Becca
“Tori, I’m really not in the mood to go out to dinner.” I gaze out the window of the passenger seat of Tori’s car as she drives us to Cherry Hill.
“I know that. But you need to get out, Bec. You’ve been working so hard. You deserve a nice dinner out.”
I take in the smile on Tori’s face as she looks ahead at the road. She’s been in a great mood the whole day—the past few days, actually.
I think back to this morning at work when she surprised me with the news that she’d be taking me out for a late dinner to cheer me up after I’d spent the last week-plus working and sulking. I cringe when I recall how I groaned. God, what a brat I was to do that. My best friend is kind enough to plan a special dinner to cheer me up after my breakup, and here I am, acting annoyed.
I sit up in my seat, determined not to ruin the night. Sure, I’d rather be at home in my pajamas, eating a pint of ice cream, than wearing this little black dress and these heels, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve done enough wallowing. I need to make this a fun night for my amazing and thoughtful best friend.
She parks on the street, and we walk a few blocks to a white-brick restaurant front.
I frown up at the sign. “I’m not even going to try to pronounce that.”
Tori laughs and loops her arm in mine. “It’s French. I think.”
Her long braid smacks my shoulder. “You look really pretty,” I tell her. The gold mini-dress she’s wearing makes her auburn hair look like fire. So gorgeous. “I’m sorry you’re stuck with a sad sack for a date tonight.”
“Hey. None of that talk.” She gives my arm a gentle squeeze before letting go and opening the door to the restaurant. While she talks to the maître d’, I take in the bustling space. Almost every table is occupied with happy-looking, well-dressed patrons chatting and eating. In the middle is an open kitchen. A dozen people in white chef’s jackets move about in the space, prepping, slicing, plating, and cooking.
“Right this way, ladies.”
We follow the maître d’ to the far side of the restaurant, then toward the back.
I take in all the marble architecture and metallic accents. I touch Tori’s hand. “This place is fancy.”
We’re shown to a small private dining room at the back. It’s the size of an office with a dark wooden table that seats six.
“Tori, you planned all this for me?”
I catch the maître d’ smiling as he sets a drink menu and two dinner menus on the table between us. “Your server will be right with you.”
A knowing smile plays across Tori’s lips as she looks at me. “Sure did. Let’s decide what we’re having.”
I crack open the menu and skim the dishes.
“I think we should have something bubbly, like prosecco.”
“Sounds great.”
“How about we do the tasting menu?” she says, pointing at the menu.
My eyes bulge out of my head when I look at the price. Even though business is booming for Sweet Cheeks, and I’ve replenished my savings, I don’t want to be careless. I still need to be careful with how I spend my month.
Tori reaches over and touches my hand. “My treat,” she says.
“No way, that’s too much.”
She shakes her head. “Trust me, it’s really not.”
Before I can ask her what she means, the server comes in and takes our drink order. Tori tells him we’ll each have the five-course tasting menu. He pours prosecco into our flutes and leaves us. Tori raises a glass. “To you, Bec. Not only are you the best ice cream maker on the planet, but you’re an amazing friend and a truly wonderful person. You deserve all the good things in the world.”
Tears prick at my eyes. It feels good to cry happy tears after all the crying I’ve done over Gage.
I sniffle. “Thank you, Tori. I don’t even have the words to say just how much this all means.” I sip my glass of prosecco, savoring the crisp flavor and the way the bubbles pop on my tongue. “God, that’s good.”
She beams at me. “See? Doesn’t it feel good to get all dressed up and treat yourself?”
