Dex arrives exactly on time, and the difference in how he moves through this space compared to the hockey rink is striking. Here, he belongs. The hostess recognizes him, other diners glance over with interest, and he navigates it all with easy confidence.
“You made it,” he says, pulling out my chair.
“I made it.”
“And you’re speaking at normal volume again.”
“About that...” I settle into my seat, already feeling my cheeks warm. “I may have overreacted this morning.”
“When you started shouting about training opportunities?”
“I panicked.”
The server appears immediately—the kind of service that comes with being recognizable. We’re barely looking at the menus when a woman approaches our table. Tall, blonde, wearing a dress that makes even me look twice.
“Dex!” she exclaims, leaning down to kiss his cheek. “I thought that was you.”
“Hey,” Dex says, his smile polite but strained. “Good to see you.”
Her eyes sweep over me with obvious curiosity, but I don’t offer any information. Just nod politely.
“Are you going to introduce me?” she asks.
“This is Golda,” he says simply.
The woman hovers, clearly fishing for more details, before finally moving on.
“Sorry,” Dex mutters, looking back at his menu. “That happens sometimes.”
“No problem.”
We’re trying to decide between appetizers when another interruption comes. A younger woman with her phone already out.
“Excuse me,” she says to Dex, completely ignoring my existence. “Could I get a quick photo?”
“Not tonight,” Dex says. “I’m having dinner.”
“Just a quick one? Please?”
“Another time.”
She huffs and walks away, but I can see more people starting to notice, phones being discretely positioned.
“So,” I say, trying to get back to normal conversation, “what’s good here?”
“The salmon’s supposed to be?—”
“Oh my god, it’s really you!” Another woman appears, this one holding a cocktail and swaying slightly. “You’re even hotter in person.”
Dex’s jaw tightens. “I’m trying to have dinner.”
“Just one picture? Come on, don’t be such a dick about it.”
“The answer is no.”
She scoffs and mutters something about celebrities being assholes before stumbling away.
I’m starting to feel the weight of all the watching eyes, the way conversations at nearby tables have shifted to speculation about who I am and what I’m doing here.
