Page 8 of About That One Night
“My questions are valid,” I argue, unable to let go of my doubts so easily.
“You excel at interrogation.” He groans and rolls his eyes. “And yet, I hate people questioning me.”
I shrug and smile, as if to say, ‘what can you do, it’s my nature.’
“Can you try to enjoy yourself?” he asks, a hint of exasperation in his voice. “Just for tonight?”
“This place is incredible, but pricey,” I say, my voice sounding breathier than I intended. “I’m not sure if they’ll really accommodate me.”
His expression softens, a determined yet loving look crossing his face. “They will, because you have the right to experience a great meal just like anyone else,” he says, reaching across the table to gently squeeze my hand.
I feel a rush of warmth wash over me. “Thank you for this,” I say, my eyes meeting his before dropping to the menu.
Max winks at me, a smile playing on his lips. “Just the best for you, Zoe. So what is it going to be?”
As I scan the options, a dish catches my eye. “I’ll have the pan-seared sea bass with saffron risotto and roasted asparagus.”
“Any appetizers?” he asks and suddenly, our server appears almost magically at our side, presenting the drinks menu with a flourish. “Chef Devereaux has created a special list of wine and spirits for the occasion. All the wines are sulfite-free, in case our guests have any dietary restrictions,” he says with a professional smile.
I appreciate the thoughtfulness as I glance at the menu, but before we can decide, another server arrives, setting a tray of appetizers on our table with practiced grace.
He gestures to each dish in turn. “Chef Devereaux sent these starters. They’re on the house. We have cucumber and dill canapés, caprese skewerswith heirloom tomatoes and fresh mozzarella, and tuna tartare with avocado. The wontons are gluten-free.”
Max and I exchange appreciative glances before the waiter asks, “What can I get you to drink this evening?”
“I’ll have a tequila chilled, please,” I say, wondering if they can make a margarita that’s not too sweet and uses sugar cane in the simple syrup.
Is this what it’ll be when I start dating again? I’ll have to research places where they can accommodate me or maybe just say no to dinners until I’m comfortable enough to explain that I have dietary restrictions. Maybe that’s why I stayed with Tom for so long. He was okay with me labeling my food, and we each cooked our meals separately unless he liked what I was preparing. Then we’d share.
Max’s voice pulls me out of my trance when he says, “Lagavulin on the rocks.”
The waiter disappears swiftly, leaving us with the tantalizing appetizers.
I savor a caprese skewer. “This place is incredible. How did you manage to get a reservation?”
Max chuckles, leaning back. “I have my ways. Plus, it helps to know people.”
I roll my eyes but smile. “Do you set up their security and charge by the meal instead of the hour?”
He laughs so loud that a nearby couple glares at us. “You’re funny, Harper.”
“I can be charming when I’m not lawyering,” I agree. “Honestly, I appreciate this. You didn’t need togo all out. I would’ve been okay with a sandwich at your house.”
“Really?” Max looks surprised.
“Sure, it’d be an evening escaping work, and I won’t have to deal with Dad watching loud news, Mom complaining, and talking about it on the phone with my grandmother or one of her friends.” I sigh, but then laugh at my beloved but draining parents.
“Sounds . . . like my family,” he says sympathetically. “I’m glad I get to make tonight special. You’ve had a rough time lately, and you deserve a break.”
I look down at the appetizers, uncomfortable with his concern. I’m used to solving others’ problems, not being cared for. “Thank you, Max. I really appreciate it.”
He reaches across the table, lightly touching my hand. “Anytime, Zoe. One of these days, I might take you home so I can prepare you a sandwich.”
“Gluten-free bread,” I add as an afterthought.
“Obviously.” He winks at me. “So, have you found an apartment while you wait for your brownstone?”
“No. I . . .” I trail off. “It’s complicated.”
