The Fine Print

Rowan

“It’s not too late to go home.” Zahra uses her menu as a shield to block the entire left side of her face. 

When I booked a reservation at the finest restaurant in Orlando, I didn’t expect her to protest the moment we sat down. Ever since the hostess showed us to our table at the back of the restaurant ten minutes ago, Zahra’s been flushed and unable to sit still. I thought wine would help with first-date nerves, but she’s already guzzled one full glass. 

Is she afraid to be out in public with me? I highly doubt any paparazzi worth their salt would be prowling the streets of central Florida waiting for a celebrity. 

I frown, pulling down her menu. “Is it too fancy?”

“No—I mean yes! I mean, look at this menu.” She pulls it back up, flaunting it to me while shielding both our faces now. “Any place without prices and lots of French words is a red flag for my bank account.”

“You’re not paying,” I speak in a dry tone. 

“Yeah, well, it would be presumptuous for me to assume we wouldn’t go halfsies.” 

“Halfsies.” I choke. “What has gotten into you?”  

“Nothing.” She bites her lip. Her skin goes from pink to red, giving away her inability to lie about anything. 

“Are you always this nervous on a first date?” 

She frowns. “I’m not nervous.” 

“You drank a two-hundred-dollar glass of wine in ten minutes.”

Her entire face pales. “Two. Hundred. Dollars?!” she whisper-shouts. “Why would you spend that much on a bunch of old grapes?”

I can’t hold back my laugh. It’s barely audible over the people surrounding us. 

Her eyes slide from me to another table across from us where a blond male and female sit. 

“Do you know those people?” 

She jumps in her chair. “Who?”

I blink at her.

Her shoulders slump as she slides a few inches farther down her chair. “Yes.” 

“Who are they?” 

“The blond guy with tiny hands and a massive forehead is Lance.” 

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Of all the places? Here? This would never happen in Chicago. There are too many damn people to run into someone I hate. 

I blame the lack of restaurants here that I frequent back at home.

Maybe I can build one on Dreamland property to avoid this from happening again. 

Again? You’re not staying here past the vote. 

I grab my wineglass and take a long sip to quench the sick feeling in my stomach. 

Her eyes flit from me back to that damn table at the center of the room. 

I frown. “Do you want him back?” 

Where the fuck did that come from? 

“What?!” Her voice draws the attention of some neighbors. “God, no.” 

“Then forget about him.” 

“Easier said than done. He’s right there with her. I hate seeing them because it reminds me—” Her voice trails off. 

Of how he broke her heart, I finish in my head. 

I hate seeing Zahra this upset. She usually has more positivity in one finger than a damn squad of Super Bowl cheerleaders. Her distress makes me feel unsettled. Like I want to fix it, but I have no clue how especially when I don’t know the first thing about dealing with an ex. 

“Let’s play a game.” 

What the fuck are you doing? 

She perks up, finally dropping the menu and giving me her attention. “You’re all about games tonight.” 

“Would you rather go ski

“I hate ru

I smile. “Naughty girl. You could get caught.” 

“Good thing I know the boss,” she taunts. 

The way she smiles at me makes my heart take pause. It’s strange—like my entire body can’t help but go haywire whenever I’m around her. Whether it’s itchy skin, a tightening chest, or a bizarre urge to kiss her, I’m battling a ton of sensations. Sometimes all at once. 

“Your turn.” I grab her hand, tracing her knuckles with my thumb. Her breath always hitches when I do it, so it’s easily becoming my favorite way to keep touching her while in public. 

“Would you rather never read a book again or never be able to check the stock market?” 

“Hitting me where it hurts.” I rub my heart with my free hand. 

She smiles. “The fact that you have to think this one over breaks my heart.” 

I offer her a knowing smile. “I’d have to give up reading books. Sorry.” 

“Well, this was fun while it lasted.” She pulls her hand away teasingly before I latch onto it again. 

“You said I never could read a book again. Audiobooks don’t count.” 

Her mouth drops open. “You—that’s. You can’t cheat like that!” 

“Life’s all about semantics.”

“Dating a businessman sucks.” 

I want to kiss the pout off her face. “I gather it’s a bit of a change from the wonderful company you picked up on the dating apps. What about the electrician with the mother?” 

She points a finger at me. “I’ll have you know that Chip was a very nice man.”

“Who brought his mother along on the date.” 

“I thought it was sweet.” 

“She asked you if you had a fertility tracker.” I take a sip of my wine. 

Zahra drops her head back and laughs up to the ceiling. Making her laugh fills me with the deepest sense of pride, knowing I could make her day brighter in some small way. 

A new realization hits me hard. For the first time on a date, I’m having fun. There’s no predestined agenda or cold conversations about work and business. I’m genuinely interested in hearing anything that comes out of Zahra’s mouth, and everything is only amplified when I make her laugh. 

Part of me wishes I could be like her where I could live without abandon and move on from past issues that seem to make an appearance at the worst time. It’s not possible for someone like me. I’ve become jaded from life, so being around Zahra is refreshing. 

I’m aware that I’m playing a dangerous game with Zahra by toeing the line between dating and more. I can’t pursue much more with my deadline and my end goals. At least not with my future in Chicago and hers cemented into the very foundation of Dreamland. 

But we can enjoy the present and live for today. That much I can promise. 

Zahra waves her hand in front of my face. “Your turn.” 

I shake my head and return to the conversation. Zahra and I switch back and forth, with her choosing the most outrageous questions for me to pick from. I’m not sure where she comes up with ideas like skiing in a pair of boxers or riding a jet ski across the entire ocean but her imagination is endless.

That’s why you hired her.  

We spend the entire di

Zahra considers her next set of crazy options when Lance steps into our proximity. He gapes at us, his eyes switching between Zahra and me. She hasn’t even noticed him yet, too immersed in her head. 

I keep my eyes glued to his as I pull Zahra’s hand up to my lips and give her knuckles a kiss. She sucks in a breath and her cheeks turn the prettiest shade of pink for me. Lance’s jaw clamps down, making him resemble a squashed tomato with a mop of blond hair. He’s absolutely average in every sense of the word—from his Brooks Brothers button-down to his poorly pressed khaki pants. I’m sure I could find a dozen like him at the local outlet mall.