out his hand. “But I am happy to drive if we’re not up for experimenting today.”
“Okay. Your car.” I take his hand.
He opens the door for me, and from the moment I slide onto the smooth leather seats, my anxiety rises. I’m outclassed here. Completely. The only real question about how this evening will go is how I will thoroughly embarrass myself.
We cruise through the streets of downtown, past upscale condos where couples who look and dress like Jason emerge to walk their dogs along the sidewalk.
Funky boutiques with clever names show off their wares in glass windows, alternating with trendy restaurants focusing on a very specific type of food, like risotto or Korean barbecue or fish tacos. Many of them have outdoor seating bordered with iron fences, customers eating with their pets lying at their feet.
“It’s too bad there isn’t more sidewalk space in front of the deli for tables,” Jason says.
“You might be able to squeeze a few narrow ones along the windows.”
“Something to think about.” He grins at me. “We’re still talking about work.”
“We are.”
My nerves jangle so hard as we pull up into the circle drive of a hotel, I can hear them buzzing in my ears. The restaurant on the top floor is one of the fanciest places you can find in Austin.
Two young men approach the car, one coming around to open my door, and the other taking Jason’s side.
“Welcome,” mine says. He holds out his hand to help me out of the car.
No one’s ever this courteous and subservient to me. I’m used to quick glances that swiftly dart away. Or your usual forced courtesy. The sort you do to avoid getting written up by your boss.
But I guess showing up in this car, this place, and maybe not wearing Army boots and camo, has made him act differently.
Jason meets me in front of the car and tucks my arm inside his. “I haven’t been here since my last visit to Austin about a year ago. But the steaks are divine. No carnivore should miss it.”
I nod, trying to quell my nerves. It’s just a restaurant. I know about it, of course. A steak is almost a hundred dollars. A girl in my sociology class last year told me that. She was dating some older guy who took her here every weekend.
A doorman nods at us as we pass through the sliding glass door.
An older gentleman in a suit asks if we need any assistance. I bristle, thinking he’s suggesting we don’t belong.
“Just headed up top,” Jason says easily.
“Very good, the elevators are to your left.” He gives me a small bow. My belly still quakes. The feeling I don’t belong here persists.
Jason presses a button on the elevator. After a moment, it slides open.
An older woman dressed in a form-fitted, all-white pantsuit steps out.
We shift aside to let her by.
She sees Jason first, appraising him admiringly from his shiny black dress shoes to his perfect scruff.
Then her gaze falls on me. Her face shifts into confusion, taking in my oversized shirt and knee-length skirt. The bargain bin dress pumps don’t meet her approval.
Her lips pinch and her shoulders shift with a sharp twist as if she needs to turn away from the horrifying scene that is my outfit.
I glance over at Jason to see if he’s noticed her disdain, but he’s already heading toward the empty elevator, pulling on my hand.
No doubt when we get up top, there will be many more people like this lady. I don’t want it. I don’t live in one of the most casual big cities in the world only to end up at one of the few places where everyone will look down on me.
I plant my feet. “I don’t think I’m up for this,” I say.
He pulls back as the elevator doors close. “Is everything okay? You don’t like it here?”
My whole body feels hot, like I’m burning from the inside out. “Maybe this is your lifestyle, but it’s not mine.”
Jason glances around, trying to figure out what might have prompted my outburst. “Okay, Nova. Let’s blow this place off. I was trying to be, I don’t know, a showoff.” He runs his hand through his hair. “It’s a thing with me. I overdo it. I should’ve known.”
We hurry back toward the front door. I assume he’s going to ask the valet to fetch his car, but he doesn’t, taking us through the doors and across the grass to the street instead.
“Where are we going?”