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Thomas didn’t respond. He started digging through his pockets. After a few seconds of irritated silence, he pulled out his phone and pressed angrily at the screen.
I sat there, feeling like a fool. Thankfully, the waiter chose that exact moment to come up to the table.
“Good evening, sir,” the waiter said. “Would you like to see a wine list?”
“No,” Thomas said shortly. “Just bring us anything aged on oak, from the late nineties.”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter said. “Have you had a chance to look at the menu?”
Thomas glanced up and looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. “No,” he said. “June, have you gotten a chance to look?”
I nodded mutely.
“Just ask her,” Thomas said. “June, pick something with seafood,” he said. “And I want ceviche as an appetizer.”
“Yes, sir,” the waiter noted. He turned to me and I began to sweat. My cheeks flushed as I fumbled with the menu.
“Um, can I have the gamba…gambas de…ai-aye-oh?”
“Yes, the shrimp with garlic,” the waiter said smoothly. “Very good choice. I’ll bring two dinners.”
“Thank you.” I blushed hotly, ashamed of my mistake. I really need to learn basic French and Spanish pronunciation, I realized. That is, if I’m going to keep dating Thomas.
As soon as the waiter was gone, Thomas sighed and took a long drink of water.
“You okay?” I asked nervously.
Thomas glared at me. “No.”
“What’s wrong?”
Thomas sighed. “June, you should really brush up on your foreign pronunciation,” he said. “If we keep going places, it’s best to know all of the dishes by name.”
My blush deepened to a painful red. “I know,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I was expecting you to order for us – you usually do that.”
Thomas sighed forcefully, as if I’d somehow just him desperately uncomfortable with my comment.
“Normally I’ve had a better day at work,” Thomas said. The waiter brought a bottle of white wine and poured a taste for Thomas. This time, Thomas didn’t even bother sniffing and swirling the wine around in his glass. He poured two generous glasses and handed one to me.
“Thank you,” I whispered shyly.
The waiter beamed, as if he had no idea of the tension at the table. “The shrimp will be out soon,” he said.
As soon as he’d walked off, Thomas glared. “Why didn’t you ask him about the ceviche?”
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “I forgot – I’m really sorry, I’ll grab him the next time he passes by.”
“Forget it,” Thomas said sourly. “That kind of behavior isn’t really acceptable at places like these.”
I swallowed and licked my lips. I wasn’t sure what was wrong, but suddenly Thomas had gone from my own personal Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde.
“Thank you for taking me to dinner,” I said quietly.
“Oh, yeah,” Thomas said. “Well, I’m glad to hear you weren’t fired.”
I nodded and held my breath. The restaurant was filled with delicious, tempting aromas…but I felt sick to my stomach. It felt like being trapped a bad dream. I’d never seen this side of Thomas before – what exactly was he trying to tell me?
“Um, Thomas?”
