A few hours later, we’re in his car on our way to a restaurant. I’m wearing a brand-new black dress and a pair of black heels Nate bought me that both fit perfectly and probably cost more than everything in my bedroom back home combined. If it wasn’t for Nate at my side with his hand on my knee, I’d feel completely out of place as we pull up in front of the building, which has a man in a tie obviously providing valet service.
“Hey,” Nate says, looking right at me. “Relax. It’s just a restaurant.”
“Yeah, where Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have probably gotten caviar,” I reply.
“Don’t be silly.” He smiles. “They order the truffle risotto, but they haven’t been here in years. Now come on. Enjoy your meal with me, please? I want to spoil you tonight, is that so wrong?”
“Of course not.” I s
