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My dad continues, “—I’ll just leave you women to it. Just… Be careful, Ashley. Okay?”
“Leave it at that,” suggests my mother, cutting him off before he can launch into one of his spiels about being a good look for the campaign, and putting on a family-friendly front, and a dozen other overbearing things that I’ve already heard a hundred times.
Once he’s out of the room, my mother leans forward. “Don’t let him get under your skin, sweetheart. You know how he is.”
“I do,” I say, turning back to her. It prickles a surge of agitation through me, but I brush it aside, trying to regain my excitement for the dinner date I’m about to go on. It’s surprisingly easy to pull it back up. “It’s fine. I just—you know, wish me luck!”
“Good luck,” says Heather, honestly.
“Try and have a good time tonight. And don’t worry about the time,” my mother tells me.
I wasn’t going to. While I get his view on the age difference, I know his concerns have more to do with the image it creates. It’s like my Instagram feed. I know that my father is just really struggling to figure out the best way to get himself elected, and I’ve always wanted him to succeed but… I don’t know.
Something about this bid for office is hitting him really hard. I don’t think that he’s confident in himself the way that he normally is. That’s why he’s trying to make the family image perfect—he needs to get as many people backing him as he possibly can. But I refuse to let it affect the night.
I wave goodbye and head out to meet Grant. He looks handsome, same as he always does. He’s wearing a nice burgundy button-up shirt, the top two buttons undone, making him look more enticing.
For our first public date, he’s chosen a nice Italian place. I don’t know if anyone has recognized either of us, but I’m enjoying the date so far.
“The food isn’t nearly as good as yours,” I tell him, halfway through the night.
“I can't make risotto,” Grant counters, though he looks ridiculously pleased about the compliment. He’s gotten the lobster risotto to go with his pasta dish, and there are soft, fresh baked dinner rolls at the very center of the table, in a pretty wicker basket.
“That doesn’t matter,” I tell him. I’ve gone with the lobster bisque as my appetizer, and pasta for my main—though I’ll be honest, I’ve spent more time eating those dinner rolls loaded down with a fluffy creamed herb butter, than I have anything else.
“I’ll take the compliment,” says Grant. It’s all idle chat until our dessert comes out. Fancy cannoli with white chocolate and shaved pistachio, and a few cherries to line it. It's rich and flaky and creamy. The side of my fork pierces through the outer dough.
Now that the meal is starting to come to an end, Grant clears his throat. I glance up at him, brows raised to show that I’m listening.
Grant says, “So, your parents know now, right? How did it go?”
“My mom is thrilled,” I tell him. “I’m sure that she’s already planning out the shopping trip to get me a white gown for the wedding.”
“I would have thought that would be your dad,” says Grant. “He’s been pushing for you to get married, right?”
“He just—he thinks you’re too old for me,” I say. Then I pause and roll my eyes. “Actually, he thinks that the people voting for him will go, oh my God, they aren’t the same age! We have to burn that politician at the stake!” I pitch my voice up into a goofy tone when I do it, then drop back to normal to add on, “He’s just in his own head about everything right now. This is going to make him happy once he gets past that, though.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive.” I hope that I’m correct. It’s hard to anticipate how my father is going to act about anything right now. But I need to stay positive. And make sure this is believable.
I take his hand in mine, lacing our fingers together, and lean forward. A blush is spreading on my face, but—lovebirds are supposed to touch all the time, right?
“How about your family?”
One corner of his mouth moves upward in a half smile. The talk is not romantic by any means, but others can’t hear us.
“Dad’s through the roof over it.” He sounds pleased. “He’s already asked me when I’m going to be bringing you out to meet him and my mom. I may have fluffed up how serious we were about things. Hope that’s not an issue.”
“It’s not, you’re fine,” I say. “That’s the whole point. So—he’s alright with it?”
“Yeah, and I’m sure that Charlie will be too. I haven’t been able to get a hold of him yet,” says Grant.
He rubs his thumb on my knuckles before letting go of my hand to take a sip of his drink. It’s not intimate, but something about it feels that way. Maybe it’s because I don't have a lot of experience being touched by a man. I mean, I've had boyfriends in the past, but I’ve always kept some distance. Brief kisses, brief touches, and that’s that. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex, or that I don’t have needs—I just—Sex is something special to me and I plan to keep it that way.
I shake those thoughts away. “Do you worry when you can’t get ahold of him?”
Grant laughs. I love the way that it sounds, always have. “No way. Charlie’s still staying on top of all his work for the company. Sometimes he goes out to these wild places and turns off his phone for, I don’t know, privacy or something. He swears it’s because it helps him work better, but I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse for not having to tell anyone that he’s found a new girl to hook up with.”
