Chapter 5: Best Dinner Ever

“Slowly ... slowly
We turn the page of life
Growing ... knowing
It comes at quite a price”
- After the Fire (Amy Grant)

“Welcome to the Venus de Milo. Do you have an reservation?” A young strawberry blond Maître d’hôtel dressed in a sharp black dress greeted us.

“Yes, for two under the name Blair,” Rebecca replied with confidence.

The Maître d’hôtel looked at her list and then nodded. “Right this way please,” she said, leading us through the dimly lit restaurant to a table set for two by the windows, with a view overlooking the ocean.

We were seated and the waiter brought over the menus. The smell of fresh seafood filled the air, making my mouth water. I glanced at Rebecca, who looked as if she was enjoying the ambiance.

“So, what do you recommend?” I asked, trying to play it cool.

“The lobster bisque is amazing,” Rebecca said without looking up from her menu. “But if you’re feeling adventurous, try the oysters. They’re fresh from the bay.”

Her smile was infectious, and I found myself actually looking forward to the meal. “Alright, oysters it is.” I said, trying to mimic her ease. The waiter took our orders and retreated with a nod.

Dinner was a delightful blend of laughter and nervousness. We talked about our favorite movies, the books we liked to read, and our shared love of the beach. I felt alive in a way I hadn’t in years. The food was exquisite, the lobster bisque rich and warm, the oysters surprisingly delicious. I tried to remember all her advice, making sure to maintain eye contact, listen intently, and laugh at her jokes. It was easy; she had a knack for making me feel at ease.

Throughout the dinner, I could see other couples looking at us, their expressions ranging from curiosity to admiration. It was clear we were an odd pair: the head cheerleader and the guy who was once voted least likely to be seen with a girl. Yet, here we were, sharing a meal, sharing stories, and sharing a moment that was more than I could have ever hoped for.

The conversation flowed effortlessly, and before I knew it, dessert was being served. As we enjoyed the sweetness of our chocolate mousse, Rebecca leaned in and whispered, “Remember, after the date, it’s all about timing.” She glanced at her watch, noticing that it was almost ten o’clock. “You should always drive or walk your date home. It’s a chivalrous gesture that women appreciate.”

I nodded, trying to remember everything she had taught me so far. She continued, “When you drop her off, thank her for the evening and tell her you had a good time. But don’t go overboard with the compliments; it can come off as desperate.”