Chapter 159 Date

Chapter 159 Date
Emma’s POV

The first sign that something has gone terribly wrong is the look on Dylan’s face.

I have never seen him look at a restaurant host like he is personally considering taking the entire building apart brick by brick.

“I'm sorry,” the young man behind the podium says again, looking increasingly uncomfortable. “There really isn't anything we can do.”

Dylan stares at him. “Nothing?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

I glance around the restaurant. It is exactly the kind of place Dylan would choose for our first date after getting back together. Everything is expensive-looking, from the warm lighting to the perfectly arranged tables and the staff who look like they were born knowing how to carry a plate elegantly. My emerald-green dress suddenly feels perfectly appropriate for the occasion, especially with Dylan standing beside me in his three-piece suit.

Which is probably why he is taking this so personally.

“I made a reservation,” he says slowly.

“Yes, sir.”

“A reservation that was confirmed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I paid extra for a good table.”

The host's expression becomes even more apologetic. “Yes, sir.”

Dylan blinks. “Then why the hell are we standing here?”

I immediately reach for his arm. “Dylan.”

The host looks like he would very much like to disappear into the floor.

“Sir, we did hold the table for you, but you arrived later than the scheduled time. Since it's a Sunday evening and we're heavily booked, the table was given to another party after the grace period passed.”

Dylan looks at me, then back at the host. “Sounds pretty much like bullshit to me.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“I'm really sorry,” the host says. “But there is nothing available at the moment.”

Dylan's jaw tightens. “Where's your manager?”

I close my eyes. “Dylan.”

“I want to speak to your manager.”

The host immediately looks like he knew this was coming. “Of course, sir.”

“Dylan,” I say again, lowering my voice. “It’s fine.”

“No, it isn't.”

I stare at him.

He turns to me, genuinely offended on my behalf. “How can they just tell us to leave?”

“They're not telling us to leave. They're telling us they have no table.”

His eyes narrow. “Which is basically the same thing.”

This is not the reaction I expected from the man who had been so romantic and composed on the drive here.

“You know what?” I tug gently on his arm. “Let's just go.”

“No.”

“Babe.”

“No, Emma. You don't understand.”

“I understand perfectly.”

“I made a reservation. I paid extra to secure that table, and they gave it away anyway.” He looks at me, clearly waiting for me to understand why this is a matter of national importance.

I sigh.

“Dylan, it's a restaurant. Not a hostage situation.”

His mouth opens, but before he can respond, a man in a dark suit approaches with the host trailing behind him.

“Good evening,” he says. “I'm the manager. I understand there has been an issue with your reservation.”

Dylan turns toward him.

“An issue?”

I place a hand on his arm. He glances down at it, then at the warning look I give him. With a quiet exhale through his nose, he seems to decide not to argue.

The manager apologizes again, explaining the weekend rush, the grace period, the reassigned table, and the fact that every other table is currently occupied. Dylan listens, but I can practically see his patience dying in real time.

“Right,” he says when the manager finally finishes.

“Again, I do apologize.”

“Your apology doesn't change anything.”

“Dylan.”

He looks at me. “What?”

“Let it go.”

His expression tells me he absolutely does not want to let it go.

“Emma, I wanted to give you a proper date.”

“You did.”

“We haven't even eaten.”

I smile. “Then let's go eat somewhere else.”

He looks at me. “Somewhere else?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“I don't know. We'll figure it out.”

His eyes drift back toward the restaurant, so I take his hand before he can start another argument with the manager, the host, or possibly the entire restaurant industry.

“Come on.” I say, pulling him toward the exit.

The moment we step outside, he lets out a long, frustrated sigh. “I can't believe this.”

“You are being dramatic.”

“I am not.”

“You just tried to summon the manager because you didn't get a table.”

“I had a reservation.”

“You keep saying that like it's going to change what happened.”

He looks down at me, still annoyed, and I reach up to cup his face. His expression softens immediately.

“Dylan, you don't have to take me to an expensive restaurant.”

“I know.”

“No, I don't think you do.”

He stays quiet.

“I am perfectly capable of eating street food.” I smile, keeping my hands against his cheeks. “You knew you really don't have to impress me, right?”

“I know.”

“Then stop acting like this entire date has been ruined because one restaurant couldn't seat us.”

His eyes soften.

“I was here before all of this, Dylan. Before the money. Before the hockey career got bigger. Before people started recognizing you everywhere you went. I was already here.”

His expression changes.

“I am not with you because you can book the most expensive table in New Jersey.”

He gives me a small smile. “You say that now.”

“I mean it. And it is their loss.”

His eyebrows rise.

I smile. “They lost the chance to host a famous hockey player and his beautiful girlfriend.”

His mouth twitches. “They're going to regret it when they realize who they turned away.”

“Exactly.” I lower my hands from his face. “But you need to stop being verbally aggressive with people who are just doing their jobs.”

“I wasn't aggressive.”

I stare at him.

He sighs. “Fine. I was slightly aggressive.”

I laugh.

He looks around the street before turning back to me. “So what do we do now?”

“Whatever we want.”

“That's not very specific.”

“I can be with you anywhere.”

His expression softens.

“As long as you're there,” I continue. “Remember?”

His smile slowly spreads. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.”

“Even if it's not a fancy restaurant?”

“Even if it's not a fancy restaurant.”

“Even if we have to eat outside?”

I nod. “Even then.”

“Even if the food comes in a paper box?”

I narrow my eyes. “Now you're pushing it.”

He laughs and reaches for my hand.

We start walking without any real destination. For the next twenty minutes, we wander through the streets, stopping whenever one of us sees something interesting. Dylan keeps making comments about how I'm going to complain about my shoes soon, and I keep threatening to leave him behind.

Eventually, we turn a corner and I stop.

“Oh my God.”

Dylan looks at me. “What?”

I point ahead to a small food booth with a few plastic tables and a bright sign hanging above it. The place is almost closed, with the owner already wiping down the counter.

Dylan looks at the booth, then at me. “You know this place?”

I nod excitedly. “It was my favorite during freshman year.”

His eyebrows lift. “Your favorite?”

“Yes.”

He looks at the small booth again, and I immediately glare at him.

“Don't judge it.”

“I wasn't.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“I was thinking about how you just made me leave an expensive restaurant to bring me here.”

“You're welcome.”

He laughs, and I pull him toward the booth.

The owner looks up as we approach. The moment he sees Dylan, his eyes widen.

“No way.”

Dylan pauses.

I cover my mouth, already trying not to laugh.

“Are you...” The man points at him. “You're Dylan Sterling!”

“Please don't,” Dylan says immediately.

That does it.

I burst out laughing.

The owner apologizes for closing and assures us that he can still make one last order. Dylan turns to me.

“What do you want?”

“Chicken over rice and fries.”

He stares at me.

His gaze moves from the booth to my emerald dress, then down at his three-piece suit.

“That's it? This is how our first date is going?”

I smile. “You said anywhere.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “I did.”

A few minutes later, we're sitting on a bench with two steaming containers of chicken over rice and fries, along with enough sauce to make eating elegantly impossible.

Which is probably why I love it.

Dylan looks completely out of place in a suit that probably costs more than everything on the booth's menu combined. He's sitting beside me on a public bench at almost ten-thirty on a Sunday night, eating from a plastic container with a plastic fork.

And somehow, he looks happier than he did inside the restaurant.

“Wow.” He takes another bite, his eyes widening.

I smile. “Good?”

“This is so good.”

I grin. “I'm glad you like it.”

“I genuinely wasn't expecting this.”

“What were you expecting?”

He considers it. “I don't know. Something less delicious.”

I laugh.

“You could've just asked me what I wanted.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did.”

For a while, we eat in comfortable silence. The night is cool, the streets are still busy enough to make the city feel alive, and every now and then, someone passing by looks twice at Dylan. I don't know if he notices or simply doesn't care. His knee is pressed against mine, his shoulder touching mine, and somehow, this feels more like a date than anything the restaurant could have given us.

Until a tiny drop of water lands on my hand.

I look down.

Another lands on my shoulder.

I look up.

“Oh.”

Dylan follows my gaze toward the sky.

“Is it raining?”

Another drop hits his face.

He blinks and I start laughing.

“Dylan.”

“What?”

“It's raining.”

He looks around just as the drizzle suddenly grows heavier. “Oh, shit.”

We both look at our food.

“Get up!” I grab my container while Dylan tries to balance his food, his jacket, and my handbag at the same time.

“Wait, wait!”

“Dylan, move!”

We abandon the bench and start running down the street.

I laugh so hard my heels nearly betray me twice. Dylan reaches for my hand and pulls me along as we hurry toward his car.

“This was your idea!” he calls.

“You said you wanted something spontaneous!”

“I wanted spontaneous, not wet!”

“You're the one who said you could go anywhere!”

“I didn't mean anywhere in the rain!”

By the time we reach the car, we're both laughing too hard to speak.

Dylan opens the passenger door for me, and I practically collapse into the seat. He gets in moments later, his hair slightly damp and his perfect suit no longer quite as perfect.

I turn toward him.

He looks at me.

We both burst into laughter again.

Eventually, Dylan leans back against the seat and shakes his head.

“I can't believe this was our first date.”

“I can.” I say. “It feels like us.”

Something in his expression softens.

I reach over and take his hand.

He squeezes mine.

For a moment, we simply sit there, listening to the rain tapping against the windshield.

Then Dylan glances at me.

“So...”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Do you want to crash at my hotel?” He gestures vaguely toward the road. “It's closer to here.”

I stare at him.

He immediately raises both hands.

“I'm just saying. It's late, it's raining, and I have a very comfortable bed.”

I try not to smile. “I know what you're on to.”

He grins.

“But okay, fine.”