He frowns at the menu, then looks back up at me. “It’s fine. I hate taking money from them, and it’s hard for me to accept that they would want to do something nice for me, but they wouldn’t have done this for us if they didn’t want to. So just for tonight, I’m going to swallow my pride along with a juicy filet mignon.”

I chuckle before returning my attention to the menu. They’re his family, so it’s his call. And man, I could destroy a porterhouse right now.

When the waiter comes back to uncork the wine and pour our first glasses, we let him know we’re ready to order. After he leaves and it’s just us again, with no menus for distraction, we fall into a stretch of silence.

Talking to Brenden has always been easy. But this is new for us. A date. Hell, I can’t even remember the last person I’ve been on a date with. Although he obviously doesn’t consider it a real date, so there shouldn’t be any pressure.

My body doesn’t get that memo though. I feel stiff, and I’m sure I look out of place here, even though I wore a navy blue button-down instead of my usual flannel. I’m worried I’m going to do something wrong and look stupid.

Something kicks my leg lightly under the table, and I jolt before locking eyes with Brenden. This lighting makes his appear an even brighter, brilliant blue. And he’s smiling at me. He’s always smiling at me, isn’t he?

And what have I done to deserve that?

“You’re thinking too hard over there,” he says. “Pretend we’re at the diner and yell at me to eat a vegetable or something.”

Just like that, I’m back with him. The imposing details of the restaurant fade away into the background as the familiarity of our friendship settles in.

“You’re going to eat the vegetables that come with your steak,” I tell him, making sure to sound stern.

He shoots me a troublemaking look and says, “We’ll see.” Then effortlessly changing the subject, he asks, “So how’s your dad doing? His hip must be almost healed by now.”

“Yeah, he’s doing better. I don’t want him to come home until his doctor has fully cleared him to go back to work though. Because knowing him, if he’s told he can do some stuff but to take it easy, he’ll push too hard and set himself back. He’s stubborn like that.”

Brenden chuckles. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“I’m not stubborn.”

“Who said I was talking about you?” he asks, eyes sparkling playfully.

“I’m not,” I argue. Even though, sure, I know I can be. But I’m not like my dad.