Jamie’s eyes widen at every little thing—those bright green eyes. You’d think he’d never seen an oyster before. The velvet cushions of our chairs fascinate him, and the lace of the tablecloth, the well-worn leather of the menus. He doesn’t say any of this aloud, but he’s more expressive than he realizes.
I find it all quaintly charming.
I picked a more casual place given his choice of attire. I’m glad he didn’t step out in a suit. I’m sick of men and alphas trying to impress, peacocking around inHermes. He values comfort. I appreciate that.
The only thing that grates on me is the constantsorry—thank you—sorry. But it’s his first night, and I need to let him adjust. We’ll work on it later if needed. He’s an omega, after all. I need to adjust my expectations.
I order a five-year-old Lebanese red for us. Something a little modern, trendy. Not so expensive, only a couple hundred. I’m feeling casual tonight.
He’s still staring at the menu he holds propped up between us.
“Do you have any allergies?” I ask him.
“No.”
“Dietary restrictions?”
“No, not really.”
“Then you’ll get the cod.”
“I-I think I’ll be fine with just a soup.”
The waiter sweeps up, and I let Jamie order a lobster bisque.
“He’ll take the cod also,” I say. “And the filet mignon for me. Medium rare. Make sure there’s a good char, some lemon with the salt. Asparagus on the side.”
The waiter gives a crisp nod. “Anything else?”
“Hm, a bottle of white that will pair well with the cod. Something Italian.”
The waiter departs.
Jamie looks stunned, and the beast rumbles happily. He’s cute. Okay, maybe I’m flaunting. Just a little. I’m an alpha, after all.
I take a sip of the red. Full-bodied, not too heavy, cocoa finish. Perfect.
Jamie follows suit.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“It’sreallygood.”
“Do you have a favorite year?”
“What?”
“Of wine?”
He blinks. “Oh, uh… no. I’m an equal opportunity wine drinker.”
I chuckle. He cracks a smile. Asking that was mean, I know. But the beast likes watching him squirm, and so do I. Some harmless fun.
“Do you have a favorite year?” he asks.
“Sixty nine,” I say.
He chokes on a sip of water, sputters. My smile widens by a hair. I wink.
