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“Do you remember that coach from up north who wore shorts every Friday night, despite the temperature?”
I laugh. “Coach Nelson. Great man and coach and, apparently, doesn’t mind the freezing temperatures.”
“He’s nuts,” she proclaims animatedly before returning her gaze outside. “Wait, where are we going?”
Pulling onto my street, I head toward my house and turn into my driveway. Once the truck is in park, I release my seat belt and turn to face her. “Well, I was thinking all week about where we could go for the perfect date night, but nothing felt right. I know you worked all day today and are tired, so I thought we could have a nice, quiet, relaxing night here. Plus, I know how your mind works and if we would have gone somewhere, you’d fret about everyone seeing us and asking questions, so I thought for this date, our first one, we could just keep it simple. And private.”
I start to get a little nervous when she doesn’t say anything, just stares at me with those big, green eyes.
“If you want to go to the steak house, I’ll gladly take you,” I blurt out nervously. “I just thought you’d prefer a little privacy, so I planned a whole…thing. Shit, I’m fucking this up.”
“No!” she insists, reaching over and grabbing my hand. Her fingers send tingles of awareness up my arm and through my body. “This is…this is perfect, TD, really.” She glances over at my house. “I was a little nervous to go out in public, not because I don’t want to be seen with you, but because it’s no one’s business. And there’s always whispering and questions, and I just…that’s what I hate about small towns.”
I give her a smile. “I know, El. That’s why I thought we’d just hang out here tonight. Kameron made us dinner, and it’s inside in the warmer, and there’s an Adam Sandler movie cued up and ready to go. I know it’s not a fancy restaurant and movie theatre, but this just seemed more…us.”
“You’re right. It is.”
I let out a long breath. “Okay. Are you ready?”
She nods eagerly, releasing her seat belt and opening the door.
I’m out of the truck and at the passenger side before she can climb down, so I take her hand and assist her. Not because she can’t do it on her own or because my dad insisted I always be a gentleman, but simply because I want to hold her hand, even for a few seconds.
Anxiously, we walk up the steps together, and as soon as the door is unlocked, I step aside for her to enter. Kameron was just here, so I know the kitchen is set and ready. With her hand still nestled in my own, we follow the scent of delicious food.
“Oh, wow,” Ellie says when we step into the kitchen.
“It’s good to have a chef friend who owns a restaurant,” I quip, referring to one of our friends who went to culinary school, returned to our hometown, and purchased an old building downtown to transform into a steak house.
“My mouth is already watering. This smells amazing,” she replies as I pull the chair out for her. “Thank you.”
“I gave him free rein on our plates, so I’m not sure what we’re having,” I tell her once she’s seated. “Well, I take that back. I told him no broccoli or gross cheese.”
Ellie giggles, which makes me smile. I love the sound of her happiness. “Did you say gross cheese? He probably had no clue what you meant.”
“Actually, he figured it out right away,” I tell her, retrieving the bottle of wine Kameron left to complement our dinner.
“Why would anyone put blue cheese on anything? It’s so nasty.”
“I do agree with you. Wine?” I ask, popping the cork.
“Sure.”
I pour two glasses, even though I’m not a big wine drinker, and join her at the table. Ellie lifts the lids off the plates and the aromas hit with the force of a punch. Filet mignon, skewered smoked shrimp, a weird breaded hash brown thing, and asparagus. My mouth waters just looking at it.
“Oh my word, this looks amazing,” Ellie says, grabbing her fork and knife. She uses it to cut the piece of steak, but it moves through the meat so easily, I bet a knife isn’t even necessary.
I make a mental note to send Kameron a text of gratitude later this evening.
Slicing into my steak, I take a small bite and moan. “Holy shit,” I mumble, slowly chewing as the flavor explodes on my tongue.
“Right? That man is a genius,” she adds, cutting her asparagus into bite-size pieces and removing the shrimp from the wooden skewer.
“Tell me about your day,” I suggest, sticking my fork in the breaded hash brown creation and taking a small bite. It’s like a creamy hash brown casserole with ranch seasoning, rolled into a ball, breaded, and baked.
“Crazy busy,” she announces between bites. “I love holiday weekends, but they’re definitely hectic.”
“Tips are probably great though, right?”
