Page 36 of The Substitute Fiancée

“It’s good,” I say. “There are… different flavors.”

“Thank you for that culinary analysis,” Oliver mocks. “We’re saved.”

“I’d say a vegetable tartare,” Emelyne says.

“Vegetable tartare?” David repeats. “What kind of heresy is that?”

“I’m noting your answers,” the waitress adds, amused.

“Oh great,” David groans. “We’re going to score zero.”

Sam thinks for a moment, then says softly:

“It’s an avocado terrine… and shellfish.”

“Yes, but which one?” the waitress asks.

“Shrimp!” Mara blurts out.

“No, it’s more delicate…” Sam murmurs. “I know, langoustine!”

“Correct!” the waitress praises.

“Admit it, I impress you,” Sam whispers conspiratorially.

Her laugh brushes my skin, light, warm, dangerously tempting.

What am I thinking? It’s Sam. There’s never been that between us.

It’s that kiss—it’s completely throwing me off.

The waitress sets a glass in front of each of us.

“This wine pairs perfectly with the dish.”

“Well, that’s easy,” Oliver declares after tasting.

“It’s… grapes.”

Laughter erupts—so contagious that even the waitress chuckles.

“It’s… kind of sweet,” Sam says, who knows nothing about wine.

“Sweet?” David scoffs. “How old are you? This isn’t soda.”

“Hey, that’s mean,” she retorts, offended.

I taste it in turn.

“It’s a Chenin blanc,” I murmur. “A demi-sec Vouvray, I think.”

“Correct!” the waitress congratulates me.

Sam lets out a little victory squeal and bumps her shoulder against mine.

“We’re awesome!”

I smile in the darkness.