Page 117 of Two for Roughing

“They’ll be fine,” he said. “Weird, but fine.”

If they weren’t, he would glare at them until they were.

On the ride into town, Kilian pointed out landmarks as they passed. Some of them were culturally relevant, like the vague direction they would have to take to get to the Castro or Chinatown. Others were “the sushi place Tom took me to last year” or “Phil lives over there somewhere.” It was endearingly Kilian, the wild mix of things he had researched and been interested in and places he happened to have frequented while he played for the Sea Lions.

By the time they pulled up to the restaurant overlooking the bay, Damir had forgotten the evening was meant to be special and not just another day spent with Kilian as he chattered and thought up new ways to make Damir smile.

Inside, their coats were immediately taken by an overly polite maître d’ before they were led to a table overlooking the water.

The restaurant had enough stars that it didn’t need many tables, and elegant plants shielded the few patrons there were from one another, creating a sense of privacy. As Damir had requested, their table resided in the furthest corner from the door, well-shielded from any observers. The menu was limited and lacked prices, which made Kilian raise his eyebrows.

“This place is fancy, huh?”

“Fancy enough we were lucky to get a table,” Damir admitted. “Is that a problem?”

Kilian gave him a look. “Of course not. This is awesome. What should I order?”

“I’m going for the seven-course preset dinner.” Damir turned his menu around so Kilian could see. “You can choose between different options for most of the courses.”

Kilian nodded slowly, perusing the choices. “We get small portions, right?”

“Yes, or seven would be far too many.”

“Nice.”

The napkin sat slightly off-center on Damir’s plate. He righted it. “You’re welcome to get the wine pairings, if you want.”

“Seven glasses of wine with dinner?”

“I suppose?”

Kilian snorted. “No, thank you. We’re playing a hockey game tomorrow, remember? Anyway, I’m not much of a wine guy. I’ll have a glass or two if that’s cool with you, but no more.”

“Of course it’s cool with me. I don’t want to—to tell you what to do. I shouldn’t have—”

“Shhh.” Kilian put a finger to his lips, emphasizing how shiny and pink they were. “We talked it out; we’re good. But you don’t drink, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“If being around people drinking made me uncomfortable, I should have chosen a career as an accountant.”

“I hear they get pretty crazy around the end of the fiscal year.”

Having taken a sip of his water a moment before, Damir coughed around his laugh.

“There you are.” Kilian’s mouth quirked upward. “We’re having a nice first date, okay? Don’t get all in your head about shit.”

Under the table, Damir let his legs spread out a bit farther so he could knock his knee against Kilian’s. “All right.”

They ordered, with Kilian choosing the fish over the rabbit for the fifth course and parsnips over beets in the second, baffling choices in Damir’s opinion.

“Beets taste like dirt,” Kilian said. “Change my mind.”

“They do not. They’re sweet! And a beet carpaccio is a totally different experience than a stew or a soup.”

“Oh, great, thinly sliced dirt with truffle oil. Dirt with more dirt. Yum.”

“You’ll have to try some of mine,” Damir said with a shake of his head. “You’ll see.”

“Will you feed it to me off your fork?”