Page 70 of One More Chance
Harper
Jensen leadsme down a quiet walkway, only a few streetlamps filtering through the trees. The night is warm, with gentle breezes fluttering my short skirt. All I hear is the quiet shuffle of our shoes, his hand resting on the small of my back.
“Where are we going?”
“A quiet little place, you’ll see,” he says, a gentle smile across his lips.
We walk a few more paces, rounding a corner and I see a red door, no signs. Jensen pushes the door open, and I take a step inside, greeted immediately by a woman at a hostess stand.
“Two for Reed,” Jensen says, replacing his hand on my back, rubbing small circles over my spine.
“Right this way, Mr. Reed,” she says, checking something on the sheet in front of her and then stepping in front of us.
The hostess seats us in a quiet booth toward the back of the restaurant. After sitting, I take a look around. The lighting is low, a small candle between us on the table. Plush seating envelops me. It certainly doesn’t feel cheap. I don’t know that I’ve ever been to such an upscale place. The walls are smooth, neatly decorated with modern art. Instrumental music plays overhead and it takes me a moment to realize it’s not through speakers. There’s a small stage where musicians are playing. My hands involuntarily clench in my lap, intimidation flooding me.
“Do you like it?” he asks, interrupting my observations.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Should I order us a bottle of wine?” he asks, and I nod, still taking in the grandeur of the room. He gives our order to a waiter and I finally look down at my menu.
Holy shit. Okay, this place is expensive.Clearing my throat, I sip my water and eye Jensen, who looks more than relaxed. His eyes rove over the menu with calm interest.
“So what’s good here?” I ask, hoping to take my mind off these prices.
“You have to try the orange duck,” he says. “If you’re in the mood for poultry.”
I scan my menu until I find the dish he’s talking about, noticing it’s one of the more expensive items. “Maybe I’ll just have some chicken.”
“Babe, you can get chicken anywhere. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“This place is expensive.”
Jensen’s head tugs back, surprise appearing on his face. “I want to treat you. Don’t worry about the cost, just get what you want. It’s not a problem.” He attempts to give me a reassuring smile, reaching across the table for my hand and lacing his fingers between mine.
Inhaling a deep breath, I try to shake the feeling I have. Jensen has money. A lot of money. I feel like I knew this but didn’t really realize what it meant. Or the extent of how different his everyday life would be compared to mine.
Then it hits me.
I trust him. I trust him completely. So if he says this isn’t a big deal, if he says not to worry, then I shouldn’t. I won’t. “You’re right. I’ll have the orange duck,” I say, squeezing his hand in return and flashing him a smile.
“That’s my girl,” he says, turning his attention back to his menu.
There it is again. That’s my girl. His girl. I swallow hard, sipping my water again. I want to ask him about it, to get clarification. But I won’t do it tonight, not while things are so nice. Where is that wine? I need a drink.
As if on cue, the waiter rounds the corner with our bottle and two glasses. He opens it tableside and pours a small taste into Jensen’s glass, offering it to him. Jensen sips and nods his head. Wow, I’ve only seen people do that in movies. After the waiter finishes pouring our glasses, he leaves the bottle and takes our food orders before disappearing.
“Thank you,” I say, staring across the table at him.
“For what?” he asks.
“For this, for inviting me here. For everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I wanted you to come,” he says.
“Why?”
“I told you, I wanted to show you another city, take you to see the ocean,” he says, furrowing his eyebrow slightly like he doesn’t know what other answer it could be.