11. Stallone

eleven

Stallone

The waiter brings our food, but El hasn’t returned to her seat. Clearing my throat, I check behind me at the back door again. She had looked like she was about to be ill. I hated to let her run off alone, but she also looked embarrassed.

Should I check on her?

She was fine when I picked her up. I hope it’s not something I said.

Oh wait.

She got sick right after I told her my age.

That has to be it.

She doesn’t want to be here with an old man.

I grossed her out.

My gaze slides to the table, and a knot bulges in my throat. I had no idea she was that young. It’s so hard to tell these days how old women are. Maybe I should apologize and take her home?

She flies around the corner, bringing a gush of cold air in with her, plopping back down into the booth with an enormous smile on her face. “Good, the food’s here.”

Her porcelain cheeks are tinted with rose, which is normal for just coming inside from the winter air. She looks fine now. Relief floods back over me, and I take my napkin and set it on my lap. “Yeah, you’re just in time. Are you feeling better?”

“Much better.” She picks up her soup spoon and scoops giant spoonfuls into her mouth in a very rushed manner.

“Isn’t it hot to eat that fast?” I lower one eye and narrow my focus. Her eating pattern is a tad strange. I would have thought she’d eat in a more ladylike fashion, but I guess I’m no one to judge.

“I’m so hungry.” She pauses and smiles at me before she hovers her face directly over her bowl and shovels in full spoons of soup.

Taking my fork and knife in my hand, I remember my manners as I carefully cut my steak. “Do you want a straw? It might be even faster.” I risk a joke because I’ve never seen anyone eat like that.

She giggles, but still doesn’t slow. Now, she’s at the bottom of her bowl, and she drags her spoon along the bottom, scraping every last drop. “It was delicious.” She sits back in her seat; a victorious expression washes over her face while she dabs the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Best soup ever. Thanks for bringing me here.”

I barely have my meat cut, and her gaze cuts to the front exit like she’s waiting to leave. I motion to my full plate. “Are you in a hurry, or do you mind if I eat?”

“Oh.” Her brows spring up. “Go right ahead and finish, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to use the restroom.”

Before I protest, she takes off through the dining room toward the front foyer where the restrooms are, and I stare after her.

Maybe she really is sick but is too embarrassed to say?

Or is she too humiliated to sit next to me because I’m so old?

My gaze drops to my steak again. It looked so juicy and mouthwatering when the waiter brought it over. It’s served on an iron skillet and was literally sizzling, wafting off Cajun spices. It took every ounce of strength I had to wait until El was back before I cut into it. Now my stomach is in a knot, my appetite is gone.

What did I do wrong?

It has to be my age.

And honestly, who am I kidding to even drag this out? If I were her, there is no way I’d want to date me. I just need to get real about it.

The waiter comes up and leans over a tad. “Is everything all right with your steak, sir? I noticed you cut it but haven’t taken a bite.”

“It’s fine.” I stare at the chunks all neatly sliced, and I know what I need to do. I take my credit card out of my wallet and hand it to him. “I’m ready to settle up, and may I have a to-go box? My date —I mean, my dinner companion has gotten ill.”

“Certainly.” He disappears for a minute before returning with my card and a box. I transfer my meal and secure it in the box, and she’s still not back.

I get she may want privacy, but what kind of man am I if I leave her here by herself if she is seriously ill? Maybe I should ask a waitress to check on her? I get up from the table, box in hand, and make my way back through the dining room. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me. Living in a small town is hard, because people know your business. I’m sure they are all wondering who the female is.

Right as I get to the front foyer, El stumbles out of the ladies’ room, a full layer of sweat on her forehead.

Poor thing.

She must be running a fever.

She really is ill.

Her eyes swell huge when she sees me, and she stutters, “W-What are you doing here?”

“I was going to send a waitress in to check on you.” I gesture forward. “I can tell you’re not feeling well. I’m sorry you’re ill, but I’m happy to take you home so you can rest.”

The back of her hand finds her shimmering forehead, and she attempts to wipe the sweat off her brow. “Ah, I didn’t mean to mess up our date,” she rushes out, her complexion flushing even more.

“You’re not messing it up at all.” I walk forward until I’m next to her and place a hand on her lower back to guide her toward the exit. “You can’t help that you got ill. I’ll take you back to the lodge.”

“I’m really feeling much better,” she rushes out. “Besides, I have at least an hour before—” her voice drops off.

“Before . . . you have a curfew?” I tease.

“No, just ignore that.” She lets out a high-pitched laugh that does nothing to conceal her nerves. Then it makes sense.

Maybe she’s not sick, but she’s nervous?

She didn’t get this way until we got to this restaurant. I had to bring her to the nicest place in town as I was trying to impress her. She has to notice everyone staring at us. All this just made her nervous.

“Really, I’m fine.” She places a hand on my forearm and a sonic boom explodes. “I’m sorry I ruined our dinner, but I’m not ready to go home yet. I’d love a chance to talk some more.”

“If you’re sure.” I linger on the word sure, giving her a chance to back out again, but she dials her gaze into mine. I feel an intense pull that says there’s no way you are taking her home now, so I suggest something more casual than this, and somewhere we can be alone and away from all the stares. “How about we go on a drive through Evergreen Park?”

“That sounds lovely.” She steps toward the exit, her voice pepping up.

I follow right on her heels. Now, let’s try not to mess up the next half of the date.