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We walk out the door together, and before I realize it, we’re outside Steve’s restaurant. With all the time we spent at my house, we’re arriving later than expected, so almost everyone is here already.
We got lucky and found a nearby parking space, so I didn’t have to walk too far in my heels. From our vantage point on the sidewalk, we watch people walking around inside and mingling in small groups.
“You sure about this?” Matt’s hand is resting across my lower back. “It’s not too late to head back.”
“Yep.” I see so many happy faces, and I want to be a part of that.
After holding the door open for me, Matt wraps his arm around my waist possessively, and I let him. Happiness is dominant among my ever-shifting emotions.
Inexperienced as I am, tonight feels special. Like a turning point. Facing my fears with Matt and now my social anxieties.
I try not to be nervous around new people, but I can’t help myself. When we step inside, someone calls a hello to Matt, and he waves but doesn’t stop to make small talk. Instead, he scans the room until he sees Steve talking with a few people in neatly tailored suits.
Matt keeps a hand on my back and guides me, shaking everyone’s hands and introducing me to the group.
“They’re from the city council,” Matt whispers in my ear, leaning close. We chat for a moment before Matt leads me to a quieter spot near the back.
Steve breaks away and comes over to us with a big grin. He grabs Matt into a hug, and to my surprise, Matt embraces him too.
“I’m so glad you guys came.” He turns to me and seems to want to hug me too, but one quick smirk at Matt has him holding out his hand for a shake instead. He’s affable, and you can feel the energy coming off of him, clearly in his element.
Steve is easy to be friendly with, but I don’t feel anything like I do when Matt’s nearby.
Steve must recognize Matt’s possessive hold because he winks and takes a step back. “I saved a good spot for you.” He nods to the table, and I notice the small, reserved place cards on each table setting.
Matt stands behind my chair and pulls it out for me, letting me slip in and sit before he takes his seat across from me. He subtly slides his place setting toward mine and scoots his chair around to me so we’re on the same side of the table. Both of our backs face the wall, and he stretches an arm out behind my shoulders, pulling me close while we watch the other attendees slowly shift to their tables.
Steve returns with two glasses of champagne and hands one to each of us. “Cheers, Matty.” He nods to us before returning to the front of the restaurant to greet some stragglers who just arrived.
Matt’s fingers find mine underneath the table, and he holds my hand, drawing it over so that our joined hands rest on top of his thigh. His thumb makes idle circles in my palm that send heat flowing through my veins.
“We forgot the donations.” I lean close and whisper in his ear. I only remembered now because the group that just arrived came with grocery bags full of nonperishables.
“I’ll grab them when we go next door.”
I try to subtly kick my heels off since we’ll be sitting for dinner, my feet already hurting. With everyone mostly at their tables, I’m not worried about having to stand and greet anyone.
Feeling me struggling with the shoes, Matt leans close. “What’s wrong?” he whispers.
“I’m trying to take my shoes off.” I try leaning over, but the table and chair are too close to the wall that I can’t get a good angle on the little buckles.
Matt nods and, without noticeably moving, knocks his silverware to the floor. The little clangs draw the nearest table’s attention, but their curiosity quickly fades. Matt slips from his seat under the guise of picking up the silverware and reaches beneath the table, snagging my ankle.
He makes quick work of the first buckle and reaches for the second. At that moment, I look up to find Steve watching us from the front of the restaurant. Flushing deeply, I pull my now unshod feet away from Matt and try to look normal while he regains his seat.
Steve breezes by, and fresh utensils land on the table with a smirk. He makes his way to the front and begins a short speech, thanking us all for supporting the local food bank and helping to make the expansion a success. He wraps up his speech with, “And there’s one final person who has made this all possible. You probably haven’t seen her much, but if you cheer loud enough, I think you’ll be able to get her to come out of the kitchen. Let’s hear it for my phenomenally talented chef, Andrea Owens.”
Since we’re seated near the kitchen door, I can hear the loud complaints from within. Everyone’s cheering, but so far, she isn’t coming out. Steve approaches and sticks his head around the corner.
I hear murmurs before he reaches in and tugs the chef out of the kitchen against her will.
She’s absolutely stunning. Her glossy red hair is twisted into a tight roll at the back of her head, and her chef’s whites are pristine. Steve’s still holding onto her hand, and I watch as her fingers curl into his, a tight smile drawing across her lips. She doesn’t wave or relax, only giving the crowd a curt nod.
I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more than restaurant owner and chef between them. Steve watches her with something not quite platonic. He leans close and whispers in her ear, and her body shifts against him as she listens.
With a quick wave, she pulls free and darts back to the kitchen.
“Dinner will be served in just a minute,” Steve calls to his guests before following her into the back. That must have been a signal to the handful of servers milling around with drinks because they’ve all gone to the back too.
