Page 52 of A River of Crows

Chapter 16

Mallowater, TX, 2008

When Sloan arrived at the restaurant, Dylan was already at a table waiting for her. He stood as she approached. He wore an untucked white button-down shirt with a skinny black tie and dark blue jeans. As soon as they made eye contact, he looked at his shoes, shoving his hands into his pockets. He always seemed so unsure.

The restaurant was low-lit, with vibrant paintings covering the walls, like small windows to faraway places. Sloan hoped she wasn’t underdressed; she was never sure what to wear on dates, or what to wear to certain restaurants. She’d started in jeans and a lace cami top before deciding it looked too much like lingerie and changing into a white shirt and black cropped vest.

Dylan moved around the table to pull out her chair. “Is it still okay to do this?”

“Okay with me.” Sloan sat in the seat and pulled it forward to the table.

“You look amazing,” Dylan said.

“Thanks.” Sloan watched him walk back to his seat. “Same to you.”

“We match,” Dylan noted, lowering himself into his chair.

Sloan tugged at her vest. “I couldn’t find anything to wear, and I realized that ninety-nine percent of my wardrobe is black. Guess I’m more prepared for funerals than dates.”

“Well, you’ve got to be more prepared than me. I don’t want to confess how long it’s been since my last first date, but it would be measured in years, not months.”

Sloan unrolled her silverware from the cloth napkin. “I’ll take your years and see you a decade.”

Dylan cocked his head. “No way.”

“I met my ex-husband in 1998. So that was my last first date. We were married from 2000 till . . . well, two weeks ago.”

Dylan tugged at his collar. “Two weeks. Wow. Is this maybe too soon?”

“No, not at all,” Sloan said, even though she wasn’t sure it was true. “We’ve been separated for a while.” She took a sip of her water. “But I actually don’t think you’re supposed to talk about your exes within five minutes of a first date.”

Dylan’s grin was lopsided. Like the two sides of his face couldn’t agree on a particular expression. “I don’t think you’re supposed to date someone you bonded with over shared stories of trauma either, but here we are.”

“Here we are,” Sloan repeated, raising her water glass in a mock toast.

As if on cue, a server arrived with the wine list. Sloan looked at Dylan to decide, but he pushed the menu toward her. “You pick.”

She ordered red wine, then opened her menu. “So, what are you ordering?”

“The Sicily Special looks good.”

“It does. But it seems like too much food.”

“We can share it,” Dylan said. “I mean, not like Lady and the Tramp share it, but two plates share it.”

“Perfect.”

“If you want your own, that’s okay. I’m not trying to be a cheapskate or anything.”

Sloan smiled. “We’re teachers. Of course, we have to be cheapskates.”

The server returned with the wine and showed Sloan the label and cork before pouring her a taste. She swirled it, sniffed, then drank. If she’d learned anything from her decade with Liam Bevan, it was wine etiquette. The wine was rich, with notes of black cherry, vanilla, and clove.

After nodding her approval, the server filled the rest of her glass and turned toward Dylan’s.

“None for me.” Dylan put his hand over the glass. “Just a Dr. Pepper, please.”

“You don’t drink?” Sloan asked after the server had left.

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