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Surprise gives way to amusement in Sawyer’s gaze. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in a puddle of my own making, trying in vain to convince my thighs that now is really not a good time to rub together.
“Good to see you again, Noelle.” He shakes my hand, and somehow through that simple contact, I feel the echo of his touch where I want it most.
“You’re late,” my dad says.
“I am.” Sawyer releases my hand to shake my father’s. “You must be Richard. Or, is it Dick?”
I bite my lips together to suppress a laugh, but there’s no stopping the snort that follows. My dad scowls. So, I think, he’s meeting my dad for the first time tonight. That’s...interesting.
“It’s Richard,” my dad growls.
Miranda can’t stop smiling at her son, like she hasn’t seen him in years. I wonder if it’s been that long since they’ve gotten together.
Ben returns to take Sawyer’s drink order.
“Double scotch, straight up,” he says, handing off his menu. “And I’ll have the steak frites, medium rare, asparagus al dente.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Ben says. “But we aren’t offering steak frites tonight. However, we have an excellent tenderloin—”
“I appreciate the recommendation,” Sawyer says. “But do me a solid and tell Omar that Sawyer came all this way for the stripper special. He’ll know what it means.”
Ben shoots me a confused look. I shrug. Omar is one of our senior chefs. It’s possible he has a couple of strip steaks stashed away for situations like this.
Ben takes the rest of our orders and then leaves.
Miranda beams with pride. “I told you Sawyer’s a master chef, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did,” my dad grumbles. “More than once.”
“Sous chef,” Sawyer clarifies. “And I used to work here, a long time ago.”
“Noelle works here now,” my dad says. “Speaking of which, have you seen Ken?” He scans the room, and I can almost see the sweat beading on his forehead at the thought of paying full price for his apple-stuffed chicken.
Sawyer’s mouth quirks as he takes in my dress. “You don’t look like you’re working tonight.”
“It’s my night off,” I say.
“You must really like this place if you’re here on your night off.”
I glance over at my dad. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”
“Do you want to tell them?” Miranda asks my dad, bubbling like a pot about to boil over.
“You do the honors, darling,” he says, having temporarily given up on his search for Ken. “I wouldn’t want to spoil your fun.”
Miranda grabs something from her purse and then turns back to us, keeping her hands below the table.
“So,” she says. “Richard and I have decided that it’s time we took our relationship to the next level. Since we were already in Vegas, we figured, when in Rome...”
She holds up her hand to reveal not one, buttwo ringson the fourth finger of her left hand.
“We’re married!” Miranda says, her brown eyes glistening.
Sawyer’s easy-going smirk straightens. My stomach drops. Ben returns with Sawyer’s whiskey and a basket of bread, then flees as quickly as he came, no doubt sensing the tension between us.
My dad takes Miranda’s hand, looking pleased with himself, like a farmer standing proudly beside his prized show pony. I watch my new stepbrother—the same guy who just recently turned my panties into a Slip N’ Slide—down his whiskey in one gulp.
He sets his empty glass on the table with a thunk and then turns to me.
