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“I completely agree,” I say.
“I know it has to do with making things green and eco-friendly and all that important jazz, but some things shouldn’t be messed with. I’m all for recycled paper towels and soda cans, but leave my automobiles alone,” she continues.
I chuckle.
“What?” she asks.
“I feel like I already know you so much better, and we haven’t even made it to the restaurant yet.”
“Is that your way of telling me I talk too much?”
“Nope. I like it. It’s better than the awkward silence I was expecting.”
She laughs. It’s an intense and rich sound. One that comes from deep down in the gut, not a tinkling female giggle.
She rolls her window down, and the air picks up her hair and swirls it around her face. An intoxicating aroma fills my nose. She smells like coconut. It’s reminiscent of the Hawaiian Tropic suntan lotion we’d use to get golden brown as kids.
When we pass the Balsam Ridge town limit sign, she turns to me with a furrowed brow. “Where are we going?”
“There is this place right outside of the Smoky Mountain National Park that has a cowboy rib eye that melts in your mouth,” I reply.
She slaps my arm.
“Ouch. What was that for?”
“You dumbass. The whole point of this date is for people to see us out together,” she scolds.
“I know. I just thought we could have a good meal somewhere quiet, so we could get to know each other. Then, we can stop at Ansley’s café for a glass of wine and dessert afterward. Trust me, news will spread fast.”
“You don’t have to wine and dine me, Corbin,” she reminds me.
“Sorry, but my momma raised me to treat a lady nice on a date, even fake ones.”
She smiles. I guess I said the right thing.
“A momma’s boy. I should have known.”
I cut my eyes to her. “Is that a bad thing?”
“No. Not at all. I’m a momma’s girl.”
Maxi
We pull up to The Clifftop Steakhouse and Raw Bar. It’s a stunning structure that resembles on old English castle with rising turrets and an arched slate-stone entrance. The parking lot is composed of cobblestones, and there is a swinging bridge that leads from the space out to a deck, which is built around two massive oak trees that are protruding from the side of the mountain.
Corbin walks around to open my door, and I allow it. Even though it is an old-fashioned gesture, it seems appropriate for this evening.
He takes my hand and guides us to the front door and the hostess stand.
The inside is as impressive as the outside. Everything is a deep rich wood—from the walls to the high-beamed ceiling and even the tabletops. The far wall consists of floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook a waterfall with sliding rocks, where families are splashing in the river and gliding down the slippery nature-made slides.
I point to the water. “For future reference, next time, skip the fancy dinner and just take me to a sliding rock,” I tell him.
“Noted.”
Corbin follows the hostess to a table for two near the massive wine vault in the center of the restaurant. It faces the large iced bar that displays an array of fresh seafood, including oysters, chilled shrimp, crab legs, lobster, and ahi tuna.
He pulls the chair out for me, and I take the offered seat.
