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Tara waved us up to the chalkboard, where all the couples dining that evening signed their names. Just one of many of the traditions that set The Dinner Bell apart from other places.
Clark wrote his name in large, blocky print, clearly a teacher used to making his writing legible. I wrote mine in ridiculous bubbly letters, then added a couple of hearts. Might as well make it look good, right?
“This is your first date?” Tara asked.
“It is,” I said, anticipation fluttering at what was about to come. It was one thing to tell myself I’d be cool with everyone believing I was dating a man. But in the moment, I felt more exposed than I ever had.
Clark pressed against my side, as if sensing my unease, and it made me feel better. I wasn’t in this alone. Even if Clark was gay and it wasn’t the same for him, he was part of this display. I wrapped my arm around his shoulder, tugging him closer, and he glanced up at me shyly. Damn, he was sweet.
Tara grinned as she reached for a cord and yanked it. The gong of a bell sounded through the restaurant. They didn’t really climb up the tower to ring the bell, but they’d recorded it ringing and played it whenever a new couple dined there.
A smattering of applause went through the dining area, along with one or two small whistles, as Tara led us to our table for two near a window. The lighting was kept low, candles flickering on each table, creating a romantic ambience.
Our legs brushed as we settled into our seats and accepted our menus.
“Have you ever been here?” Clark asked, sounding a little nervous.
“No, I haven’t. It wasn’t yet open when I left for college.” I chuckled. “I doubt I could have afforded it in high school anyway.”
Clark smiled tensely. “Right.”
I leaned forward and grasped his hand. “Relax. It’s just dinner, right?”
He nodded. “Sorry. All the attention is a little hard to take.”
I glanced around, and he wasn’t wrong. We were getting a lot of looks, whispering breaking out at a few tables behind us.
“This is what we want to happen, remember?”
He exhaled. “Yeah.”
“Don’t freak out, then. I’m going to do something…”
He raised his eyebrows but didn’t object, so I raised his hand and kissed his knuckles. I glanced up to see his eyes flutter shut.
“There. Now they have something to really whisper about.”
Clark gave a small breathy laugh, and I sat back, feeling so satisfied I had to fight to keep a smug smile from my face. His posture had relaxed, despite the light pink blush on his face, one that I suspected was more arousal than embarrassment.
I should probably feel uncomfortable knowing that Clark reacted to my touch, but part of me liked it. But then, wouldn’t any man enjoy knowing he was wanted? Not wanted in the shallow, empty way that the women in this town grasped at me, but wanted at a visceral, involuntary level.
“Sorry for being so nervous,” he said.
I sat back with an easy grin, not wanting to push too much. I wanted to tease the nosy patrons around us, not Clark. That would just be mean.
“Pretty sure you had just as much attention when you had that little tug-of-war with Percy at trivia,” I joked.
He groaned a laugh but seemed more at ease. “Don’t remind me. The man brought me funeral flowers and tried to sell me on coffins on the way to the pub.”
I burst out laughing. “You can’t say he didn’t make a lasting impression.”
The food, when it came, was delicious. I ordered a blue-cheese crusted steak, and Clark got a yummy-looking pasta carbonara that made me a little envious, despite enjoying my meal.
The conversation flowed easily, more easily than any real date I’d ever had. Every now and then I leaned forward to brush a finger over his hand or held his gaze with the kind of rapt attention of a smitten date. It was almost too easy, pretending like this.
Far easier pretending with him than I’d imagined it would be.
While it felt surreal to be here with a man, cooed over as a romantic couple, it didn’t feel strange to be here with Clark at all.
