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“Never heard of it,” I said, as we waited to be seated.
“Really? It’s a roadhouse about an hour out of town, on this little dirt road. Kind of a rough crowd, but I dig it.” He whipped his head to me. “You want to check it out instead of eating here?”
“I don’t know if it’s my scene,” I said, smoothing down my skirt.
“Probably true.” Connor’s smile thinned out. “Another time.”
A silence fell and stretched until the maître d’ arrived. He took us up a winding marble staircase to the uppermost floor, where a rooftop terrace overlooked all of Amherst. The sun was just starting to sink in the west, casting a golden hue over the rolling greenery.
“Kind of an old person’s place, yeah?” Connor said in a low voice.
I tore my eyes away from the view and saw most of the terrace tables were occupied by couples, all older than us by a good thirty years.
“Now I remember why we ran out to Roxie’s after dinner with my parents.”
“I thought you liked it here,” I said. “You told me the sunset wasn’t to be missed.”
“Oh, right. That’s just what I heard, but never seen it myself.” He turned his beaming smile up a notch. “It’ll be a first for me, too.”
The moment smoothed out and settled warmly between us, and we took up our menus.
The waiter appeared to take our drink orders.
“Do you have pear cider?” Connor asked the waiter with a wink for me.
I rolled my eyes and laughed as the waiter apologized for the lack of cider on the premises.
“A bottle of red wine then?” Connor asked.
“White, please. And only a glass.”
He ordered a glass of sauvignon blanc for me and a craft beer for him.
“Just the one,” he said. “Since I’m driving.”
The waiter checked our IDs
, then retreated.
Connor leaned back in his chair. “I have a confession.”
“Oh?”
“Between Yancy’s and the track meet, I can’t remember what you said about your major, except that it sounded complicated as hell.”
“Double major in poli-sci and social anthropology.”
“Right. What are you planning to do with that? You mentioned going to Harvard for grad school?”
“I hope to. I’m going to petition to create my own specialized major with an emphasis on a specific area of humanitarian work.”
Connor blew out his cheeks. “Wow. Ambitious.”
I ran the tip of my finger over the rim of my water glass. “Well, I haven’t picked my emphasis yet, but Harvard says they’re open to it. I have to send the project in when I apply, so I have only this year to figure it out.”
“Sounds like a crap-ton of work, whatever you choose.”
“It is, but it’ll be worth it. I want to take on a major issue in a meaningful way.”
