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“Wow. She must think highly of me,” I said dryly. “Was that was the fighting was about?”
“Yep. She insisted on you coming in so she could check you out and ask you everything including the size of your penis. She said, and I quote, “Never marry a man with a small penis.””
I choked on thin air. “She said that?”
“That was when I ran. I don’t want to hear anymore.” She shuddered and adjusted so that she could look at me. “So, that’s why I’m late. Also, know a good hotel so I don’t have to go home tonight?”
I recovered, laughing. “It’ll be fine. If you stay out, she’ll just accuse you of sleeping with me.”
“Yeah, you’re right. And if I’m going to be accused of having sex, then I actually want to have it.” She shrugged one shoulder.
I bit back another laugh at her. She seemed to be back to the normal Mallory I knew, and I was glad. The over-happy one had been weird.
I pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and put the car in park. I could have picked any restaurant in town, but I chose one that wasn’t at the high end of the pricing.
I’d seen her this weekend. I’d paid attention to her as we’d walked around my parents’ house, and she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the ostentatious displays of wealth my mother was used to.
She’d be horrified if she knew that I’d brought a woman to anything less than the best restaurant in town.
Personally, I was happy with a date at McDonald’s. Their burgers were the shit.
I got out of the car, and unlike when we were at her house, Mallory waited and let me open the door for her. It was such a small gesture, but it’d been ingrained in me from a young age to just be polite.
Hell, if someone opened the door for me, I’d be delighted. Nobody ever did that.
“Is this place good?” Mallory asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“No. I’m deliberately bringing you somewhere where I know the food is bad.”
“Shut up.” She nudged me as I opened the door to the restaurant and motioned for her to go inside. “You don’t have to do that, you know. The doors.”
“I do.” I gave her a small smile. “It’s called being a gentleman.”
“I know. I just wanted to let you know that you didn’t have to.”
“And I’m telling you that I do. Stop arguing.” I touched my hand to the back and took her to the hostess’ station.
“Good evening, sir. Do you have a reservation?” The young woman asked me with a bright smile.
It was almost as bright as Mallory’s had been this morning.
“Under Reid,” I replied.
She scanned the book and nodded, picking up two menus. “Please follow me.”
We followed her through the restaurant to a small table in the corner. A single candle burned in the middle of it, and I wished I’d thought to make a point that this wasn’t a date.
Now, it was romantic.
Damn it.
I pulled out the chair for Mallory. She shot me a half-smile, lips just curled up, and took the seat. I knew what she was going to say, so I shook my head and cut her off. She could tell me that I didn’t have to pull her chair out, but here we were.
I did have to.
And I wanted to.
I took my seat and the menu from the hostess. She smiled and said a waitress would be right over, then left us.
“So,” Mallory said, opening the menu in front of her. “What’s the real reason you asked me to have dinner?”
“You think there’s a reason other than the fact I owe you dinner for helping me out?”
“Yes. Especially since you went all Cordelia Reid on me.” She peered over the top of her menu at me. “Thank you for that.”
I grinned back at her. “All right, there is a reason. I—”
We were interrupted at the moment by the waitress. I ordered a bottle of the house white, not that I’d drink a lot since I was driving, but one glass wouldn’t kill me.
We ordered our food, and as soon as that was done, Mallory pinned me with a sharp gaze.
“Dinner. Why?”
I tapped my fingers against my chin and regarded her. Aside from the blue dress that hugged her stunning figure, her hair was still up in a bun—although a few more wisps of hair framed her face now—and her lips were just as red as they were this morning.
I shrugged one shoulder slowly, sitting back. “For what it’s worth, I did mean that I owed you dinner. You did me a huge favor.”
“It’s my job.”
“No. It’s not your job to run around after me because I forgot to get the files and didn’t plan my morning well enough. It’s your job to answer phones and emails and schedule appointments and make coffee. You helped me a lot, and I appreciate it.”
