Page 36 of Pas de Don't
“That embarrassed to be seen alone with me, huh?” He’d meant to break the tension, but the words had come out sulky instead of light and teasing. Heather’s eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to reply, but the waitress returned with their wine and olives.
They sat in stiff, awkward silence as she emptied a carafe between two squat wine tumblers. Marcus was suddenly hyperaware of the raucous, friendly conversations occurring at almost every table except theirs. The candle flickered through the pale-crimson wine, and Marcus murmured his thanks before the waitress retreated.
“I’m not embarrassed,” Heather said quietly, once they were alone again. She fiddled with her wine glass, but for the first time that night, she actually looked at him. Her brown eyes were wide and serious, and this close up, he could have counted each of her long dark lashes. “I also didn’t know this was going to be a cozy dinner for two. So while I’m sure the lamb is delicious, I’m not sure it’s worth my job. Or yours.”
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “That was a dickish thing to say.”
“Thank you,” she said, eyeing him as she took a sip of her wine. Still, at least she was still looking at him. No, she was studying him, cool and a little reproachful. He’d take it. Even being on the receiving end of Heather’s annoyed, assessing gaze, or hercut the craplook, felt like winning a prize.
“On the plus side, we probably look miserable enough that no one would ever mistake this for a date.”
She laughed, and a warm, satisfied feeling fizzed in his veins. At least she didn’t look miserable now.
“Or it’s the world’s worst first date,” she said. She took another sip of wine, swallowing quickly, then gave him a conspiratorial smilethat made his mouth go dry. Heather glanced around the restaurant again. “Who here do you think is on an actual first date?”
Marcus grinned, then cast his eyes around as discreetly as he could.
“Bingo. Your seven o’clock.”
Slowly, Heather twisted in her seat, as if she were looking around for the server. A second later, she turned back to face him, looking sceptical.
“No way. He looks old enough to be her dad.”
“Which for some men is actually a selling point.”
“Ew.” Heather wrinkled her nose endearingly.
“Okay, let’s hope she’s his daughter. Oh, I see another one.” He tipped his head towards two middle-aged men sitting in upright silence, picking reluctantly at their food and avoiding each other’s eyes.
Heather followed his eyes, and for a few seconds he watched her watch them. “Yikes. That’s either a very bad first date or a very bad last one.”
“Or both,” he added, and she giggled.
“Okay, new game: what’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”
“Easy. Year 11, Sasha Perkins. We went to Warringah Mall for lunch and then to the movies. She kept calling me ‘Iceberg’ for some reason, and when I got home I realised I’d had a giant piece of lettuce stuck in my braces the whole time.”
“Ohno,” she laughed, taking an olive and popping it in her mouth. It left a smear of shining oil on her bottom lip, and Marcus worked hard not to stare at it.
“Oh, yes. That one scarred me for life. I couldn’t eat Caesar salad for years. What about you? Worst date ever?”
“I haven’t been on that many dates. I guess I’ve kind of dated vicariously through my best friend. Carly has enough bad date stories to write a book about them.”
“A field guide to fuckboys?”
“Yes. Knowing Carly, she’d call it...Bangs of New York.” She smiled, like she was proud of the pun.
“That is an instant bestseller,” he said, grinning.
“Once, she went home with a guy and discovered he had an entire room devoted to his antique doll collection. Just hundreds of musty old doll faces staring at you from every surface.”
“And that,” he said, “is a serial killer.”
“That’s what I said!” Heather exclaimed, propping her elbows on the table. “But she stayed the night anyway.”
“She stayed?! That’s...brave.”
“Well, that’s Carly.”
