I reach for the already opened wine bottle, thanks to the waitstaff, and pour two heavy glasses for the both of us.
She reaches for hers, almost immediately.
“That was the goal. It was in my best interest to forget most things about you.” She smirks teasingly and takes a large gulp of her wine. “Hmmm. It tastes delicious. Also, this veranda…” She pauses, looking around at it, amazement in her eyes. “It’s breathtaking.”
“I thought so myself. It’s rather fitting, given the circumstances.”
She tilts her head again and laughs unexpectedly.
“This,” her hands gestures in a circular motion, “does not reflect our circumstance. Who’d you pay to do it?”
“I have people. But tell me, how would the Angel decorate this space in reflection of our situation?”
She places her glass down and stares at me challengingly. It drives me crazy when she does this—test and question me.
Most girls would be drooling, probably already on their knees, thanking me for this affectionate, opulent display of flowers. Not to mention, the restaurant is five-star and has a month’s long waiting list.
But not Elsa. She must criticize me, forcing me to see another aspect or side that I didn’t notice. Or didn’t want to notice.
And this is just a goddamn dinner. Imagine a whole fucking relationship with her.
Though it’s one of main reasons how she can affect me so intensely.
She chuckles menacingly and brings her wine glass to her lips. Her eyebrows rise, and she leans back, crossing one leg over the other.
I’m surprised that dress has enough room for her to do that.
I lean forward, intrigued with what she is about to say.
“I see…brown, yellow, with tints of black and the occasional red.”
“That sounds hideous.” I grimace, unable to control my impulsive reaction.
“Well, that’s what our arrangement is…it resembles a shit show.” She smiles barely and sips her wine, feeling confident about her insult.
“Now, now. This—we—can’t be all that terrible.”
The waiter distracts us for a moment, pulling us from our conversation and placing our filets in front of us.
We cut into them in silence, exchanging a few pleasantries and compliments regarding the chef while we eat, finishing it rather quickly.
I order us another bottle, not wanting to get rid of this relaxed feeling and conversation.
We’re both finally feeling good, and the weird first-date jitters—despite this being far from our first date—has washed away.
“Tanner, I’ll admit, not everything about this is so terrible.”
I eye her up and down, concerned with what she really means by that. “Wait, are you admitting you’re wrong?”
I’m shocked. This might be a first.
She laughs loudly. “You’re funny. I’m never wrong. I’m just admitting that first impressions aren’t always indicative of the full picture.”
She moves closer to me, folding her hands on the table and straightening her shoulders—it’s Business Elsa time.
“I never trust first impressions. I only trust logic and reasoning.”
She rolls her crystal blue eyes, and a genuine smile spreads across her face, lighting it up.