Chapter 65 More than I Should
“You… you look really pretty,” he said, his soft voice breaking the silence.
Then he smiled.
I felt butterflies in my stomach, even though it wasn’t supposed to feel like anything.
Yet, I suddenly became aware of everything, from the scent of his cologne to the quiet look in his eyes.
“Thank you,” I said, avoiding eye contact with him.
He then reached for my hand and led me to the car.
The drive to the restaurant was quiet.
Soon, Dave pulled over in front of a big building.
The restaurant he chose was La Belle Epoque. It was the biggest and most expensive restaurant in town. A restaurant that someone in my class would never even dream of getting into.
He got down, opened the door to the passenger seat, and pulled me out gently.
He walked slightly behind me, his hand hovering slightly at my back without quite touching me.
When we walked in, the waiter greeted him by name.
“Welcome, Mr. Wilton.”
It was obvious that he was a regular.
Then she led us to a private corner table, dressed in white linen and featuring gold cutlery that probably cost more than my entire living room's decor.
Dave pulled out a chair for me and I sat carefully.
He sat down too and smiled sheepishly as if he had achieved something great.
“I wasn’t sure what you would like,” he said as soon as the waitress left.
I didn’t understand what he meant until the food began to arrive.
One platter came first.
Then another.
And another.
The platters consisted of grilled steak glistening in sauce, grilled seafood, pasta, small artfully plated appetizers that I didn’t even know the name of, bottles of different wines, sparkling water, and cocktails.
They filled the table until there was barely any space between us.
I almost gasped, but I had to keep my cool.
“Wow,” I mumbled under my breath.
Dave leaned back slightly, studying my reaction instead of the food.
“Do you like it? I figured you deserved options,” he said softly.
“Y… yeah,” I almost stuttered.
“I’m glad… Let’s dig in,” he added.
I reached for the nearest plate, pretending to be confident and I moved slowly and deliberately as if I belonged in places like that.
I didn’t want to look impressed and I didn’t want to look overwhelmed either.
We began eating quietly and I could feel his gaze on me even though I wasn’t looking at him.
Each time I looked up, he looked away a little too late.
“What is it?” I finally asked, dabbing my lips with the napkin.
“Nothing,” he smiled, sheepishly.
“That didn’t look like nothing,” I retorted.
He hesitated, then he leaned forward.
“I was just trying to figure you out,” he muttered.
I held my fork mid-air and looked up.
“Okay?”
“I think you are not used to letting people do things for you,” he said, his gaze fixed on me.
My brows raised slightly at the comment.
“That’s not true,” I countered.
“It is. You like doing everything yourself unless someone steps in and is hell-bent on helping,” he stated.
I cleared my throat and took a sip of wine.
Then he began searching my face again.
“You don’t have to brace yourself around me, Joan,” he said calmly.
Was I bracing?
Well, maybe I was.
The food was excellent, perfectly seasoned and beautifully presented but I could barely taste it because somewhere in the back of my mind, I was measuring everything.
The outrageous size of the platter, the way he looked at me, and the fact that the dinner felt more than just a meal.
At that moment, a thought slipped into my mind.
“Alex had never tried that hard, not before, not now.”
I set my fork down slowly.
Dave noticed immediately.
“Aren’t you eating again? You’ve not even eaten much,” he asked, concern clear on his face.
“It’s just a bit too much,” I admitted, forcing a small smile.
He looked at me longer than necessary, then he set his fork down too.
“You won’t blame me. I’m always excessive when it comes to the right person,” he said quietly as he smirked.
That was the moment I confirmed that the dinner wasn’t just generosity.
It felt like an intention.
I blinked and picked up my glass again, but this time my hands were a bit shaky.
Then I thought to myself,
“If I kept overthinking everything, I would ruin the moment myself.”
Determined to relax into the evening, I reached for the grilled shrimp.
Soon, the wine began to warm my chest, making me breathe a little easier.
And this time, Dave was already talking about one of his recent projects, but I wasn’t fully listening.
Then I noticed his eyes on my lips.
“What’s that?” I asked, gently tucking my hair behind my ear.
He didn’t answer immediately; instead, he leaned in slightly.
“There is…” he gestured a little bit toward his own mouth.
“You’ve got a little…”
Before I could process it, I felt his thumb on the corner of my lips.
Then he wiped something off it.
I froze, my cheeks almost burning.
Though it took less than a second, it felt like an hour.
“Sauce… you had sauce on your lips,” he said, clearly amused.
“I should have warned you that the chef here is generous,” he smiled.
My heart was already beating too fast at this moment.
“I could have gotten that myself,” I managed to say, though my voice came out softer than I wanted it to.
“I know,” he smiled again, now smugly.
I shied away and looked down at my plate.
“Try the pasta. It’s nice too,” he said.
I picked up my glass, trying to steady myself first before anything.
And for a brief and dangerous second, I imagined what it would feel like if he had leaned across that table and kissed me instead.
“Joan… no,” I snapped myself back to reality.
After that, I caught Dave stealing glances at me more than once, and each time, I felt my heart skip.
I pushed my plate back and that made him look up at that moment.
“Ready to go,” he asked, his voice low and smooth.
I didn’t talk.
I just nodded and slid my chair back. Then he immediately stood up and held out his hand.
When I took it, his fingers brushed mine, long enough to send a little spark to my arm, and that… made my heart flutter.
When we got outside, the valet handed him the keys and soon we were already driving through the quiet street.
Soon we got to my house and I suddenly felt reluctant.
I didn’t want the night to end, but I knew I had to be careful.
He parked smoothly and for a second, neither of us moved.
“Thanks for tonight,” I said finally, breaking the silence.
He smiled, in a way that made my stomach twist.
“It’s my pleasure.”
“Get home safe,” I muttered softly.
“I will let you know when I get home,” he smiled again.
I nodded and stepped out of his car.
Then I clutched my bag to my tummy and watched him drive off, waiting until the car’s headlight faded into the street.
Just as I was about to turn toward the door, a silent thought ran through my mind.
“What if I’m starting to want more than I should?”