order.
She smiled through her tears as she realized that John didn’t hate her. Even though she’d said she hated him, he didn’t hate her. He probably didn’t believe that she hated him either; at least, she hoped he didn’t. She regretted saying what she’d said. She regretted almost everything she’d said and done in the last twenty-four hours.
Her thumb moved over the screen, sending a message back:
I’ll be there.
Chapter Twelve
Sarah looked at John over the flickering candlelight. “You look good in a suit,” she said with a playful smile.
“And you look beautiful,” he said, his eyes gleaming with desire.
Separated by an expanse of white tablecloth and with a waiter in a bow tie standing beside them, they both looked quite unlike their usual selves. The restaurant was an expensive one, where the food was stacked where possible, even the soup. Sarah had already turned her nose up at cold soup served in a gelatin mold and was nursing the glass of wine John had watched the waiter pour her with perhaps too keen an eye. She didn’t want to drink too much, not tonight.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her guilt bubbling over. “About what I said today, about…”
“It’s okay,” John said. “I mean, it’s not okay to talk that way, but I know why you were angry.”
“You do?”
“Relationships have to be more than rules and discipline, so they tell me.”
“There’s sex too,” Sarah smirked.
“And more than sex,” he said, his eyes lighting with humor and desire. “Though, the sex is…”
“Good evening, sir, madam…”
The appearance of the waiter inquiring as to whether or not they were ready to order interrupted the conversation. Sarah sat and giggled as John asked the suit-clad man for a little more time and the waiter nodded as if he hadn’t overheard everything they’d said and departed to interrupt other intimate conversations.
“This menu is incomprehensible,” Sarah said, glancing at the card that contained a lot of words that did not appear to be in English.
“Want me to order for you?”
“Sure,” she shrugged. This night didn’t seem to be about the food anyway. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was about, but John had never struck her as the fancy restaurant kind of guy.
John ordered two steaks, which came after a good twenty minutes of the politest chitchat they’d made with one another since meeting. Sarah wanted to show that she was sorry, and she figured the best way to do that was to at least pretend to be civilized and ladylike.
They both ate their meals, silence extending out between them for long minutes while all around them fellow diners engaged in muted conversations. The restaurant was one of the best in town, a place where everyone wore their very best clothes and put on their very best manners. Sarah had never been in a place like it. She felt a little prickly and uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to let that show, so she kept a smile on her face and her elbows off the table.
Halfway through the steak, she couldn’t keep up the facade anymore. “Why does this feel weird?” She put her fork down, picked up her wineglass and took a dainty sip.
The question didn’t seem to surprise John. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug.
“Does it feel weird to you?”
“A little,” he admitted.
“It’s not really my scene,” she admitted.
“No? It’s not mine either.”
“So uh… why are we here?” She smiled playfully, swirling the dark red liquid she was still somewhat surprised he had ordered for her.
“It’s romantic.”
“Is it?”
“Well, it was supposed to be.”
“It feels more like we’re playing at romance,” Sarah observed. “Like I put my mom’s jewelry on, and you stole your dad’s suit and we’re pretending to enjoy the mud pies or something.”
John snorted. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t really do… romance.”
She smirked at him over the rim of
She smiled through her tears as she realized that John didn’t hate her. Even though she’d said she hated him, he didn’t hate her. He probably didn’t believe that she hated him either; at least, she hoped he didn’t. She regretted saying what she’d said. She regretted almost everything she’d said and done in the last twenty-four hours.
Her thumb moved over the screen, sending a message back:
I’ll be there.
Chapter Twelve
Sarah looked at John over the flickering candlelight. “You look good in a suit,” she said with a playful smile.
“And you look beautiful,” he said, his eyes gleaming with desire.
Separated by an expanse of white tablecloth and with a waiter in a bow tie standing beside them, they both looked quite unlike their usual selves. The restaurant was an expensive one, where the food was stacked where possible, even the soup. Sarah had already turned her nose up at cold soup served in a gelatin mold and was nursing the glass of wine John had watched the waiter pour her with perhaps too keen an eye. She didn’t want to drink too much, not tonight.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her guilt bubbling over. “About what I said today, about…”
“It’s okay,” John said. “I mean, it’s not okay to talk that way, but I know why you were angry.”
“You do?”
“Relationships have to be more than rules and discipline, so they tell me.”
“There’s sex too,” Sarah smirked.
“And more than sex,” he said, his eyes lighting with humor and desire. “Though, the sex is…”
“Good evening, sir, madam…”
The appearance of the waiter inquiring as to whether or not they were ready to order interrupted the conversation. Sarah sat and giggled as John asked the suit-clad man for a little more time and the waiter nodded as if he hadn’t overheard everything they’d said and departed to interrupt other intimate conversations.
“This menu is incomprehensible,” Sarah said, glancing at the card that contained a lot of words that did not appear to be in English.
“Want me to order for you?”
“Sure,” she shrugged. This night didn’t seem to be about the food anyway. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was about, but John had never struck her as the fancy restaurant kind of guy.
John ordered two steaks, which came after a good twenty minutes of the politest chitchat they’d made with one another since meeting. Sarah wanted to show that she was sorry, and she figured the best way to do that was to at least pretend to be civilized and ladylike.
They both ate their meals, silence extending out between them for long minutes while all around them fellow diners engaged in muted conversations. The restaurant was one of the best in town, a place where everyone wore their very best clothes and put on their very best manners. Sarah had never been in a place like it. She felt a little prickly and uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to let that show, so she kept a smile on her face and her elbows off the table.
Halfway through the steak, she couldn’t keep up the facade anymore. “Why does this feel weird?” She put her fork down, picked up her wineglass and took a dainty sip.
The question didn’t seem to surprise John. “I don’t know,” he said with a shrug.
“Does it feel weird to you?”
“A little,” he admitted.
“It’s not really my scene,” she admitted.
“No? It’s not mine either.”
“So uh… why are we here?” She smiled playfully, swirling the dark red liquid she was still somewhat surprised he had ordered for her.
“It’s romantic.”
“Is it?”
“Well, it was supposed to be.”
“It feels more like we’re playing at romance,” Sarah observed. “Like I put my mom’s jewelry on, and you stole your dad’s suit and we’re pretending to enjoy the mud pies or something.”
John snorted. “I guess you’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. I don’t really do… romance.”
She smirked at him over the rim of
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