Page 11 of The Little Black Book

“Stacey, it’s so good to see you again,” I say, pulling out the chair across from her and sliding into it.

I immediately second-guess myself. Should I have rounded to her side and moved in for a hug? A kiss on the cheek? She still looks perturbed, so who knows how she would’ve reacted to the familiarity.

“Sam. Good to see you,” she says, her voice slow and even. Almost…robotic.

“You’re looking lovelier than ever,” I say, thinking quick on my feet. “Is that a new hairstyle?”

Her reticence cracks as her hand lifts up to pat her curls, and a small smile curves her lips. “Why yes, it is. I just got it cut last week.”

“Well, it looks gorgeous,” I say, and I can see Zoey nodding slightly in my peripheral vision.

“Thank you,” Stacey says, her mood lightening slightly.

“Hello, may I get you started with a drink?”

I look up to see a waiter beside Zoey’s table. She orders a soda, a plate of hot buffalo wings with ranch dressing, some curly fries with cheese sauce, and a chocolate brownie. I’m impressed, and as if she senses my awe at her robust order, she smirks and lifts one shoulder without ever looking my way.

“Sam.”

My gaze shoots back to Stacey. She looks perturbed, and I offer her an apologetic smile and focus all of my attention on her. I remember our first date being less tense, and she definitely wasn’t frowning like she is now. Where’s the girl who texts with nothing but exclamation points?

“So…” I say, drawing out the word. “How have you been?”

“Pretty good,” she says, her shoulders relaxing the tiniest bit. “I moved back home after Grandma died a few months ago. My old boss hired me back, so that was nice, not having to look for a new job.”

“Oh? What do you do?”

“You don’t remember?”

Jesus. Fuck. We went on one date last year, and she expects me to remember every detail?

“I’m sorry. I don’t.”

She huffs. Literally, a whole-body exhale punctuated by a deep frown.

“At Dr. Weston’s office. You came in for a root canal. That’s how we met.”

“Oh, yes,” I say, giving her a wide smile. “You offered to let me pick a prize from the treasure chest when I was done, and I asked for your number instead.”

She grunts at that, like I’m an idiot to forget about that little meet-cute in the first place. God, what has happened to her? I never would’ve added her to my little black book if our first date had gone this way. And she seemed so excited when I texted her.

Now she’s acting like she’d rather be anywhere else but here.

“Have I done something to upset you?” I ask, tired of pretending everything is going well.

“What? No. Of course, not,” she says, still wearing that dour expression.

Zoey’s waiter delivers her soda before stepping up to our table, a stark relief from the uncomfortable conversation.

“Would you like to start with some drinks?” he asks.

“I’m ready to order,” Stacey says before I can respond. “I’ll have the thirty-two-ounce steak with a loaded baked potato, a side salad with ranch dressing, and a glass of your finest red.”

My eyes flare wide at the sheer amount of food she orders. Not that I’m judging. I’m not. I like a woman who isn’t afraid to eat. But thirty-two ounces of beef? That’s a lot, even for me. But since I haven’t even had a chance to glance at the menu, I order the same and thank the man.

I wait a few beats for Stacey to start a conversation, but she just sits silently, her gaze darting everywhere but at me. Maybe she’s nervous. Tension can manifest differently in people.

Or maybe she’s just hangry.

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