Page 14 of Timber's Girl
The prices are no joke. I could buy meals for a whole day with what an entrée costs here.
And just like that, I become self-conscious about what to order. Timber must've known about the cost of the place before bringing me here, but what if he didn't? What if he had seen this place randomly and thought he'd try it out?
That happened once to Dean and I. We'd gone out to a fancy new restaurant to show off for his buddies. He loved having the finer things in life even if it was out of reach financially. It had been nerve-wracking witnessing his temper rise as I cautiously ordered, attempting and failing to land on the correctly priced items for him to remain calm.
In the end, I'd ended up paying for part of the entire meal along with a tip because his pride wouldn't hear of his buddies shelling out the cash. That would defeat the purpose of bragging about his ability to host a get-together at the classy restaurant.
Timber's not Dean, but I don't want him humiliated by a large bill he can't afford.
“Is everything okay? If you don't like Italian, we can go somewhere else.”
“What…?” My eyes guiltily flick upward as if he knew exactly where my thoughts were. “No, Italian’s good.”
"So, what are you thinking? Because you're frowning." His observation jolts me into full recovery mode.
I paste a bright smile on my face. “Just debating my choices. Call it RDF: resting decision face.” It's not my best work, but it seems to appease him as I mention how good the cheapest item on the menu looks—a salad with baked chicken on top.
I'll be hungry afterwards, but at least it'll be for a good cause.
Timber reads the meal description aloud. "Are you sure? You can get whatever you want. It's fine."
"That is what I want. Is there something wrong with a salad?"
He shakes his head, and my shoulders drop in relief.
The waiter returns for our order, saving me from the awkward moment. I go first then Timber follows by ordering a steak and asking if I want any wine. After I decline, the waiter leaves to place our orders.
We sit in silence as I try tallying what the cost of our meal will be.
Timber’s not destitute, but I don’t think he’s loaded with cash either.
"You look beautiful, you know. I think I was supposed to say that when I first saw you, but I was too awestruck.” The hesitant tone of his low voice draws my attention. It almost sounds like he's shy.
Is that possible?
Tingles erupt at the compliment. No one has ever called me beautiful. I’m cute, pretty on occasion, but never beautiful. And Dean never believed in compliments—unless they were the backhanded kind—once the ‘honeymoon’ period of our relationship wore off.
I smile in gratitude and study Timber. Slacks with a navy button down shirt. No tie, so the open collar displays the tattoos climbing his strong neck. His beard even looks freshly trimmed.
"You clean up well yourself," I praise, ducking my head even as I lean towards him.
A handsome grin brightens his harsh features, and the ice is finally broken as we settle into a normal conversation. One that isn’t stilted and cautious like most of our interactions this weekend.
When our food arrives, the portion sizes are huge, dismissing another worry of mine.Looks like I won't go home hungry, after all.
After we finish and decline the dessert offering, the waiter brings the check, and I restrain myself from sneaking a peek at the total, though I offer to split the meal cost.
He gives me a firm, "Hell no."
Then proves I had nothing to be concerned about because he pulls out his card and places it in the little check holder without a second glance.
I should've known everything would be alright, but hard-taught lessons are difficult to overcome.
Time to work through another Dean-centered issue in my therapy sessions.
Yippee…
"Do you want to go home? Or are you open to heading somewhere else first?" Timber asks once we’re settled in his vehicle.