Page 27 of First in Line

“Whatever we get, honey, it’ll be perfect,” Evie says, laying a hand over his on the table.

“I agree. All we need is a house big enough for kids. Anything beyond that is extra.”

The way my chest tightens at the mention of children makes it almost hard to breathe. Of course, they’ve talked about this. They’re getting married. They talked about their future. About children. About everything.

I’m not sure I can reply without sounding affected by what he just said, so it’s my turn to pick up my menu and read it. I’m halfway through the meats section when Nathan leans into her and says, “Should we each get something different and split?”

“Sure, honey.”

A few more beats, and he suggests, “What about the seven-hour braised leg of lamb? I hear it melts on your tongue.”

Before she can reply, I say, “Evie doesn’t eat baby animals.”

“Oh, right. Hmm… It looks very good, though. Wouldyousplit?” he asks me, clearly jesting.

Though this was only a joke that doesn’t warrant an answer, I still say, “I also don’t eat them.”

“Really?”

I nod. “She converted me.”

This time, when her gaze meets mine, there isn’t as much resentment in it.

When I see the dish listed in the appetizers, I ask, “Did you ever get to try snails?”

“It’s called escargots. And yes, I did.”

“And?”

“It wasn’t great.”

“It’ssnails, Evie. What else were you expecting?”

“I thought the French knew what they were doing.”

“The French never know what they’re doing. Trust me, I work with a lot of them.”

“How is it, by the way?” Nathan chimes in, interrupting our private conversation.

“How’s what?”

“Your job. It’s a rather unique career, isn’t it? And I skimmed through your Wikipedia page, but it looks like you took a very different path than most of your colleagues.”

“You read my Wikipedia page?”

“I was intrigued. And a little intimidated, I won’t lie,” he admits with humility.

“Have you read it, as well, Evie?”

“Not in a very long time.”

Desirous to remind Nathan that he might have her now, but she was mine first, I casually say, “She’s the one who wrote that page, you know? At least, she was the one who started it.”

His surprise isn’t laced with jealousy, as I’d hoped. “Really? I had no idea.”

When he turns to her, Evie shrugs and explains, “He was just starting with his Formula 4 team. I thought it might help, in case some scouts looked into him. Probably none of what I wrote is still there.”

“The ‘Early life’ section is still mostly yours,” I counter. I shouldn’t keep poking the bear like that, but it’s the only way I can get her to look at me, it seems.