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T W E N T Y
- Finn -
I made a reservation at Bandera, my favorite swanky restaurant. It was dim, but not dark, and I figured upscale American fare was a safe bet. The menu was varied, the jazz was live, and even the entrance was dramatic… If “dramatic” was the right word for a glass tunnel showcasing row after row of sizzling rotisserie chickens.
I arrived first and took a seat at the semi-circular bar, eager to settle the sudden onset of nerves I was feeling, which only got worse when Maeve walked in.
I swallowed and smiled in her direction, raising a hand casually. The hostess took her coat, revealing a soft-looking navy dress that hugged her in all the right places, the V-neck dipping low enough to show a hint of cleavage. I wondered if she was wearing a fancy bra, and trying to imagine it stoked all my appetites.
“Hi,” I said, standing to press a cheek to hers as my hand found her lower back.
“Hi.”
Part of me wished her hair was down, since I was dying to know how long it was. But her eyes really popped with it pulled back, their sparkle mirrored in the delicate earrings that dangled beside her jawline. “You look good enough to eat,” I said, shamelessly checking her out.
She blushed.
“Join me for a drink?” I asked. “Our table won’t be ready for a few minutes.”
She sat up on the high stool beside mine and set her small purse on the bar. “We didn’t have to come somewhere so fancy.”
“We did,” I said, sliding the skinny cocktail menu towards her. “Brian gave me a whole speech.”
Her brows lifted. “Oh yeah?”
I nodded. “He said you deserve better than the chili dog place I usually treat myself to on Saturday night.”
Her smile pulled to one side. “What else did he say?”
“That you’re way out of my league, and I shouldn’t get my hopes up.”
“He didn’t say that.”
“No,” I said. “He didn’t.”
She dropped her eyes to the drinks menu. “I can’t believe you guys were talking about me.”
“That’s what happens when you leave the bar,” I said with a shrug. “If you’d stayed into the wee hours, you could’ve been in on the gossip session instead of the subject of it.”
“What else did I miss?”
“Nothing,” I said. “Oh wait, that’s not true. A guy came in and threw an almost perfect game of darts.”
Her eyes glinted. “Sounds thrilling.”
“Beats a root canal.”
She turned her face towards me. “You’ve had a root canal?”
I recoiled like the mere suggestion was a scandal. “Of course not. People who floss as much as I do never run into such problems.”
Her lips twitched with amusement as she returned her attention to the cocktails on offer. “Which of these are you having?”
“The Dorothy Parker,” I said, pointing down the list. “It’s basically a whiskey sour but the emphasis is definitely more on the whiskey than the sour.”
She glanced at it.
“Want to try it?”
