Dante's Confession
Sedona's POV
Dante had suggested the restaurant.
Not asked—suggested, which was how he did most things. He'd said there's a place on the water I've been to before, Thursday if you're free, and I'd said yes without overthinking it, which I'd been trying to do more of recently. Not overthinking things. Saying yes when yes was available.
The restaurant was small, the kind that didn't try too hard—wood tables, the water visible through large windows, a menu that was short enough to suggest they did the things on it well rather than many things adequately. It was the middle of a Thursday afternoon, past the lunch rush, and we had a corner table with the view and a reasonable amount of quiet around us.
I'd ordered the salmon, which my mother would have approved of.
Dant
