Page 87 of You Said I Was Your Favorite

I glance at how many ounces the ribeye is and wince. “I don’t think I could eat that much.”

“Get something smaller. Like a filet.”

I have no idea what sort of steak I should get because I don’t go to fancy restaurants regularly so I go with the one that’s the smallest, which means it’s the cheapest. When the server appears, Arch tries to order a beer but the server just sends him a knowing look and instead, he gets a Coke. I order a glass of water and the moment the server is gone, Arch is shaking his head.

“Live a little, baby.” My stomach tumbles pleasantly at him calling me baby. “You don’t have to stick with water.”

“Want me to try ordering a beer like you?”

He bursts out laughing. “He might serve you a beer. You’re cuter than me.”

I don’t know about that, but I don’t say it out loud.

When the server comes back with our drinks, Arch orders a couple of appetizers and I ask for a strawberry lemonade, which pleases my date.

“That’s my girl,” he says when the server is gone, a faint smile curving his lips. “Living it up with a lemonade.”

“Stop.” I mock glare at him and he chuckles. “I like lemonade.”

“Of course, you do.” He shifts forward, leaning his forearms on the table. “What else do you like?”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Yellow.”

“Food?”

“Pizza.”

“Class?”

“English.”

“Flower?”

“Roses. That was my mom’s name. Rose. Rosalie actually, but everyone called her Rose.” My voice drifts and I tell myself not to think about her too much.

He nods, his expression serious and I get the sense he’s glad I gave him that tidbit. That I told him something personal. “I thought for sure you’d say daisies.”

I slowly shake my head. “I like them too, but roses are special to me.”

“I understand why now,” he murmurs, his gaze never straying from mine.

“What’s your mom’s name?” I ask.

“Miriam.” He rolls his eyes. “No nickname. She’s always just Miriam.”

“You don’t like the name?”

“It sounds formal. Like her.” The server arrives at our table, handing me my drink while Arch sips from his. The moment he’s gone, Arch resumes talking. “My parents are big on rules and appearances.”

“What do they think of you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t act like someone who cares much about rules or appearances.”

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