Page 22 of Maid for Daddy
There’s a fire burning in the stone fireplace, and men in kilts play bagpipes by the bar. The hostess greets us and seats us at a quiet table near the fire. I ask her to bring us a bottle of Pinot Noir. I don’t usually drink, but tonight, I want to celebrate.
“I have an idea,” Samantha whispers as though her idea is some trade secret.
“What is it?”
“Since we’re in an Irish pub, let's order only Irish food off the menu.”
“Do you like Irish food?”
“I don’t know what Irish food is.” She laughs.
“Okay, better let me handle it then.”
“You’re an expert on Irish food, then?”
“No, but I’m becoming an expert on you.”
I study the menu until our waitress returns with the wine.
“We’re ready to order,” I tell her. “We’ll start with the Irish nachos, then the potato and leek soup. For our entrée, she’ll have the cottage pie, and I’ll have the bangers and mash. Oh, and for dessert, the bread pudding.”
The waitress writes down our order and departs.
“How did I do?” I ask Samantha.
“I don’t know what most of that was, but it sounded Irish to me.”
“I promise you’ll love it.”
“I know I will.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve loved every minute since I met you. That’s how.”
I pour the wine and then take her hand in mine. “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.”
We finish the entire bottle of wine as we work our way through the four-course meal. The food is great, but I’ll eat cardboard if it means being able to spend time like this with Samantha.
As I glance around the place, I see that I’m not the only one mesmerized by the light shining from her. I catch several men at the bar stealing glances in her direction. I feel a little defensive at first but quickly realize that she’s oblivious to the attention she’s getting. They can all eat their hearts out. This girl is mine.
Samantha drops her spoon into the bread pudding. “That’s it. I can’t eat another bite.”
I stroke her face, the wine consumption adding a pink glow to her cheeks. “We can take a walk along the river if you’d like.”
“Walk off some of these calories? I’m good with that. I think I just gained five pounds.”
I look her up and down. “You’re perfect.”
The trees are just starting to gain their fall color, and the night sky is an ocean of stars. We walk arm in arm down the sidewalk to the bridge where I used to watch the Fourth of July fireworks as a kid. Samantha stops and looks down at the river rushing beneath us. The moonlight illuminates the ripples, casting a silvery glow.
“Everything about this place is dreamy,” she says.
“The river or Nashua?”
She squeezes my arm. “Your place, the falls, this place—all of it. Even you.”
“I’m dreamy?” I let out a laugh. I’ve been called a lot of things but dreamy’s never one of them.