Page 61 of The Way We Touch
“I won’t.” I give him a wave before catching his sister’s hand and leading her out the door. I’m ready to get her fed and get her alone.
Garrett recommended a restaurant on the bay south of town. The drive down the old highway takes us through the sweeping live oak trees and blooming crepe myrtles. The top is on the Jeep, but the doors aren’t. I drive slower, so the wind doesn’t beat us up too much.
“It’s so different here from Texas.”
“How so?” She glances up at me, and I hesitate a moment, watching the wind lift a curl around her cheeks.
Then I shake it away. “It’s greener, closer together.”
“Texas is pretty huge.”
It’s a nice night, not as hot as it has been, and I pull into the gravel parking lot. Hustling around, I help her out of the vehicle, holding her arm as we walk on the rocks so she doesn’t turn an ankle.
“Not the best footwear for gravel.” She clutches me, and we take it slow.
“I like those shoes. They’re nice.”
They’re practically invisible with the thin straps over her red toes, and I consider sweeping her off her feet and carrying her inside. But I don’t.
The small restaurant is in a renovated old house with a weathered wood exterior and deer antlers for door handles. Inside, the place is all exposed wood, from the floor to the walls. The wide-plank ceiling is adorned with twinkle lights wrapped around long branches of driftwood, and a brick fireplace is in the center.
It feels like an old hunting lodge, and it smells like expensive food.
We take a seat at a square table covered in a white tablecloth. The waiter takes our drink order. Dylan orders a smoked Old Fashioned, and I have a plain ole scotch.
The dining room is very small and dimly lit with jarred candles on the tables and shaded lamps mixed with the twinkle lights overhead. It’s cozy and romantic, and only a handful of other diners are present.
She leans forward, eyes sparkling in the light. “We’re not in Cooters & Shooters anymore, Toto. This is fancy!”
I exhale a laugh. “Let me order for us. Garrett gave me the inside scoop.”
“He would know.” She lets me take her menu. “He was sweet to cover for me tonight. I told him it wasn’t necessary, but he likes to hang out with Craig and Thomas. They’ll turn the whole night into a party.”
“He has a tendency to do that everywhere.” I think about his dance moves on the field after we score a touchdown.
The waiter returns with our drinks, and I order marinated crab claws and halibut for her, the five-ounce filet for me, and two glasses of their best pinot noir with our entrees.
Before he goes, he takes out a small blowtorch and lights the top of Dylan’s old-fashioned. I guess that’s the “smoked” part.
Her eyebrows rise, and she cups one hand beside her mouth. “Now that’s dangerous.” She points at the flaming tumbler.
“Not as dangerous as you.”
Lifting it, she holds it out for a toast before bringing it closer and blowing on it. “How do I drink this?”
“Here.” I lift a metal lid off the table and slide it over the top of her glass until it extinguishes the flame.
“I didn’t see that.” She lifts it again and takes a sip. “Mmm… it’s warm and spicy.”
“Just like you like it.” My hand slides across the table, and this time she doesn’t hesitate.
She puts her hand in mine, and it feels so natural, so good.
“Tell me about your parents. I know your dad was a big football star, but what about your mom?”
Dylan’s head tilts to the side. “She was the head cheerleader in high school. They were the total stereotype, and when they graduated, he was prom king and she was his queen.”
“They were the same age?”