,” I say. I knew this, since long before we talked about his sisters while we were mucking stalls today.
“I idolized him, you know? I thought he was such a man . Really tough. He nearly cut his finger off in a chop saw once, and he barely flinched. Just calmly wrapped it up and asked me to go get my mom. I never saw him cry or anything, either. And, well, there’s just something about the cowboys that are like that. The way the horses and the cattle and the guests always come first. They’re real men, you know?”
He pauses for a long moment, and the silence gets awkward.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not done yet. You said you didn’t want the short version.” There’s something a little tense about the way he says it, so I nod, urging him on.
“I feel like I’ve spent my whole life trying to be there for my sisters because he’s gone. Somehow the hole he left
“Hi, two for dinner?” a hostess asks, beaming at us from behind a podium.
“Yes, thank you,” Landon says, and I follow him as the hostess leads us to a wraparound booth in the back, where a little candle in a jar flickers. We slide in on either side of the table but end up meeting in the middle. We accept our menus and then silence falls around us.
I don’t know how to act right now, on a date like this. Last year we always just hung out, watching movies apparently neither of us even liked and sometimes kissing. Were there rules, expectations, when one went on a formal date? Do we make small talk and end it with a kiss on the porch of my cabin? And how the heck did I get to be eighteen and still so ridiculously anxious about stupid stuff like this?
“I’m looking forward to the cattle drive,” he says, after a few minutes.
“I know. It should be so fun.”
“We’re going to be stuck training the guests, you know. Since we’re the lesson teachers.”
“That’s okay. I mean, they kind of slow things down. …” I stop myself. I shouldn’t know this. “I mean, I’m sure they’ll slow us down, but it won’t be bad.”
“We should sneak out an hour early and just do the drive ourselves,” he says.
“I think we’d be fired.”
His hand finds my knee under the table, and he rests it there. “True, there’s always that.”
The waitress walks up then, interrupting the moment. “You guys know what you want?”
I haven’t even thought about it, but when I pick up the menu, it’s impossible to resist the idea that lodges in my head. “I do,” I say.
“Go ahead.” Landon nods.
“I’ll take the surf and turf,” I say, tapping on the menu.
The forty-two-dollar surf and turf. I force my face to remain neutral as Landon searches for the item on the menu. I wait for him to react as he realizes the price.
“Um, actually, that sounds great. Me too.”
Him too? This is officially the most expensive date I’ve ever been on.
“Uh, can I get a strawberry lemonade as well?” I say, smiling sweetly at the waitress.
“You got it.” She gathers our menus and then disappears, and there’s an awkward pause. I half expect him to call me out on my pricey selection, but he doesn’t, he simply sips at the water glass in front of him.
“Can I ask you a question?” I say, a heartbeat later.
“Sure. Shoot.”
“What is it you love so much about riding?”
He releases my leg and sets both hands on the table so that he can fiddle with the cloth napkin. It’s like I’ve struck a weird chord, flipped a switch, and he went from happy little Landon to serious Landon.
“You want the real answer or the short answer?”
“Real,” I say, wondering why there’s a difference.
“My dad left when I was ten.”
“Right,” I say. I knew this, since long before we talked about his sisters while we were mucking stalls today.
“I idolized him, you know? I thought he was such a man . Really tough. He nearly cut his finger off in a chop saw once, and he barely flinched. Just calmly wrapped it up and asked me to go get my mom. I never saw him cry or anything, either. And, well, there’s just something about the cowboys that are like that. The way the horses and the cattle and the guests always come first. They’re real men, you know?”
He pauses for a long moment, and the silence gets awkward.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not done yet. You said you didn’t want the short version.” There’s something a little tense about the way he says it, so I nod, urging him on.
“I feel like I’ve spent my whole life trying to be there for my sisters because he’s gone. Somehow the hole he left
Similar Books
