Chapter 27
Brent got to the restaurantthirty minutes early and then sat in his truck sweating. Why on earth had he made this into such a production? This was Sammy they were talking about. She would have been happy with a single rose and a cheeseburger.
Because you wanted her to feel special.
Because you wanted to do it right this time.
He took a deep breath. Yes. He hadn’t been a good husband the first time around. He’d made it all about him. He wanted a second chance. He wanted to do it right this time.
The seconds dragged by. To stop himself from staring at the clock, he closed his eyes. Then, because his eyes were closed, he prayed, “Thank you for this opportunity. Please don’t let me blow it. Please give me another chance with her. I’m assuming, since you’ve let me get this far, that this is okay with you. If not, please stop me before I get in any deeper.” He chuckled quietly. “But for real, please calm my nerves. Please help me to say the right words and more importantly, to hear what she has to say. I know I didn’t do a good job of that last time. Thank you, God.”
He checked himself in the rearview and then got out of the truck with fifteen minutes still to go. He tried to psyche himself up on his way across the parking lot. He was going to do this. It was going to be great.
Then on the outdoor stairs, he caught the toe of his fancy cowboy boot that he rarely wore on a step, tripped, and rapped his shin on the next step. It hurt like holy fire, but he maintained composure in case anyone—namely Sammy—was watching.
When he gave his name for his reservation and explained he was meeting someone, he was sweating from the pain as much as the nerves.
“Are you all right, sir?” The hostess asked.
“Oh yes.” He shifted his weight back to his bad leg to prove his health and then wished he hadn’t.
She looked him up and down. “Right this way.”
He hobbled behind her as she led him deeper into the restaurant, to a table by the window. He thanked her, sat, and looked out at the sea. He’d spent his whole life beside the ocean, so he didn’t get too shook up about scenic views, but he was glad he couldn’t see—or smell—the bait shop from there.
He checked his phone. Still ten minutes to go. He was lucky they’d let him have his table.
He looked around at the clientele and suddenly felt underdressed. He was wearing new jeans, but they were still jeans. Good thing he’d put on the fancy boots that had tried to kill him. He ran a hand through his hair and then unbuttoned his top button. This ten minutes might finish off what the boots had started.
He opened his menu. Couldn’t hurt to decide ahead of time what he was going to have. Might be too nervous to read with her sitting across from him. He wondered what she’d look like. Had she changed much? He tried to focus on the menu. This was the first time he’d seen the prices, and they weren’t as bad as he feared. Sammy was worth every penny.
His mouth watered at the sight of the wordribeye. Yes,good idea, Brent.Menus were an excellent distraction. He should get an appetizer too, really treat her to a multi-course meal. His eyes slid up the menu to the “starters” section, but he didn’t know what most of these things were. He didn’t want to end up with a braised octopus in the middle of the table. That wasn’t very romantic. Neither was bone marrow, which was one of the options. He didn’t know how or why anybody would eat bone marrow, but he didn’t want to find out. Jumbo shrimp cocktail looked pretty safe. He didn’t particularly like shrimp, especially when it wasn’t fried, but at least he knew what that was.
It was entirely too early to pick out a dessert and he doubted he’d have room for one anyway, but he still surveyed the offerings, and was delighted to see that truffles from Dean’s Sweets had made their way to Hartport more than once. Well, then, it seemed he was going to need to order dessert after all.