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“Is he that ugly to you?” Phoebe jokes, watching me with concern.
I can’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks. “No… he was my high school boyfriend. He’s the one that got away.”
“Oh my god, Rachel.” Phoebe grabs my hands and squeezes them tightly.
I’m surprised I can even feel it; my whole body has gone numb.
“I’m not going out with him then,” Phoebe says. “That’s way too weird.”
“You’re not?” I meet her gaze, sniffling softly.
“No.” She grins. “But you are.”
* * *
As I pull up to the valet parking at The Lantern, I second-guess myself for a moment. After all, this isn’t my scene. I work on a farm, for crying out loud. Well, it isn’t your typical farm. We host events and parties and specialize in holiday shit. But still, what business do I have letting someone park my car for me? I glance down at my outfit, hoping it fits the dress code for this place. Ava and Phoebe helped dress me, and I have to admit, I do look hot as hell.
“Dammit,” I mutter. The valet is patiently waiting, but a glance in my mirror reveals a line of cars waiting for me to get the hell out of the way. I hop out. “Sorrell. Rachel Sorrell,” I say before making my way up the walk.
The place has indoor and outdoor seating, and I’m not sure where my blind date will be. I should have figured that out before heading here, but hindsight is twenty-twenty. The hostess greets me with a smile as soon as I step into the building, and I’m grateful as hell for the air conditioning. It’s June, and that’s great for planting, but not so great for a thick-thighed girl in a tight dress.
“Hello, welcome to The Lantern.”
“Thank you so much,” I reply. “The last name is Anderson.”
Her eyes widen and she straightens her spine. “Right this way. I’ll show you to the room.” She turns on her heel and heads up the staircase behind her.
Good god, his room? What have I gotten myself into?
The spiral staircase ends at a pair of double black doors, and the hostess stops, turning to me with a small smile. “Enjoy your dinner.”
She practically sprints down the stairs, leaving me to contemplate the doors on my own.
For a moment, I consider leaving. He’d never know—he’d just think he was stood up. No harm no foul, right? But with each step up the stairs, I decide against fleeing. Someone would tell him I was here anyway, that I had left. That might be even worse.
“Apologies, miss.” The low rumble comes from somewhere over my left shoulder, and I move to the side. “I thought you would already be seated.”
“Just a bit of nerves.” I smile shakily, my fingers fiddling with the chain on my clutch.
The waiter is an older man, probably close to my grandfather’s age. Suddenly, I wish I was on the farm with him right now. Our garden is starting to pop up, and he could use the extra help weeding, I’m sure.
The man is carrying an expensive looking bottle of wine, and while some gardening therapy is my favorite way to calm down, a glass of wine is also good for the nerves.
“He’s not that scary.” The waiter lowers his voice, giving me a reassuring smile. “I’m not sure why everyone here tiptoes around him.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m positive. I’ve known him since he was a boy.”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself, and then nod at the waiter. “You’re right. He’s just a man.”
“Just a man. There are millions of them around. If this one doesn’t work out, there will surely be another.”
“That puts it into perspective.” My laugh surprises me, my throat no longer as tight and my fingers now still. “Thank you…”
“Chester.” Chester nods toward the room, and the man waiting on the other side of the door. “Now let’s get—”
The rush of air from the swinging door rustles the skirt of my dress, and I clap my hands down in a hurry, relieved I didn’t flash everyone my underwear.
