Page 31 of The Opposite of Romance
Is a collarbone a strange thing to like about myself?
Regardless, I’ll take what I can get.
Slipping on some flats, I grab a light jacket I probably won’t even need and head out. He’s already waiting for me in a red pickup.
As soon as he notices me exiting my house, he gets out of the truck to hold the door open for me. Score one for Will.
“Thank you.” My lips turn up.
“I’m glad we could do this.” His smile is quick but welcoming beneath the thick beard.
“Me, too.”
He looks handsome in a brown button down with jeans that fit him like a glove and brown leather boots. I put my seatbelt on, taking inventory of his car. It’s clean and smells good, which is definitely a plus.
It’s also hypocritical since my car is a dump site.
“Where are we going?”
Despite living here for over a month, we’ve barely explored beyond the town center.
“You’ll see,” he says playfully.
His left knee bounces as we drive from the coast, up to the mountains. The road is winding and steep, but soon enough, he’s parking the car in front of a weathered house, its walls covered in vines.
The Terracesays a modest sign above the front door. Will shoots me a conspiratory smirk and gestures for me to go in front of him. The interior is simple with cushioned seats and cream linen tablecloths. My breath catches when I notice the namesake.
“That explains the name of this place,” I mumble, staring at the terrace carved into the edge of the cliff, overlooking the ocean.
Will chuckles. “You like it?”
“This is … gorgeous.”
“Come, we’re eating outside.”
I follow behind until he stands in front of a table and pulls out a chair. Looking around, I search for an employee but come up short.
“This place is a top secret for people of this town. I figured you were here long enough to be let in on it,” he almost whispers.
Rushed footsteps approach from behind me. Turning around, I notice an older woman with a determined look and a pitcher of water.
“William Carter. I haven’t seen you in far too long,” she scolds him, placing the water on the table.
“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”
“And this is…” she turns to me.
“I’m Sadie, Sadie Summers. My kids and I moved to Ocean’s Harbor just over a month ago.”
“I’m Rita Dermott, a long-time owner of this place. I’m so glad to see Will,” she shoots him a look, “out and about. He’s been wallowing for far too long.”
Will looks uncomfortable while I try to break the tension with a smile.
“Let me take these.” She grabs the menus that were already on our table. “I have the perfect thing for you two.”
“So, you come here often?” I joke when Rita enters the kitchen.
The restaurant is quiet and intimate, only three tables full, including ours. Will pours us each a glass of water.
