“Sorry,” he excused himself. “You look beautiful.”
I shifted in my seat, trying to get comfortable again. I went with the top Gina had suggested—the sheer black sleeves dipping low over my shoulders. “Thank you.”
“You know what you want here?”
“Um …” I glanced at the menu.
I’d already studied it at home, determined not to embarrass myself. This place was one of those tiny, unassuming restaurants everyone online swore by—especially for their wine pairings.
It felt a little extravagant for a first blind date. But I figured, why not start strong? Besides, I had a good feeling about thelast job I’d applied to. For once, the reply didn’t feel like a form rejection. They said they’d be in touch for the next steps.
Maybe things were finally turning around.
“She just sat down. She isn’t ready yet,” Trevor said.
I blinked.
So did the server.
“Oh, sorry,” she murmured, taking a step back.
“You can give us a minute,” he added, not even looking at her as she backed away. “Thanks.”
“Of course,” she said, slipping her notepad into her apron and turning toward another table.
I tried to smile after her, a little embarrassed. “It’s okay,” I told him. “I actually did look at the menu earlier. Or, if you’ve been here before, I trust your opinion.”
He didn’t respond to that.
Instead, he snapped his fingers.Snapped.
“Hey. When you get a second, we’re ready,” he called, again without even glancing in her direction.
The server’s polite smile didn’t meet her eyes. I recognized that look—tight and practiced. Trevor didn’t seem to notice. Or care as he rattled off to start with bread and the house salad. “Whatever dressing.” Before he looked away from her without a single thank you.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
“What?” He blinked at me like I’d interrupted something. “Who?”
I stared. Was he serious? “The server.”
His brow furrowed. “No. Why?”
“It’s just … how you talked to her. I thought maybe you were joking after first.” Or at least trying to joke. God, I hoped he’d just been awkward.
“Ah, okay.” He nodded like he understood now. Like I was the one who’d overreacted. He leaned back in his seat, settling in. “It’s fine.”
It was?
“I used to work in a restaurant,” he asserted. “I know how things work. They want to get in and out. Turn tables around you know. This way all ofthisis efficient.” He vaguely gestured around our table.
“You do,” I echoed. It wasn’t really a question. More of a … processing noise.
He shrugged. “Yeah. It’s fine.”
We sat in silence for a moment. It wasn’t fine.
But I wasn’t sure if it was worth saying that out loud yet. Or if this was just a weird hiccup. First dates were supposed to be a little awkward, right?
