Page 59 of Getting Over You

When the waitress walks away, I hiss, “What was that? I have no idea what just happened.”

“There’s more alcohol in the world than just hard liquor and beer, Cade,” she muses, smirking.

I suppose she’s got a point. “Then I guess I should say your wine expertise is surprising to me.”

Gigi waves a hand in my direction as she surveys the wine list. Her brow furrows.

“What?” I ask.

“I think you need a crash course,” she decides. “And then we can decide on apps.”

Gigi meticulously parses the wine list, pointing at things and briskly defining them. She quizzes me at the end, and I still don’t know the difference between a chardonnay and a riesling. But, in fairness, I don’t think Gigi knows the difference either.

“Maybe we get a second bottle,” she says, “for experimental purposes.”

“Uh huh.”

“What?”

“I don’t think we need it,” I chide.

“Cade. Rule number one should be let your date lead.”

I guffaw. “Is that so? Even if your date wants to get plastered in public?”

She’s downed nearly half the bottle of rosé on her own. At this point, letting her get another bottle is a disservice to us both.

“I don’t want to getplastered,” she snaps, her cheeks getting pinker by the second. “I’m having a good time.”

“Why don’t we wait until you eat?” I offer. “You get your food, then we’ll talk about more wine.”

“Okay, Dad. I’ve had plenty of bread.” I give her a warning look. “Fine.”

“I think you’re a touch buzzed. Is this normal date protocol for you?”

“Just with you,” she says, breezy, then meets my gaze like a deer in headlights. “I mean, like, because I know I’ll get home safe with you. You won’t leave me passed out somewhere.”

My jaw pulses at the thought. “Don’t tell me that has happened to you before.”Because I will leave right now and kill whoever did it.

She brightens. “Oh, no. Nothing like that.”

My shoulders drop, jaw relaxing. “Good.”

“Cade,” Gigi hums from across the table after rosé glass number four, “you look very nice in that suit.”

I smirk. “Thank you. How’s that risotto?”

“Heavenly,” she moans, taking another spoonful. “I appreciate this. It’s nice to go out with no expectations.”

“Oh, so you don’t have any expectations for me? Perfect.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You know what I mean.”

I shrug. “Can’t say I do.”

“It’s nice to go out and know you don’t want anything from me. You’re just taking me to dinner because youwantto.”

“And because I need to learn how to love,” I remind her.

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