We wander slowly, taking our time to study each menu. There truly is a little bit of everything—Korean, Italian, American barbecue, and even some seafood. Around the corner are three dessert options: fried ice cream, upscale cupcakes, and warm pie.
My stomach growls. “Are you sure we didn’t crash on the way here? This is kind of like heaven.”
Holden flattens a hand on his stomach as he laughs.
He thinks I’m kidding, but I’m so not. I could stay here forever and be perfectly fine.
We end up ordering from a handful of places, sticking to small portions of each so we can try all the flavors. Holden insists on paying for all of it, reminding me that this was his idea. But with seven—or was it eight?—bills, I don’t even want to think about how much this is all costing him.
Holden tries to balance our serving trays like a gentleman, and when I try to take one from him, he twists away.
“I’ve got it.”
“You do not. Let me help.”
He groans. “Fine. Get the drinks then.”
I grab the drinks while he struggles to carry the rest of it. They clearly did not design the trays for people to sample as much as we are.
We claim a table near the fireplace—without incident, thankfully—and set everything down. Holden spreads the food out across the table, trying to remember who ordered what.
“Was the shrimp scampi yours or mine?”
Honestly, it could be either. And why does it matter anyway? We’ve shared our food our entire lives. Why should tonight be any different?
Because he’s treating this like a real date,I remind myself. This isn’t a normal night for us.
“Uh, yours?”
He pulls it toward him, then scoots the cup of spicy pulled pork toward me.
I sit back, taking it in. If I’m being honest, I expected Holden to take me to our favorite steakhouse or maybe to the restaurant he went to with Gage, since he had made such a big deal about it. But this? No, this is way beyond anything I could’ve imagined. It’s the most creative “restaurant” I’ve ever been to. And he chose it forme,because he knows I love all food.
Why doesn’t he do this for other guys?Maybe they just don’t appreciate it the way I would.
“Tell me something about yourself,” I say, twirling some spaghetti with my fork.
He blinks at me. “What?”
I chuckle. “If this is supposed to be a date, then tell me something about yourself that I don’t already know. Treat me as if we were strangers.”
Holden seems genuinely horrified, like I’d asked him for his personal bank account or something. I feel a little bad for him.
“Okay. I’ll start. Did you know I broke my big toe when I was six jumping on the trampoline?”
Holden relaxes, eyes crinkling a little as he smiles. “Pretty sure I was there.”
I lean in, whispering conspiratorially. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Oh no! How’d that happen?’ Then I could say, ‘My best friend tried to shoot me to the moon, and I didn’t quite make it.’” I take a bite before adding, “My toe is still crooked, by the way, so thanks for that.”
“Hey, it was your idea.”
“Was not!”
“Was so.” He stabs a piece of broccoli. “I don’t think talking about feet is a good first date topic, anyway.”
I snicker. “That’s… okay, that’s probably true. Your turn, though. Tell me one of your childhood memories.”
Holden turns inward, dragging another piece of broccoli through some Korean sauce. After a while, he sits back, shaking his head. “I can’t think of any where you aren’t there.”
