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The waitress comes back and I assume she asks what we want, because Lark orders and then the waitress looks at me. I point to what I want on the menu, and she writes it down. She asks Lark something and Lark looks at me. “You want some wine?” she asks me.
I shake my head.
Lark tells her no and she walks away.
“You don’t drink?” Lark asks me.
“Not when I’m on a first date.”
She smiles at me and my heart skips double time. “Is this a date?”
I stare into her eyes. “This is a date.”
She lays a hand on her chest and pretends to be startled. “But I’m a hearing girl!”
“I know, right? Crazy, isn’t it? Just don’t tell my mother.”
A man in a suit approaches the table and speaks to Lark. She looks around, and realizes that the number of people interested in her being here has grown.
“Who was that?” I ask.
She reaches for her purse. “My security guard.”
“I didn’t know you had anyone with you.”
She shrugs. “It’s kind of his job to stay in the shadows. We need to leave, though,” she says.
“Why?”
“Too many people know I’m here.”
Phones are snapping pictures like crazy. The waitress hurries to our table and drops off a couple of bags.
“Mark asked for them to change our order to take-out. Is that okay?”
I get to my feet and pick up the bags.
“Is it okay with you if we take it to my apartment?”
I nod, toss an amount of cash I think will cover the bill onto the table, and follow her to the door. Her security guard speaks into a Bluetooth gadget on his ear, and a car pulls up in front of the restaurant. She nods toward it. “It’s for us.”
We get in, she settles down beside me, and lets out a heavy breath. I can feel it stir the air on my arm. “Is your life always like this?” I ask.
She nods. “Most of the time.” Her face falls. “I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand.” This happens when I go out with the Reeds too. They’re like royalty.
The car stops at her apartment building, and we go up in the really fancy elevator to the even fancier hallway. “S-W-A-N-K-Y,” I spell out on my fingers.
“E-M-P-T-Y,” she spells back.
She motions for me to set the bags on the kitchen counter and she takes out plates, then starts to transfer the food over. “I know it’s not as nice as the restaurant,” she says.
“Better,” I say. I smile at her. “Where’s your family?”
“They’re all with their boyfriends and husbands. It’s just me here.” She shrugs and her mouth twists. But then she grins. “But I do have your baseball cap to keep me company.”
I look around. “Where is it?”
