Page 22 of Not My Finest Hour

It wouldn’t surprise me if this place ends up being way fancier than he’s letting on. Everything about Wesley is upscale. From his designer glasses, to the cologne he’s wearing, to this sports car he’s driving, he screams high-end.

But he’s right. When we pull up to the restaurant, it looks very unassuming from the exterior. In the low light of the night sky, the exterior of the building looks almost a washed-out gray. There’s a big wraparound deck surrounding the building, and I’m guessing that when the weather is nicer, it’s filled with people.

Wesley parks the car, then comes around the side of the car to get my door for me. He holds out his hand for mine, and I place my hand into his warm, sure grip. His skin is a little rough, but it doesn’t put me off. He’s a doctor, so I imagine his hands are probably in gloves most of the day. That would dry anyone’s skin out.

As we walk hand-in-hand up the wooden steps to the door, I hear a gentle lapping of water against the pilings of the dock that extends out past the restaurant. If I had known we were coming to a waterfront restaurant, I would’ve requested an earlier time so we could appreciate the view. But instead, the view of the guy next to me will have to suffice.

Wesley gets the door for me and the hostess leads us to a table right in front of a bank of windows. All the tables surrounding us are taken, which is to be expected given that it’s a Saturday night. I look down at the menu in front of me, but outside on the water, lights from a passing boat steal my attention away. I watch as it passes, not even seeing the server that approaches our table.

“What can I get the two of you to drink this evening?” the server asks.

Wesley looks at me to go first. I glance down at the beverage menu andholy shit!All of these mixed drinks are expensive. Twenty dollars for a cocktail? My eyes quickly scan over the wines and it’s not much better on that side. Fifteen bucks for a glass of wine? These prices are absolutely bonkers. Where are the normal drinks? Would it be too lowly of me to order a soda?

Finally, my eyes alight on the cheap drinks section. “I’ll have a hard seltzer, please,” I say with conviction, as though that was my choice all along. At six dollars per drink, it’s a price that’s more in line with what I’m willing to pay—and what I’m willing to have someone spend on me.

“I’ll have a glass of your pinot noir,” Wesley says, then collects my drinks menu from me and hands it to the server.

“I hope I didn’t take too long to order,” I say once the server is out of earshot. “The prices kind of threw me for a loop.”

Wesley smiles. “Don’t worry about the prices tonight. It’s my treat.”

“I guess I’m so used to going out with my friends where we try to have a good time, but keep it within our financial limits.”

“Tonight’s a special evening, and I want to make sure you enjoy it to the fullest, so order without hesitation.”

My gaze locks onto his, and he seems sincere. He’s not going to stick me with the bill once all is said and done, which actually happened to me once. I went out on a date with a guy in high school, and he’d said he was paying for everything, so I was determined to treat myself. I ordered soda instead of water, steak instead of a burger like I normally would, and even ordered dessert. When the bill came, he claimed he forgot his card at home, forcing me to pay for everything. I’m lucky there was enough money in my account to cover the total because it wasn’t cheap.

The server comes back with our drinks and takes our entrée order. I order the house-made tagliatelle with peas and mushrooms, not because it was the cheapest thing on the menu, because it sounded delicious. Wesley orders himself the halibut. A small basket of bread and butter is dropped off at our table, and I help myself to a roll with some butter.

“So, Dahlia, tell me about yourself,” Wesley says while spreading some butter on a roll.

“What do you want to know?”

“Did you grow up here, or are you a transplant?”

“I was born here, and my parents still live here. They haven’t left for Arizona, or someplace else that’s warm like most people do once they hit retirement. What about you?”

“I grew up in Kirkland, and my parents left as soon as they could. They sold our family home a long time ago, but they keep a small condo here for the summer when the weather is more pleasant.”

“Do you have siblings?”

“I do. I have a brother, but he’s a lawyer down in San Francisco.”

“So you’re here by yourself?”

“Yeah, but we were never a super close family to begin with. My dad was a doctor and worked long hours, and my mom kept herself busy with her socialite friends.”

That seems kind of sad, and such a far cry from how I grew up. My mother was the constant in the household, and my dad was always home for dinner. And while I may not have always appreciated my sister, I enjoy having her close by and couldn’t imagine it any other way.

“What about you? Do you have siblings?” he asks me.

“I have a sister, Fern. She and I live together. I don’t know for how long though. She’s engaged, and I imagine that she and her fiancé will probably want a place of their own someday.”

Wesley tilts his head. “Okay, so let me get this straight. Your name is Dahlia, and your sister’s name is Fern? Is there any reason why the two of you were named after plants?”

“I honestly don’t know. I’ve asked my mother about it multiple times, and she said that she just wanted to name us something different than the normal names that people get.”

“Did you get made fun of in school?”

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