Page 4 of Willa

As soon as we get back to our room, she demands to see the clothes I brought. She talks me into wearing a dress when I would have worn pants. And when we get into David’s car, she insists I sit in front. Then she tries to carry the conversation almost entirely by herself from the back seat — well, maybe that’s not so unusual.

The restaurant is a small brick building with a dark red awning announcing the name in white letters. Inside is a warm dining room with busy tile floors and windows taking up an entire wall. We’re seated in a back corner where Andrea and I slide onto the luxurious velvet booth and David takes a chair across from us.

“What’s good here?” Andrea asks.

“Everything,” David says.

Andrea turns to me as I look over the menu. I love French food. She leans in closer as if the menu will have something hers doesn’t. “What are you getting?”

“Definitely the onion soup.”

Her brows crease. “I meant like for a main course.”

The onion soup is twenty dollars. I don’t want to spend too much on my first night. As if he can read my thoughts, David taps on the top of the menu.

“I picked the restaurant, so it’s my treat. Go crazy.”

I swallow and nod. “Then I’ll get the Croque Madame too.”

“Ooh,” Andrea says. “Like a super high end French soup and sandwich. I might get the rainbow trout, but I definitely want a bite of yours.”

I smile as Andrea continues on. She always has a hard time deciding what she’s going to get. She usually bases her choices off everyone else’s, assuming she’ll be able to take bites of theirs.

When I look over at David, I find him watching me instead of Andrea. We share a knowing smile as Andrea continues to discuss her options. It reminds me of how things used to be with the three of us before I ruined it all by falling in love with David.