Dinner Date

Sophia

When the kitchen staff brought out our dinner, I nearly died laughing. The chef had made Al pastor pork tacos for me with fresh pineapple salsa and a drizzle of chipotle crema. And for Rider, he made chicken Alfredo.

When I looked at Rider with a brow raised and an amused smile on my face, he simply shrugged like it was all just a fluke.

The kitchen staff also brought out a bottle of prosecco and two flutes before leaving us alone in the small dining room.

The room was usually only used when we had important visitors and wanted a quiet, more intimate evening. It was small, with a ten-person rectangular wooden table in the middle surrounded by dark grey upholstered chairs.

Rider was sitting on the end of the table with me by his side.

“Mmmm… these are so good,” I moaned, taking a bite from one of my tacos.

“Not as good as this creamy, garlicky goodness,” he argued, spinning a decent amount of the fettuccini onto his fork before shoving it into his mouth.