Page 47 of Tell Me It’s Right

He leads us through a sea of white tablecloths, flickering candles, and patrons dressed like they’re going to the Oscars. I tug on the hem of my dress and gulp. They can probably tell from a cursory glance that I fished this out of a clearance bin at a thrift shop. The plates we pass are the square white kind with more empty space than food on them, the presentationjust so.

Which might be fine and dandy on a cooking competition show, but I can already tell this is going to be one of those menus without prices on it.

And I’m still going to leave hungry at the end.

Miles pulls out a chair as we reach our table and gives a slight bow of his head. “My Lady.”

I snort, and it sounds so inappropriate in this atmosphere. My hand flies up to cover my mouth as I take a seat.

“Red or white?” Miles asks as he sits across from me and plucks the drink menu from the center of the table. He nods like I responded, then turns to the approaching waiter. Before the poor man can get a word in, Miles says, “We’ll take a bottle of the Pinot Noir.”

The waiter’s eyes flick to me for a moment before he utters a quick “Right away, sir” and disappears into the shadows. The place is so dimly lit I can barely see past the surrounding tables.

I force my face not to react as I glance down at the menu. Fancy words that don’t register with my brain…and no prices.

Miles peers at me over the top of his menu. “The salmon here is good. And it’ll go well with the wine. Or the duck.”

Duck?

The waiter materializes, brandishing the bottle and going off about thenotesand other wine-lover words that mean nothing to me. He pours a tiny amount for Miles to taste and waits for his approval before pouring the rest of our glasses.

“Do we know what we’d like to eat?” he asks.

“We’ll take one of the duck and one of the salmon,” says Miles as he slides the menu out from in front of me and hands them both off.

The waiter nods. “Excellent choices.”

“That way you can try both,” Miles explains.

Okay, so the sentiment is kind of sweet. I try not to bristle at him ordering for me—the drink and the food. Maybe girls like that on dates?ShouldI like that? Either way, I’m definitely not eating either.

“Oh, actually, I don’t eat meat!” I say with a smile and a shrug, hoping it comes off light. “I was thinking one of the pasta dishes?—”

“They’re known for their duck,” Miles cuts in. “Best I’ve ever had. Come on.” He winks. “One night off. They won’t mind. They’re already dead.”

I blink, momentarily stunned, and now the waiter is pointedly not looking at either of us like he’s as desperate to get away from this table as I am. Miles still has that goofy smile on his face as if that was a completely normal, nonpsychotic thing to say.

Maybe he just says the wrong thing when he’s nervous and he’s more anxious about this date than he’s letting on? That’s a stretch, even forI-always-give-people-the-benefit-of-the-doubtme. Or maybe he hasn’t been around many vegetarians and doesn’t realize there’s absolutely nothing funny about his joke.

“The—the pesto pasta is fine,” I sputter, and the waiter all but runs to the kitchen.

Miles shrugs, unperturbed, and holds up his glass. “To you, Gracie! Congrats on your new job. And welcome home.”

I force myself to brush it off as I clink my glass to his and take a sip. I pretty much never drink red wine, but it’s not nearly as bad as I’d been expecting.

But the word in his little speech that really trips me up ishome.

Technically speaking, yes, I’m from here. My family lives here. Anyone who looks at me would describe what I’ve done as “moved back home.”

But it doesn’t feel like it. Returning feels more like a defeat than a homecoming.

I spin the wineglass around in my hands. Aren’t people on dates supposed to ask each other questions? I wait, but Miles says nothing.

“So, um.” I clear my throat. “You went to school with Asher?”

Miles bobs his head. “We met through the swim team freshman year.”

Asher and Miles are only a year older than I am, but I never really crossed paths with them growing up since they went to the private school across town. Liam was the only Brooks who daredto slum it at public school, and that was after getting expelled his sophomore year.

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