It’s hard to accept compliments. I don’t know why. I think as women we’re taught that confidence and self-love are arrogant and unattractive qualities, so we are programmed to reject compliments or respond to them with a negative. We tell women to love themselves and then judge them when they do.
Carter dishes out compliments easily, and they’reso frequent that I have had to start accepting them, or I’d be arguing with him for hours a day.
“Thanks.” I smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. He nods toward his vehicle, and then he’s hauling open the door and helping me inside like he always does.
I am strangely excited for this night. More so than the other nights before it. Don’t get me wrong, I love watching Carter play, and it’s nice to go out with him and his friends, but this night feels like two people hanging outwithouta strange dating agreement between them.
Plus, it’s a surprise.
Nobody ever surprises me anymore, unless it’s with more hospital bills. I prefer this kind.
Carter steers us out of my neighbourhood, still without giving me a single hint as to what we’re doing. He just bops his head along to the rap music that’s quietly filling the car. He is actively choosing not to look at me, but I can see the smile he’s trying to suffocate, clear as day.
He’s ignoring me for fun.
“Carter!” I hiss, after a long few moments of pained nothingness.
He chuckles. “Can’t you wait twenty more minutes?”
“No.”
“Well, you’re going to have to. I’m not spilling the beans.”
He said that tonight will be casual and that nobody will be bothering us where we’re going. That means he’s not anticipating eyes on us or pictures being taken. It also means that it can be almostanything.
I rack my brain for stories I’ve told him, or things I’ve mentioned in the past, since he said he chose this date because he believes I’ll enjoy it.
I sit back in my seat, crossing my arms in front of my chest with a frustrated huff. Maybe Idon’tlike surprises after all.
“See?” he says, glancing over at me. “Isn’t it more fun this way?”
No. I want answers. I like organized lists and clear, thought-out plans, and hadn’t realized how badly I need control over even the most mundane of things until this very moment.
Fortunately, twenty minutes pass, and we finally pull up to a hole-in-the-wall type of pub. It’s on the outskirts of the city, away from the fanfare and the busy, fast-paced environment. The logo above the door is a skull and chicken bones.
Carter holds the door open for me, leading me into the dark bar with his hand on the small of my back. It’s the kind of place that is unassuming, but entirely full of heart. The type of place that has regulars who are loyal and who know the staff by name. It has bartenders who remember your face. It’s a place you come to once and find excuses to keep returning.
We are definitely not regulars and it’s obvious.
I shoot Carter a questioning look, but he only smiles widely in response. For a moment, I wonder what it feels like to be so sure of yourself. What it’s like to behim.Carter owns every space that he walks into, with no discomfort in his being.
We don’t go to the bar for a drink, we go to a small booth in the back with a ‘reserved’ sign sitting on the tabletop.
Seems funny, in a place like this, to have reserved tables. There is nobody here but us.
“What is this?” I ask quietly, shuffling into the booth.
“A pub.”
I shook him a look. “Yes, but what are we doing here?”
He shrugs, gently taking the drink menu out from under my fingertips. He gathers them and places them at the end of the table, signalling that we will not need them.
That’s a shame. I would love a drink right now.
I do another cursory glance around the room, tapping my foot to the music playing softly through the speakers.
“They’re just going to keep bringing us different appetizers, if that’s okay,” Carter says, and I must still look completely confused, because he continues with a mischievous wink. “It’s part of the deal.”
